MOORE’S RURAL NEW-YORKER: AN AGRICULTURAL AND FAMILY NEWSPAPER. 
JULY 17. 
Pi <?J 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
1 AM THINKING. 
BY KATK CAMERON. 
I am thinking—I am thinking 
Of the loved and true, 
All the friends so kind and faithful, 
That I ever knew. 
Some are near me—others absent,—. 
Some, ala*! are dead, 
Ah! how much of Life’s bright sunshine 
With those dear ones fled! 
I am thinking—I am thinking 
Of my childhood’s hours, 
When with joyous heart I wandered, 
Culling early flowers: 
Tho' their fair hues quickly fader, 
Yet I loved them well, . 
And their memory still lingers 
hike a holy spell. 
I am thinking—I am thinking 
Of the visions fair, 
Which I once so fondly cherish'd, 
Where are they—Oh, where? 
Rainbow-hued were they, and fleeting 
As the morning dew, 
Yet they show’d my heart some glimpses 
Of the Good and True. 
I am thinking—I am thinking 
Of my future way, 
Leading on thro’ light and darkness 
Unte “ perfect day!” 
Little know I what of gladness, 
Or grief may be mine: 
Be this, then, my prayer—“ Oh! Father, 
Not my will, but Thine!” 
Rochester, N. Y., 1808. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker ML 
MURMURING LADIES. 
Op late there has been much said in the Rueal ~'~'z-- - - ~ 
by the ladies, about gentlemen “ chewing the cud Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker, 
of bachelor meditation,” and some try to prove THE PIC-NIC. 
that is the fault of the masculines, not their own.— - 
Is this so? Can it be that the many intelligent moen. 
young men there are in the country have acted ’Tis 0 a. m.— one glance—ah, all is right! 
foolishly, or that they are at fault because they still The Bhadow * ,!ee the welcome dav 
remain free, not having entered into the marriage w “ h faces , like th ® Bun > flerene i and bri S Lt > 
, , „ T , , “ _ , , , tV e put the garb of pic-mc-pleasure on, 
state? Indeed, quite the reverse. It shows that 
they possess wisdom in so doing, and that they are 
We deck the heart in robes of softest light. 
Whose kindly rays may give to each a beam, 
well considering “ wisdom’s ways.” But we will As Hope, when lifted out of Passion’s night, 
not advocate that the young men are perfect, nor 
do we want to, for we believe the stronger sex often 
get out of the way of rectitude, but is this wholly 
Lights darkened places with her cheering gleam. 
In smiles, and mirth, and kindly mood we go, 
A merry band adorn the green-lined read; 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
A VOICE FROM OCEAN DEPTHS. 
On, Ocean tell me how great are thy riches?— 
Did you see that proud vessel launch forth des¬ 
tined for some far oir clime? Upon her deck two 
fair children played. The parents, cheered and 
made happy by their joyous presence, looked upon 
their frolic in silent satisfaction. Now I clasp them 
in my embrace, far away from the care of those who 
had gladly been their earthly watchers. 
A maiden was there also, going home to meet 
her lover; with hope he waited, with bright antici¬ 
pations she looked forward to the union. Parents, 
brothers and sisters oft repeat, “ soon she will be 
here.” Now, my sparkling drops lie above her, 
and the lover looks on jealons of the prize I hold. 
A mother’s hope, the eldest born was there. For 
years he had been in the New World, where, by the 
sweat of his brow, be had earned a beautiful home 
among the forest trees. 0, the future—how it 
sparkled in his eyes as he pictured the mother from 
whom he had been so long separated, presiding 
over his rural mansion, and brothers and Bisters 
gay among the flowers nature had scattered 
around! My pathless waters wave over him now, 
and the bereaved ones have wended their way alone 
to the sad home which is the fruit of his love. 
A father and three little ones were among the 
saved, when, plowing the great deep, that bark was 
consumed by fierce flames, but the near and dear, 
—the wife and mother—found a bed among the 
' ”nd sea weed; and long Jid the babes* lament 
ascend on high for the treasure I have deprived 
them of. The husband still walks the earth, but 
oft the zephyrs bear his sigh for in my depths his 
darling sleeps. 
