Q_>- 
184 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker ] 
THE ORPHAN'S PRAYER. 
Take ine, Father, in my anguish, 
Spare me not to this cold world; 
In ray grief there’s none to pity, 
Naught hut hitter words are burled; 
And I cannot meet the glance* 
.Proudly, idly, on me cart,— 
Take me, Father; from my bosom 
Lot this agony be past 
Take me aa Thou* didst my mother, 
And my Father, brace and kind, 
I)o not see their wretched, darling 
Weeping, sighing, unresigned; 
Take mo a* Thou didst my sister, 
And my brothers, one by one; 
Yet, oh, star me, in mine anguish, 
t must say ‘‘Thy will be done." 
Let mo read that precious promise 
Over, over, once again, 
For it seems to case my spirit 
Of ita dull and aching pain; 
“ I will never, never leave thee. 
Thou shall ne’or forsaken be, 
Only trust and still believe me, 
I will be a Gon to thee." 
’Round the widow- and the orphan 
1 will linger still to bless; 
Yes, I know, tny Heavenly Parent, 
Thou wilt shield the fatherless. 
Now I feel my future brighter, 
I can close my eyes in sleep— 
Gon will guard the wretched mourner, 
Angels will their vigils keep. 
Morning came; and through the window 
Stole the odor-freighted air; 
Motionless upon her pillow 
Lay that mourner young and fair; 
Soft brown tresses rested sweetly 
On a cheek so deathly pale, 
From her forehead lifted lightly 
By the gentle morning gale. 
But it woke not her soft slumber, 
Peaceful in her solitude 
Lay she there, as if unmindful 
Of her cheerless orphanhood. 
Without friends to shield or bless her, 
Without hearts her grief to share, 
Mercy’s voice bade Death enfold her, 
Gon had heard the Orphan’s Prayer. 
So. Danby, N. Y., 1881. M 
Mary A. B. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.) 
“CHILDREN MUST BE AMUSED.” 
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game, or the party, she returns perfectly exhausted. 
She neither reproves herself or laments her unfortu¬ 
nate condition, nor is pitied by her friends. They 
are not the greatest benefactors of their race, who 
establish and patronize gymnasia, clubs, sporting 
grounds, &c. But the man or woman who popular¬ 
izes useful employment, who combines in just pro¬ 
portions the useful and amusing, is really a bene¬ 
factor. The unpopularity of domestic labor and care 
is an alarming feature in onr system of progression. 
We are told that we are exhibiting palpable Indica¬ 
tions of physical degeneracy, from want of sufficient 
and proper amusement. Onr devotion to other inter¬ 
ests besides those of health and physical vigor, may 
be too exclusive. But I am quite certain that our 
apostacy from the life and vigor of physical man¬ 
hood, is tracable to other and more prolific causes. 
The open and plain violation of the more Bimple and 
common laws of health,— the gratifying of improper 
and truant appetites,—the daily use of stimulants 
and narcotics,—the checks placed upon the pure and 
free operations of nature, —are crippling, day by day 
and year by year, the power and efficiency of onr 
physical life more than all other things combined. 
Our children need not be taught that they require 
amusement. But much attention is required to give 
their pastime system and efficiency. It, would be 
better to pay much attention to the laws of health, 
and perhaps less attention to the laws and regularity 
of gymnastic exercises. 
Let the useful and amusing be properly combined. 
We have so little time and so much to do, that no 
moment should be wasted, or improperly employed. 
Buffalo, N. Y., 1861. J. W. Barker. 
[Written for Moores Rural New-Yorker ] 
AFTER A SHOWER. 
BY GKOKGK W. BUNGAY. 
Gray clouds sailed through the air aloft, 
Dimpling the streams with drops aa soft 
As tear* that fall from gentle eyes 
When passion shaken the heart with sighs. 
The brook flowed pulstDg to the sea 
In palpitating ecstasy; 
And my glxd heart in union beat 
With throbbing billows at my feet. 
I hastened through the meadows green, 
Where sighing winds with tears had been 
Coquetting with the girlish flower? 
That blushed in silence in their bowers. 
I snatched a bud and kisst-d its cheek, 
When faucy heard it* red lips speak 
The sweet name of my darling maid. 
Pure as the flower that light* the glade. 
May, 1861. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker ] 
DEFENCE OF HYPOCHONDRIACS. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
A “CHAPTER” FOR “A. R.” 
Of course they must. The imperative wants of 
their nature seem to demand it. If Johnny wants 
the looking-glass in the parlor, arid luothel- cannot 
well spare it, why, the father, whose heart is intent 
upon amusing his little boy, must buy one for him 
the next time he goes up town. Surely the dear 
little fellow will not harm it, and how his eyes will 
sparkle with new delight, If he can only place his 
hands squarely upon its shining face. If HvsiX wants 
the glass goblet, she must not be denied, for how her 
eyes would redden with sadness at the disappoint¬ 
ment. And when the looking-glass lies shivered in 
a hundred pieces upon the iloor, by an accidental 
stroke from Johnny’s hammer, the few moments of 
fast enjoyment is ample pay for all this. SrsiK broke 
the goblet, and her bands are cut and blooding, yet 
she had a beautiful play with the precarious toy, 
Helen must go to the party,—the boys and girls 
are going to have so much real fun. It is true, her 
mother is not very well, and needs her assistance. 
She cannot well spare her. Besides, she must have 
some extra trimming upon her silk dress, her bonnet 
must have an extra ribbon, and her gloves need 
mending in several places, and whose hand, so well 
as mother’s, can fix all this? So the kind mother 
sits by the waning fire, after her daughter has gone 
away into the dreumlaud, fixing her wardrobe, for 
Helen must have amusement. The morning after 
the party, the ungrateful girl is cross and petulant, 
and at a late hour comes down to breakfast, scolding 
that she could not have her morning nap out. But 
Helen mnst have amusement The modern race of 
boys and girls need a great deal of amusement. 
Dress, toys and playthings are at a premium. 
Charlie must have a pair of three dollar skates. 
Common ones, which cost only one dollar, strapB 
and all, will not answer the purpose. His father can 
hardly afford so much money from his weekly in¬ 
come. He is owing quite a sum at the shoemaker's 
for Charlie's boots and Helen's shoes, but as the 
skates will furnish much move amusement than boots 
or shoes, they must be purchased. Bo Charlie's 
heart is made to leap for joy, in possession of a line 
pair of three dollar skates. What shall he do with 
them? It would be a great pity to wear their fine 
edges upon the uneven ice and intruding stones in 
the common skating ground. Three dollars more 
will purchase a season ticket to the new skating 
pond. Only three dollars more. Why, Charlie had 
cried nearly a whole half day for a ticket. The poor 
little fellow had swollen eyes and a sad heart. He 
was pining for the skating pond,—he must have 
amusement. The three dollars were forthcoming. 
The kind mother took the money from her occasional 
savings. Next day Charlie was happy. True, he 
put out his lip, and the tears started in his bright 
blue eyes when told to fill the box with wood next 
morning, for lie had an early engagement with some 
playmates. So his mot her brought the wood herself, 
and sent Charlie off to meet his agreement, and it 
is very important that children have a great deal of 
exercise and amusement in the open air. It. is true, 
that useful labor gives healthful exercise, but then 
there is no amusement aboui It. There is nothing 
exbilerating In it, hence it should be very sparingly 
recommended to children. 
This is really an age of amusement. Clubs, games, 
and sports, arc engaging very general attention. It 
may be that the American people are a very stolid 
race. Perhaps they* have indulged in sober calcula¬ 
tion and reflection too excessively. We are a people 
of extremes. Radicalism and conservatism appear 
in striking contrast. We have a great mission in¬ 
trusted to our hands,— the mission of human pro¬ 
gress and development. To this noble work should 
the energy and genius of government, the toil and 
activity of philanthropy, and the prayers and sacri¬ 
fices of Christians be directed. 
Children mnst have amusement,—indeed every 
stage of life demands pleasure and pastime. But the 
great error, into which wo are in danger of running 
is, amusement is made the end rather than the means 
of living. Children are not taught the useful so 
much as the amusing. 
If the young miss should become really weary and 
tired, as the result of some useful and necessary 
labor, it would be a very serious affair. She would* 
win for her the sympathy and commiseration of 
nearly every modern lady. But if from the dance, the 
A “ Chapter for the Men ” appeared in a late 
number of the Rural. I read and re-read it, won¬ 
dering the while if “A. It.” was a married woman. 
I thought if she was, how her husband was to be 
pitied, for I veribly believe she is a little inclined to 
the “sulks’’ herself, and makes an escape valve of her 
pen. She says, “ in more than half of the families 
where there is discord and strife, men are most to 
blame.” 