An aged grandsire, whose silver locks glistened 
in the setting sun and on whose knees had oftimes 
climed lisping children, begging grandpa to tell 
them a story of olden times, sank calmly beneath 
my angry waves, holding tightly in his embrace, 
one of the prattlers he had loved so well. There 
they rest, his arms, which had been weak with in¬ 
fancy then strong with manhood and weak again 
with age, about her who had opened her eyes 
scarce to learn anything of a changeful world, 
then closed them again forever. These riches 1 
hold—childhood, youth, manhood and old age.— 
Man stands upon the banks I wash with my waters 
and envies what he once possessed, but has no 
power to restore it. I, exulting proudly, roll on 
unmindful of the anguish I cause, just as some 
persons who have attained their selfish ends thro’ i 
the sufferings of others, hold their heads erect, ! 
proud of the exhibition of power they have made. | 
Yes, I have riches. King, prince, and pauper, ! 
alike I value. Those who have sought my weedy 1 
bed weary of earth, and those who have come re¬ 
luctantly because they saw themselves in crystal 
pictures in the future, greedily I hold. And I am 
not to give them up until One mightier than I 
blows his trump at the “ resurrection morn.” 
Olivet, Eaton Co., Mich., 1858. U. E. C. 
FARMERS’ DAUGHTERS. 
” • 
Girls don’t look toward the city with longing 
eyes; if you would preserve the rosy freshness of 
your cheeks, stay in the country air and sun. 
Don’t persuade your fathers to sell their farms, 
and go into town to deal in “dry goods;” if you 
do, they will probably lose farm, goods and alL 
Don’t ape village customs by wearing cloth gai¬ 
ters when you w r alk; they are not suited to rough 
country roads; or by inviting an evening party of 
your neighborhood friends to meet at nine o’clock, 
for that is their usual bed-time. 
When you would adopt a custom, ask if it is 
suited to country life, not if it is fashionable in 
the city. 
Don’t stand in awe of a younp lady “just from 
the city." \\ e would rather look for a wife where 
there is less starch and carmine—among farmers’ 
daughters who have the glow of health in the 
cheek ana the sjiarkle of intelligence in the eye. 
Rest satisfied to be farmeis’ daughters; you 
know not what you would sacrifice were you to 
change places with the envied city girls. Go to 
work, and make yourselves and your homes as at¬ 
tractive and lovely as yon can. 
Read and study, and use all the means within 
your reach to cultivate your minds. Select from 
your associates of both sexes those who are equally 
aspiring with yourselves, and meet in social gather¬ 
ings to improve your conversational talents, and 
perfect easy, unembarrassed manners. 
their fault? Does not woman have a great influ- Dark care has vanished for the pleasant flow 
ence on man? Y r es, indeed, she does, and this is Of moments freighted with joy’s richest load, 
one reason why man is led from the path of virtue We hear sweet music in the distant low 
to immorality. Many a young man has chosen a Of herded cattle on the green-laid mead, 
companion for life which he anticipated would yield And list witb pleasure to the sturdy “ whoa?” 
him comfort while in the troubles of this world, Meant for the earB of 80me UDruly 8teed ' 
but to his sorrow, after a few years, or even noon. 
months had passed, the fond hopes once cherished u P on the wave > the bonding, heaving wave, 
had left him forever. And what was the cause?— " e riBe and fa11— epitome of Life!— 
Woman’s influence. That influence which sickens °“ r “ iIe e “ bra f tke wi , ndB w + ith *f orkra ?J, 
,, .... , And wind, and sail, and boat join in the strife, 
the heart, discourages the mind and leaves the vie- The waters, too, in tones now gay, now grave, 
tim in despair. Oh, let the women that are married Make deep-voiced notes, struck by the wayward breeze; 
strive to exert an influence on their husbands that And hearts make music to the One who gave 
will stimulate them in the dark hours of trouble, Joys so unwonted to our hearts as these, 
and gladden their hearts, so that they may live as Ah! What emotion reaching to life’s core, 
man and wife should live, and without doubt their Inaugurates itself in solemn state? 
short stay on earth will seem like a paradise. And makes the sunlight pleasant seem no more— 
“ Study well to know the right, Sinking the heart beneath its ponderous weight?— 
What ere betides, do it with all thy might.’’ ° hl 0utr8C '‘ d Nbpt ™ b > have we left the fhore 
_ , . But to pay duty to thy ruthless sway? 