Now, “A. R.,” allow mo to differ. If your hus¬ 
band is usually cross, I think you are the sole cause. 
Have you forgotten how long and how patiently he 
put up with your wayward and peevish conduct in 
the first years of your wedded life,— how hard he 
tried to soothe and comfort you? Do you not re¬ 
member how you gave him an angry retort the first 
time he spoke unpleasantly (and when you provoked 
him, too?) Did you think you had done wrong? Of 
course not. You were justifiable in your own eyes, 
and when lie came home that noon, instead of meet¬ 
ing him with a glad welcome and a countenance 
diffused with smiles (as was once your way,) you met 
him with a frown and wounded him by cruel words. 
Were you wise? Not only once did you thus, but 
always, when anything went crosswise — yon fretted 
till yon provoked him beyond the power of endur¬ 
ance, and now you throw the blame all on his 
“ shoulders.” 
I)o you comb your hair now before sitting down to 
breakfast? Do you dresB as neatly and tastefully as 
in your courted days? Certainly not, you are 
married, and your husband need not expect it. I 
should like to know why. 
You call men “ rulers of the household.” Pray 
tell me who else in this world of ours should be. I 
would not give a penny for a husband who was not 
“ ruler” of his* home. It is bis right, and he ought 
not to yield this right to another. 
Again, yon say “the men are anything but per¬ 
fect.” Do you know of a;iy perfect women? “A. 
It.,” or any body else, when your “ cross man” comes 
home to-morrow night, let him find home made beau¬ 
tiful by order,— a neatly arranged supper-table,—a 
nice floor, chairs set back, your work folded 
smoothly in the work-basket, and a tidy little wife. 
If you have nothing better than a pretty, well worn 
calico, mend the rents, replace the hooks and eyes, 
smooth your hair and your forehead, dress your face 
with smiles and your heart with love, present your¬ 
self thus clad as he enters, and if a pair of strong 
arms do not encircle you. and a pleasant voice greet 
you, I shall be wonderfully “mistaken.” 
Unless you are a model wife, and meet all the 
emergencies of wifehood cheerfully, patiently, pleas¬ 
antly, and faithfully, how can you expect to have a 
model husband? e. c. w. 
Gonoa, N. Y., 1861. 
ing some unpleasant intelligence, or by the occur¬ 
rence of some disagreeable event.” 
These alternations of day and night, of sunshine 
and darkness, must of necessity affect the feelings in 
regard to all matters, temporal aud spiritual; for, as 
in a dark night every object appears black, so when 
the mind is overcast with gLoomy clonda, every view 
must partake ol the same aspect. To*many persons 
this description will be unintelligible; but by others, 
it will be recognized at once as a just view of their 
own case. 
GIRLS' NEGLECT OF HEALTH. 
Little does the child of indulgent parents know 
what illness is to the poor and destitute, or what it 
may be to her when her mother’s hand is cold and 
helpless in the tomb, and when her own head is no 
longer sheltered by a father’s roof. Thus wo lind 
young girls so often practicing a certain kind of 
recklessness and contempt of health, nay, even en¬ 
couraging a degree of delicacy, feebleness, and lia¬ 
bility to bodily ailments, which, if they were not i 
accustomed, to the kindest attentions, would be the 
last calamity they would wish to bring upon them¬ 
selves. How important is it for such individuals to 
remember that the constitution of the body, as well 
as that of the mind, is, in a good degree, of their 
own forming. Fanciful and ill-disciplined young 
women are apt to think it gives them an attractive 
air, and looks like an absence of selfishness, to be 
indifferent about the preservation of their health: 
and thus they indulge iu the most absurd cupricious- 
ness with respect to their diet, sometimes refusing 
altogether to eat at proper times, and eating most 
improperly at others; running about upon wet grass 
with thin shoes, as if they really wished to take cold; 
refusing to take medicine when necessary, or taking 
it nnsftuctioned by their parents or their best advisers. 
How soon does the stern discipline of life inflict its 
own punishment for this folly; but, unfortunately, 
not soon enough to stop the host of maladies which 
are thus produced. 
But when religion^ melancholy becomes a fixed 
disease, it may be reckoned among the heaviest 
calamities to which our suflering nature is subject. 