0, ye fair daughters of Adam, forever flee from Must we an oiTring at thy bidding pour 
the viciousness of the world and strive to gain Ere we may pass in quiet on our way? 
some excellence, that you may be ornaments to so- [The p]ea had efTect _ tLe jovial god gmlled( 
ciety, and not only ornaments, but guides for the Neptunk and nature became reconciled, 
world’s people, whereby the intelligent young men No more were the depths of the sea-sickened soul 
will notice your accomplishments, your purity of Disturbed, when good Nrptdxe but happened to roll 
heart, and will not meditate long before they will In his rou 8h. wave-washed bed, at the foot of the deep, 
come to the conclusion that such are the kind, Where in BOme ( l ueer mement he’d dropped off to sleep. 
which will give joy to the frail man’s heart Why But Gatkty Bet ber bri S ht banner afloat, 
__an i_ . , . , , , . _ , And Neptune crowned Gatkty queen of the boat.3 
will women longer violate nature’s laws? Is it de- hoc j 
[ sirable that they should destroy their health in the woods.—pictuiibs. 
order to be ladies? Can they not become so with- The beach and mR i )le miD « lin K the sky; 
out silks and satins? It is obvious, that neither of J ? ke vaiied carpet ’ Breen in youn * July; 
these have any tendency to promote the elevation J I!‘ 6 trembling in the light; 
. c .. J . 1 v v cy rttiwn 4, The wood-flowerg bursting on our raptured fiicrht; 
l O Cr qualities are wanting. There needs to be 5 , The merry throng of lively laughing maids; 
a reform, such an one as will give light to those 6, The boys with faces like the ace of spades; 
who daily violate the laws of nature, showing that 7> The loDg, rough table with its snow-white spread; 
health and true womanhood is to be sought before 8 > T1 *o piles of cakes, and pies, and meats, and bread; 
all other things. Mrs. Mary L_ 9 > Tbe coffee hot—refreshing, choice Mocha; 
Wayne, Ken. Co., Maine, 1858. ‘ \ 19 ’ ™ e lemonade blewed for a “ A ”« UBt da T5 
11, The merry groups commingling in their glee; 
12, The tingle pairs upon the glassy sea; 
FEMALE INFLUENCE AND ENERGY. 13, The weary couples by the surf-beat shore, 
- Slumbering in quiet on the boat-house door; 
I hate noticed, said Washington Irving, that a 14, The happy pair, shaded by bush and shawl, 
married man falling into a misfortune is more apt Wrapped in themselves—each to the other—all; 
to retrieve his situation in the world than a single 15 > Tbe fair - fac «d maid, with tongue and word so free; 
one, chiefly because his spirits are softened and 16 ’ Tbe dark ' haired boy wbo boaBtB sincerit y; 
relieved by domestic endearments and self-respect 17 ’ ? e boiBtero " 8 « roup > f “ B ™ aried *“ tbe le *’ 
.... , _ . 1 Sporting m pleasures of the u mumble peg;”— 
kept alive by finding that, though all abroad be A11 theH6 and many lnore my pen could draw , 
daikness and humiliation, yet there is a world of Of pleasures of the sylvan beauties of the spot; 
love at home, of which he is monarch; whereas But time and brain assert a binding law, 
a single man is apt to run to waste and self neglect; And for the nonce, my pen shall name them not. 
to fall to ruin like a deserted mansion, for want of evening.—homewabd. 
Sporting in pleasures of the “ mumble’ peg;”— 
All these and many more my pen could draw, 
Of pleasures of the eylvan beauties of the spot; 
But time and brain assert a binding law. 
And for the nonce, my pen shall name them not. 
EVENIN G.—HOME W AB D. 
inhabitants. I have often had occasion to mark A pleasant, balmy, blissful summer eve; 
the fortitude with which woman maintains the The weary day has gladly sought its rest, 
most overwhelming reverses f>{ fortune. Those And twilight dim may fancy’s shadows weave 
disasters which break down the spirit of man and u P Hn the ni 8 ht And Bunset in the weBt 
prostrate him in the dust, seem to call forth all the ShedB over nature 0oe bright shower of red ’ 
energies of the softer sex, and give an intrepidity R ® ,din t ? tha <™ lb t K r “ sient ligbt > 
and elevation to her character that at times ap- To )uave one . half tll6 WO rld in solemn night, 
proaches toward sublimity. Nothing can be more 
touching than to see a soft and tender female who A day B °“ e to its 1 tom , b ’ aD . d n ° tama r rk t . 