It feeds upon distress and despair, and is displeased 
even with the suggestion or offer of relief. The 
mind thus affected seizes on those ideas and truths 
which are most awful, and melancholy incapacitates 
them for thought or action, — it confounds and dis¬ 
turbs all their thoughts, and (ills them with vexation 
and anguish. I verily believe that when this malign 
liumor is deeply f xed, and has spread its deleterious 
influence over every port, it is as vain to attempt to 
resist it by renaming aud rational motives, as to 
oppose a fever, or the gout, or the pleurisy. 
Treat those win are under this disease with tender 
compassion. Remember also, that you are liable to 
the same affliction: for. however brisk your spirits, 
and lively your feelings now. you may meet with such 
reverses, with srich long and sharp afflictions, as will 
sink your spirits. Many, not naturally inclined to 
melancholy, have, by overwhelming and repeated 
calamities, been sunk into this dark gulf. Never use 
harsh language to your friends when under the dis¬ 
ease of melancholy. This will only serve to fret and 
perplex them ;he more, but will never benefit them. 
I know that the counsel of somu is, to rebuke and 
chide them on all occasions; but I dare confidently 
that such advisers never felt the disease them¬ 
Orr-nOOR Life.— Just as that poetry is the freshest 
which the out-door life lias the most nourished, so 1 
believe that there is no surer sign of the rich vitality 
which finds its raciest joys in sources the most inno¬ 
cent, than the childlike taste for that same out-door 
life. Whether you take from fortune the palace or 
the cottage, add to your chambers a hall in the 
courts of Nature. Let the earth but give room to 
stand on: well, look up. Is it nothing to have for 
your roof-tree—Heaven? 
selves; for, i they had, they would know that thus 
they do but pour oil into the flamq^, and chafe aud 
exasperate their wounds, instead of healing them. 
On this point, there is often a great mistake. 
When they speak of their frightful and distressing 
apprehensions, it is common for friends to reply, 
“that this is all imaginary—nothing but fancy,” “an 
nnfounded whim.” Now, the disease is a real one, 
and their misery is as real as any experienced by 
man. It it true, their imagination is disordered, but 
this is merely the effect of a deeper disease. These 
afflicted persons uever can believe that you hate any 
real sympathy with their misery, or feel any compas¬ 
sion for them, unless you believe what they say. 
Chatham N. Y., 1861. D. L. B. 
Some women are born to scheme and some to love, 
and I wish any respected bachelor that reads this 
may take the son that best suits him. 
Women nurse and cuddle their presentiments, and 
make darliugs of their ugliest thoughts as they do of 
their deformed children. 
He is wealthy enough that wanteth not. He is 
great enough that is his own master. He is happy 
enough that lives to die well. Other things I will 
not care for, says Judge Hale, nor too ranch for 
these, save only for the last, which alone can admit 
of no immoderation. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker.] 
A WORD OF ADVICE. 
Do give human nature all the credit due to it. 
Don't expect little children to be as wise as Paul,— 
sober before they get off their pinafores. If you 
coax them with sugar to do what you tell them, don't 
be surprised if they are saucy and impudent. Don't 
wonder if your daughter marries the first man w r ho 
asks her to have him, when you are all the time tell¬ 
ing her how dreadful it is to be an old maid. Don't 
expect your minister to preach any but 3willy ser¬ 
mons when you only give him two hundred dollars 
and a donation. Don't have the least idea people 
will pay as much attention to you, dressed in home- 
spun, as they will to your rich neighbor clad in 
broadcloth. Don’t think that if you write a book 
your particular friends who never ivrite, will call it 
smart. Don’t expect your hired help to be good 
when ypu treat them like brutes. Don't expect every 
body to love your baby just as well as you do. Don’t 
think a choir of singers will get along without quar¬ 
relling. Do take things as they are, and don't be 
forever harping on the frailties of human kind, 
April. 1861. X. 
[Written for Moore's Rural New-Yopker.] 
THE SOUL’S TO-MORROW. 
BY MARGARET ELLIOTT 
UNWILLING WALKING. 
Duty, I think, compels me to say a few words in 
reply to the article in your paper of May 18th, in 
defense of that suffering class of the community 
termed Hypochondriacs. Pardon me when I say I 
think the author of “ Hypochondriacs ” has little 
experience or physical knowledge of the subject 
upon which he speaks. He has, evidently, mani¬ 
fested a want of sympathy, and treated it with too 
much harshness and severity, and which goes to 
prove the force of the old adage, 
"He jest at scars, who never felt a wound.” 
Wc all admit the advantages of a happy and cheer¬ 
ful disposition, morally and physically, over a gloomy 
and depressed one, and all should endeavor, as far as 
possible, to cherish and cultivate such a state of 
mind. 1 think it a duty and u virtue, but believe that 
there are many who admit the truth of tills proposi¬ 
tion, who are, nevertheless, the unwilling subjects of 
this unhappy mental depression of which we speak. 
I would cheerfully and cordially recommend to such 
an able and excellent Tract by the late Dr. A. Alex¬ 
ander, of Princeton, “on Religious Depression,” 
or his work “on Religious Experience,” both pub¬ 
lished by the Presbyterian Board of Publication, 
Philadelphia. You will there find such food and 
sympathy as sensitive spirits crave. 
Permit me briefly to quote from the last mentioned 
work;—* 1 As most people are Inclined to conceal 
their spiritual distresses, lew have any conception of 
the number of persons who are habitually suffering 
under the frightful malady of melancholy. With 
some the disease is not permanent, but occasional. 
They have only periodical paroxysms of deep reli¬ 
gions depression, and they may bo said to have their 
compensation for the dark and cloudy day, by being 
favored with one of peculiar brightness in quick suc¬ 
cession. If their gloom was uninterrupted, it would 
be overwhelming; but after a dark night, rises a 
lovely morning without the shadow of a cloud. This 
rapid and great alternation of feeling is found in 
those who possess what may be called a mercurial 
temperament. It is connected with a nervous sys¬ 
tem peculiarly excitable, and exceedingly liable to 
loinjiuiary durangeiuqnA A rough east wind is suffi¬ 
cient to blow up clou.l\ which completely obscure 
the cheerful sunshine ."(lie soul, while the whole¬ 
some zephyrs as quickly drive all these gloomy 
clouds away. 
Such persons always have a stomach easily disor¬ 
dered, and one ounce of improper food, or one too 
much of wholesome food, is cause sufficient to 
derange the nerves and depress the spirits! The 
want of refreshing sleep, or watchfulness, is another 
cause of the same effects; and in its turn, is an effect 
from disordered nerves. But physical causes are not 
the only ones which produce this painful state of 
feeling. It is often produced in a moment, by bear- 
*__ ^ i ~ ^ ^_a, ^.. i M au-. _ 
We are delighted to find that our instinct, on this 
point, is at last authoritatively confirmed. We have 
so often hated to walk when told wc ought to! In an 
article on physical culture, in the “Journal of Ho¬ 
moeopathy,” Dr. Taylor says:—“ It is generally better 
not to exercise at all, than to drag one’s self into it 
with every feeling repugnaht to the effort. Our 
instincts should not be disregarded in this respect. 
The muscles need to lie animated us well as the brain. 
Our muscles, in their exercise, need the contact of 
animate objects, 3s well as the mind. How quick 
the muscles of a sick man tire when lie is cent out to 
walk alone! But if he have companionship, aud be 
engaged in interesting conversation, he can often 
walk thrice the distance which he otherwise could. 
When nervous exhaustion and muscular weakness 
have been induced by care of business on the one 
hand, aud neglect of muscular activity on the other, 
through a term of years, fatigue should never be 
allowed; and as an unwavering rule, those exercises 
should be chosen which bring the muscles into slow, 
uniform action with little exertion of the will. All 
violent efforts, and the attempt to perform feats of 
agility, should be avoided, as unnecessarily causing 
a large expenditure of nervous force, without ade¬ 
quate muscular action to compensate for it. Indeed, 
this mental impulse is often quite sufficient, without 
any muscular contraction, to produce actual change 
of nutrition in the muscles themselves. Bedridden 
and paralyzed persons are constantly recovering in 
consequence of newly excited hopes effecting health¬ 
ful changes in their tissues; so that genial, animated 
conversation, without muscular action, or a pleasant, 
moonlight walk, with comparatively little of it, may 
bo as proper exercise, even for the muscles, a< the 
belaboring of dumb-bells.*’ 
OLD FOLKS. 