, ,, ,, , , , . lias memory placed against its perfect joy; 
had been all weakness and dependence, and alive 0hl may we this world of gloom and dark 
to every trivial roughness, while treading the pros- Pass time in better than in such employ? 
perous path of life, suddenly rising in mental force And now, each freighted heart goes to its home, 
to be the comforter and supporter of the husband, The day is ended, and the race is run, 
abiding with unshrinking firmness the bitterest 0h ’ n,a J the droWf 0' goddess gently como, 
blast of adversity. As tbe vine which haa long And seal the joyous hearts so hardly won. 
twined its graceful foliage round the oak, and has mobn. 
been lifted by it into sunshine, will, when the ’Ti R 5 a. m.— one glance—ah! from each head, 
hardy plant is rifted by the thunderbolt, cling Sonorous sounds proclaim that sleep holds sway; 
round with its caressing tendrils, and bind up its Each form 8unk deep wilhin the 8 en ’ rous bed, 
shattered boughs, so, too, it is beautifully ordained 4 BrawB 7r0 “ the day> uigbt ’ 8 B “ equi ^ d pay; , . 
, ... , . , J And kindly thoughts run through each active brain, 
by Providence that woman, who is the ornament . .,. , . . ,. , . 
1 vui.imcm And kindly hearts to kindly words give wav, 
shattered boughs, so, too, it is beautifully ordained 4 J “ , uay> n,g “ x 8 
J And kindly thoughts run through each 
by Providence that woman, who is the ornament And killdly hearts to Uind , y w fc ords give 
and dependent of man in his happier hours, should And a u ( j n sleeping, dream again, agaiD, 
be his stay when smitten with sudden and dire ca- Dream of the pleasures of that pic-nic-day. 
lamity, winding herself into the rugged recesses Watertown, N. Y., 1858. I. M. B. 
of his nature, tenderly supporting his drooping_ 
head, and binding up his broken heart. Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
- NATURE 
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE - 
— “ Therb is a pleasure in the pathless wood, 
But by-and-by the drawing-room doors are There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 
thrown open, and the ambassadress enters, smiling There is society where none intrude, 
a kind and gracious welcome. Behind her are her * be deep 8ea ’ and rausic in its roar -” 
daughters; by her side, a tall, fashionable, haughty Nature is a book upon whose every page the 
beauty. I could not help thinking how beautiful baud of its Divine Author has traced some varied 
she looked; but the next instant my eyes wandered an d interesting tale, which is calculated to inspire 
from her cold unamiable face to a lady modestly tbe contemplative mind with emotions of profound 
standing on tbe other side of Lady Stratford. At admiration of the beautiful, tbe magnificent, and 
first I thought she was a nun, from her black dress sublime. Tbe study of nature, its hidden secrets 
and close cap. She was not introduced, and yet and mysterious operations, is one of the most de- 
Edmund and I looked at each other at the same lightful which may engage the attention of the 
moment to whisper, “It is Miss Nightingale!”— human mind. The mind contemplates the works 
Yes, it was Florence Nightingale, greatest of all of art with admiration and delight for a time, but 
now in name and honor among women. I assure soon satiated, it turns to linger among the ever va- 
you that I was glad not to be obliged to speak just ried beauties of nature—a never-failing source of 
then, for I felt quite dumb as I looked at her wast- pleasure. 
ed figure and the short brown hair combed over Look abroad over the face of the earth and the 
her forehead like a child’s, cut so when her life was eye will at once discern myriad objects of interest, 
despaired of from fever but a short time ago.— and discover a vast field for curiosity and investi- 
Her dress, as I have said, was black, made high to gation. Walk upon the shore of the blue, rolling 
the throat, its only ornament being a large ena- sea, survey its broad, ever-restless, foaming surface, 
melled broach which looked to me like the colors consider its mighty depth. Listen to its sullen 
of a regiment surrounded with a wreath of laurels, roar, when the storm-king holds his orgies o’er its 
no doubt some grateful offering from our men. wide expanse, as wave follows wave dashing madly 
To bide the close white cap a little, she had tied a against the eternal rocks. Hark to the warring 
white crape handkerchief over the back of it, only elements when the hoarse-toned tempest sweeps in 
allowing the border of lace to be seen; and this its fury over the great deep—when the deep-voiced 
gave the nun like appearance which first struck thunder startles silence from the hills, and the 
me on her entering the room, otherwise Miss fierce lightning flashes along the waste. Mark! 