Bless the old people, say we! What should we 
do without them! Does not a man feel better and 
stronger in the battle of life for having a grey-headed 
old father aud mother under the shelter of some 
brown-caved farm house far aw'ay? Docs, the mil¬ 
lionaire’s heart leap half so high, at the slgtht of the 
pines and oranges that daily decorate his table, as be 
does when the barrel of red-streaked apples comes 
from the country home — apples from the old side- 
hill orchard, carefully picked out by a spectacled 
mother, and directed, in a shaking hand, by the 
kindly old man! Ah! those apples have a flavor of 
home and childhood! What an event it is to the dwel¬ 
lers in brown stone mansions and murble fronted 
palaces, to have the old folks come up from the 
country on a visit, with their old-fashioned ways and 
antiquated snuff-colored garments, and horror of ull 
new inventions and dangerous novelties! We can 
but smile when they blow out the gas, and sit as far 
as possible from the furnace registers for fear they 
should burst, and start every time the speaking tubes 
are used, and regard the water pipes as fearful and 
wonderful things. Such things make them feel that 
their day and generation arc over, evermore than the 
white-headed little grand children, and the silver 
threads in the locks of the son or daughter, who was 
their “baby” once. Yet there is something beauti¬ 
ful in their simplicity— their utter ignorance of the 
marvels of city Hie. The dear old folks! as long as 
they arc alive, there is always an untiring ear for our 
tales of joy or trial, a ready excuse for our foibles — 
there is always some one to whom we are still “the 
children.’* It i* only when the accustomed fire-side 
chair is empty, and the violets growing over the gen¬ 
tle eyes, that we feel the bitterest pang of heart-sick¬ 
ness that earth has to give. When the old folks are 
gone we are alone, though a thousand friends sit 
round our hearthstones. 
THE STRENGTH OF HELPLESSNESS. 
The heart that never softens even to a woman, may 
have a little cleft in its rocky grain large enough for 
a child to cling in, and make one think of a delicate 
flower on the breast < f a rugged cliff. How like a 
casket lor a jewel does a little eollin look to us; we 
have no recollections of past helplessness and linger¬ 
ing pain to alloy thought, as in the case of adults. 
There is something humiliating in their trustful 
weakness, hut with children it forms one of the 
sweetest charms. 
The heart grows warm and large as we look at 
them, and the stout bachelor that walks “the long 
path" alone, is more indebted to the neighbors’ 
children for keeping his humanity from rusting 
than he will be willing to confess. When children 
die. they only attain maturity in a readier way than 
by the tedious route of this moral living. 
Even the inferior animals recognize the helpless¬ 
ness of childhood, with an instinct finer than our 
own. In a little book lying upon the lower shelf at 
memory’s eastern edge, there is a story that every* 
body knows. It is of an elephant in Delhi, or some 
other of those glorious old plaees we used to dream 
about, that got in a great rage one day, and rushed 
frenzied through the market-place. Booths, men, 
walls, nothing could stop him, when all at once he 
came upon a child that had crept exactly in his way: 
the huge fellow stopped, and as gently as a mother 
could do, lifted the child aside and placed it out of 
danger. He saved the child, but he would have 
orphaned it with a blow.— B. F. Taylor. 
It is an evil thing needlessly to cause a human 
beiug pain, bnt it is a fearful thing to inflict it on a 
creature that cannot speak, for it must be that there 
is always somewhere a tongue to tell, a mysterious 
witness to bear testimony. 
[Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker.] 
“REJOICE EVERMORE.” 
“Rejoice evermore!” Strange, exclaims the 
worldling, or the neither-onefhiug-nor-the-other pro¬ 
fessor of religion, that God should make such a 
requisition of men. Tears are the birthright of man; 
and how, while the heart is oppressed by the cares of 
Life, or pained by some bitter disappointment, or 
cnulled by the weight of some great sorrow, the 
heart can still have n joy that will enable one to look 
up smiling, even while the hot tears arc falling, is a 
paradox to the world which human philosophy can 
never explain. But the Bible is not more explicit 
upon any question of Christian duty than upon this. 
To “ rejoice evermore,” requires a faith in the wis¬ 
dom and kindness of the mysterious dispensations of 
Divine Providence, which will lead to a trust that 
cannot be shaken by the severest blasts of adversity. 
Only Chistians who have in their souls a vigorous 
development of the Christian graces, understand the 
secret of lovo and faith by which we arc enabled to 
“rejoice evermore!” Such Christians are rn actual 
possession, by revelation from Heaven, of a true 
alchemical art, by which they find a remedy for the 
most distressing ills of life, aud transmute those 
things which appear to the world real misfortunes, or 
grievous sorrows, into means of grace and blessing. 