Nightingale is no way striking in appearance, how hoarsely howls the gale along, madly tossing 
Only her plain black dress, quiet manner and great the waves in stupendous masses, until the fathom- 
renown, told so powerfully altogether in that as- less waters are seething in angry commotion from 
sembly of brilliant dress and uniforms. She is centre to circumference. Then behold the suc- 
very slight, rather above the middle height; her ceedingcalm. When only the gentle breeze swells 
face is long and thin, but this may be from recent the light sail and the tide ebbs and flows in gentle 
illness and great fatigue. She has a very promi- undulations—when its mirror-like surface reflects 
nent nose, slightly Roman; and small dark eyes, the tranquil sky, each floating cloud tinged with 
kind, yet penetrating; but Ler face does not give the golden hues of the setting sun, or when the 
you at all the idea of great talent.— Mrs. Hornby's moonlight silvers the glassy waters and the glance 
Court oj the Sultan. of the stars is thrown back again with redoubled 
FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE 
But by-and-hy the drawing-room doors are 
thrown open, and the ambassadress enters, smiling 
a kind and gracious welcome. Behind her are her 
daughters; by her side, a tall, fashionable, haughty 
lustre—behold it in storm or in calm, and it is alike 
wonderful and grand. The emotions it inspires 
within the human mind are none other than lofty 
and sublime. 
Ramble among that wilderness of trees—amid 
the solemn stillness of the-forest. See the gigan¬ 
tic monuments of centuries tossing their branches 
proudly in air, rearing their heads far upward to the 
sky; observe the gnarled and twisted oak, bending 
beneath the weight of some clinging vine which 
has grown strong in its tenacious grasp of a thou¬ 
sand intricate windings. Look, how branch is in¬ 
terwoven with branch, this standing motley group 
of monarchs who bend in reverence to the voice 
of God which speaks among their leaves. Already 
are you deeply interested in this great Book of 
Nature. There is a mysterious fascination, a kind 
of witching charm about its pages that makes you 
love to linger and con them o’er and o’er. 
Yon may study profoundly, you may investigate 
deeply of men and things, you may keep turning 
those pages until your locks are white with age 
and your eye is dim, and at every turning the pic¬ 
ture will be changed and wear a more interesting 
phase than before, and the more you study it the 
more you become acquainted with its Divine Au¬ 
thor, and are led to acknowledge him as Supreme 
Ruler of the Universe. Adniel. 
Sandstone, Mich., 1858. 
Written for Moore's Rural Kew-York«r. 
STUCK-UP FOLKS. 
Ip there is any character on earth that I despise 
it is one of these “ stuck-up folks,”—persons who 
either on account of wealth, or an inordinate de¬ 
velopment of what Phrenologists term the “bump 
of self esteem,” consider themselves of a little bet¬ 
ter flesh and blood than others, and act accord- 
ingly. We find them in every community, and 
“stuck-up” is just the word to describe them. 
Notice that young gent, dressed in the very ex¬ 
treme of fashion, who, as he twirls his tiny walking 
stick, and puffs a fragrant Havana, would fain lead 
us to believe he is lord of this lower realm — who 
is he? He belongs to the “stuck-up folks.” He 
is a “ measurer of tape,” not worth a red cent, but 
he once had a wealthy father, and he has an idea 
that he is better than “ common folks.” He will 
not work, it is so disgraceful; he cannot learn 
anything because he knows more, in his own esti¬ 
mation, than the whole world beside; indeed, he 
is so extremely “ stuck-up,” that he's not the least 
idea of ever coming down—perhaps he will, how¬ 
ever. There is a young lady who, as she trips 
along, covered with jewels, can scarcely conde¬ 
scend to look at common people. She has never 
earned a cent in her life—her poor old father and 
mother are drudging their lives away to provide 
her with finery—but she will never be anything 
but one of the “stuck-up folks.” How often do 
we see whole families, in some small village, who 
seem to have an innate sense of their superiority, 
and really act as though it was a condescension 
for them to notice others—they are merely “stuck- 
up,” and will probably stay so. There are other 
fools of this class all over the world—some from 
having, at some time, been Justice of the Peace, 
Commissioner of the Highway, or in some other 
distinguished office, obtained their “stuck-up” 
notions. They have not dignity enough for proud 
people, nor ability enough to become distinguished 
people—they are just what they seem to be, “stuck- 
up folks,” and who cares? Amelia. 
Cayuga, N. Y., 1858. 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF LAUGHTER. 
Laughter is not altogether a foolish thing. 
Sometimes there is even wisdom in it. Solomon 
himself admits there is a time to laugh, as well as 
a time to mourn. Man only laughs—man, the 
highest organized being; and hence the definition 
that has been proposed of “ man, a laughing ani¬ 
mal.” Certainly, it defines him as well as a “ cook¬ 
ing animal,” a “tool-making animal,” a “money¬ 
making animal,” a “ political animal,” or such like. 
Laughter very often shows the bright side of a 
man. It brings out his happier nature, and shows 
of what sort of stuff he is really made. Somehow 
we feel as if we never thoroughly know a man un¬ 
til we hear him laugh. We do not feel at home 
with him ’till then. We do not mean a mere snig¬ 
ger, but a good, round, hearty laugh. The solemn, 
sober visage, like a Sunday’s dress, tells nothing of 
the real man. He may be very silly, or very pro¬ 
found; very cross, or very jolly. Let us hear him 
laugh, and we can decipher him at once, and tell 
how his heart beats. We are disposed to suspect 
the man who never laughs. At all events, there is 
a repulsion about him which we cannot get over. 
Lavater says:—“ Shun that man who never laughs, 
who dislikes music or the glad face of a child.”— 
That is what everybody feels, and none more than 
children, who are quick at reading characters; and 
their strong instinct rarely deceives them.— Black¬ 
wood. 
Under a Tree. —Taylor, of the Chicago Journal, 
says:—When a man plants a tree, he gets a great 
deal for nothing, that he never deamed of getting 
at all. Let us take an inventory: 
Beauty of form,...$0 00 
“ motion,_ 0 00 
One pair of birds—say robins,. 0 00 
A morning and an evening song,.0 00 
A breath of breeze,.0 00 
An almanac,... 0 00 
Stated preaching,_0 00 
A daily drink of—oxygen,.0 00 
A luxuriant mat of shadow,.0 00 
Full jeweled pendants in winter time,.0 00 
Tree,.1 00 
A tree is not the passive thing we think it; veg¬ 
etable life is as full of activity as a squirrel; a 
cantelope is as brisk, in its way, as an antelope, 
for it is always doing some graceful, pleasant thing. 
It “ makes a motion ” to the faintest breath that 
pants in the sunshine, and beckons it into its re¬ 
cesses to keep cool, and the next one knows, it is 
poured upon his head from the green buckets like 
a blessing. 
There is nothing worth having that is not diffi¬ 
cult; my life, and I suppose the life of every man 
who has worked with hand or head, has been one 
long contest with difficulties, and none of us would 
he the men we now are if we had allowed difficul¬ 
ties to conquer us. —Sir E. B. Lyttoiu 
ONLY WAITING. 
Ojtly waiting till the shadows 
Are a little loDger grown; 
Only waiting till the glimmer 
Of the day’s last beam is flown; 
Till the night of earth is faded 
From the heart, once full of day; 
Till the stars of heaven are breaking 
Through the twilight soft and grey. 
Only waiting till the reapers 
Have the last sheaf gathered home; 
For the summer-time is faded, 
And the autumn winds have come. 
Quickly, reapers! gather quickly 
The last ripe hours of my heart; 
For the bloom of life is withered, 
And I hasten to depart. 
Only waiting till the angels, 
Open wide the mystic gate;,. 
At whose feet I long have lingered, 
Weary, poor, and desolate; 
Even now I hear the footsteps, 
And their voices far away; 
If they call me, I am waiting, 
Only waiting to obey. 
Only waiting till tho shadows 
Are a little longer grown; 
Only waiting till the glimmer 
Of the day’s last beam is flown; 
Then from out the gathering darkness 
Holy, deathless stars shall rise, 
By whose light my soul shall gladly 
Tread its pathway to the skies. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yo»ker, 
* THEY HAVE FAITH. ” 
“Now I lay me down to sleep, 
I pray the Lord my soul to keep ; 
If I should die before I wake, 
I pray the Lord my soul to take.” 
O, innocent, guileless childhood! How simple, 
yet how gloriously sublime thy trust! How little 
dost thou ask, and yet how great thy blessing! How 
powerless seem thy words unto the world—but oh, 
how mighty with the angels! 
Jesus loved little children, and He took them in 
His arms and blessed them, saying:—“Suffer little 
children to come unto me, for of such is the King¬ 
dom of Heaven,” and with the same God-like gen¬ 
tleness, He still is drawing round about their 
untrammeled hearts the influences of a better world 
than this, and loved and loving, they are ever com¬ 
ing to Him, — coming with fall trust — leaving all 
in His charge. 
“ Now I lay me down to sleep, 
I pray the Lord my soul to keep.” 
Fearing naught, believing in the truth, giving 
unto Him who gave it, the guardianship of the 
immortal spirit, “I pray the Lord my soul to 
keep.” O, for the strength of that trust! For the 
“peace that passeth knowledge” — felt, hut never 
understood, which cometh only from eur Heavenly 
Father. Not for the glories of earth — for wealth, 
for fame, for knowledge, is the prayer; only this, 
on earth—“ I pray the Lord my soul to keep.” But 
if the strange shadow cometh; if the silver cord be 
loosed, or the golden bowl be broken; if in the still 
hour tho White Angel draweth near; 
“ If I should die before I wake, 
I pray the Lord my soul to take.” 
This is alL Aye, this is all! O, Earth and Hea¬ 
ven, how near. And the shining hosts are filled 
with joy; and the golden harps reecho to the glad¬ 
ness; and the little prayer is wafted on — on to the 
Great White Throne, and the God of All heareth— 
He who answereth prayer. It is enough. 
Has tings, N. Y., 1858. Rsselia. 
Be CnEERFUL. —There are not a few who, even 
in this life, seem to be preparing themselves for 
that smileless eternity to which they look forward, 
by banishing all gayety from their hearts and all 
joyousness from their countenances. I meet one 
such in the street not unfrequently, a person of 
intelligence and education, hut who gives me, and 
all that passep, such a rayless and chilling look of 
recognition, something as if he were one of 
Heaven’s assessors, come down to “ doom” every 
acquaintance he met, that I have sometimes begun 
to sneeze on the spot, and gone home with a vio¬ 
lent cold, dating from that instant. I don’t doubt 
he would cut his kitten’s tail off, if he caught her 
playing with it Please tell me who taught her to 
play with ill—Holmes. 
A Christian man’s life is laid in the Loom 
of Time to a pattern which he does not see, but 
God does; and his - heart is a shuttle. On one side 
of the loom is sorrow, and on the other is joy; 
and the shuttle, struck alternately by each, flies 
back and forth, carrying the thread, which is white 
or black, as the pattern needs; and in the end, 
when God shall lift up the finished garment, and 
all its changing huc3 shall glance out, it will then 
appear that the deep and dark colors were as need¬ 
ful to beauty as the bright and high colors .—1L lV r . 
Beecher. 
Sabbaths, like way-marks, cheer the pilgrim’s path, 
His progress mark, and keep his rest in view. 
In life’s bleak winter, they are pleasant days— 
Short foretastes of the long, long spring to come. 
To every new-born soul each hallowed mom 
Seems like the first, when everything was new. 
Time seems an angel come afresh from Heaven: 
His pinions shedding fragrance as he flies, 
And his bright hour-glass running sands of gold. 
He who always receives hut never gives, ac¬ 
quires, as a matter of course, a narrow, contracted, 
selfish character. His soul has no expansion, no 
benevolent impulses, no elevation of aim. He 
learns to feel, and think, and care only for himself. 
— Hawes. 
Love of God.— It is a Saint’s grief that his heart 
is like the frozen ocean—that he can melt no more 
in love to God; hut in heaven the Saints shall 
be like the seraphim, burning in divine love.—I'. 
Watson. 
Prayer with Study.— It is a small thing with 
God to cause us to find that in our souls in one 
moment, without trouble, which we have sought 
for years, externally, with much labor.— Terslegen. 