“Blind unbelief is sure to err;” but faith says, 
“Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh 
in tiii morning.” As an affectionate child relies 
upon the kindness and wisdom of the correction of 
an earthly parent, so Christians rely upon tho kind¬ 
ness and wisdom of the chastisements of the Heavenly 
Father. His tnampnatu laiui enables him to see the 
“silver lining ” to the cloud which throws the darkest 
shadow, and he believes that the path which his 
weary feet may press, be it rough or smooth, is the 
lleaven-appoiuted way, and, therefore, the safest and 
most direct to the Land of Rest lying beyond the 
Dark Valley, where God himself shall wipe all tears 
from all faces. 
God rules. The assurance of this makes the 
Christian able to “rejoice evermore,” Laving the 
express declaration of the Disposer of all events 
upon which to rely, “All things shall work together 
for good to them who love Gon.” 
“ God's children all afflictions know, 
The lot of suflering He has blest; 
0 , sweet, when grief's cold tempests blow, 
To lean lor succor on His breast! 
And blest the thought, ’inid trials drear, 
That they am all iu kindness given, 
That we may gain, through suffering here, 
A happier, sweeter, rest in Heaven.” 
This is language which the Christian alone is able 
•to use. Who, then, would not desire to possess the 
invaluable religion which offers to weeping humanity 
a universal catholicon for all the ills and sorrows of 
earthly life. . A. T. E. Clarke. 
Wadhams’ Mills, N. Y., 1861- 
TEACH IT TO YOUR CHILDREN. 
Do not fail to inculcate the faith|which you accept 
in your own home. If you really desire your children 
to become rational, intelligent aud happy believers, 
or if you would prepare them for the duties and 
responsibilities of life, then carefully instruct them 
in the principles, while you enjoin the precepts of 
the religion of Christ. You cannot safely let them 
alone. You must fill the barrel with wheat, and let 
the enemy find no room for tares. The minds of the 
young cannot remain unoccupied aud empty. Ne¬ 
glect to teach truth, pure, inspiring, life-giving truth, 
others will teach what you must regard as pernicious 
error. Be cautious. The infidel will whisper hi3 
doubts concerning the providence uud even the exis¬ 
tence of God. The man who denies the miracles of 
the New Testament, and rejects the authority of 
Christ, will implant bis opinions in their young and 
unsuspecting hearts, and ere long, going a little 
beyond their teachers, it may be they will plunge 
into open and utter unbelief. 
Some individual who accounts death a final and 
perpetual sleep, will, by and by, persuade them that 
they are in no way exalted above the brutes, and that 
when they lie down in death, soul and body will 
inherit the same grave. To all these influences and 
dangers, as well as the temptations to vice and crime, 
our children are constantly exposed, and it is our 
bonnden duty to be regular aud constant in our 
efforts to nurture them in the doctrines and spirit of 
that Gospel which God has given for the guidance 
aud redemption of man. 
Forty years once seemed a long and weary pil¬ 
grimage to tread. It uow seems but a step. And 
yet along the way are broken shrines where a thou¬ 
sand hopes have wasted into ashes; foot-prints sacred 
under their drifting dust; green mounds whose grass 
is fresh with the watering of tears; shadows even, 
which we would not forget. We will gamer the sun¬ 
shines of those years, and with chastened step and 
heavenward hopes, push on toward the evening 
whose signal lights will soon be seen swinging 
where the waters are still, and the storms never beat. 
T. YV. Brown. 
'ij 
With a heart made strong by sorrow, 
Sing I of the soul’s to-morrow, 
And some strains I fain would borrow from the harps of saints 
at rest, 
Who, in robes of glory shining, 
Praise to God their hearts inclining, 
Passing from the Fire Refining, reached the mansion of the 
blest. 
For my tongue can tell but faintly 
Of the glorified—the saintly— 
And the bonds of earth too straitly hold my struggling spirit 
down; 
So I pray for new baptism. 
So I ask angelic chrism. 
Lifting me from earth’s abysm, till I see not cross, but crown. 
And I long with bitter yearning, 
All my soul with ardor burning, 
For the day when, swift returning, with His angels, dread 
and bright, 
All the hosts of Heaven attending, 
Christ, with all his own ascending, 
Founds His kingdom, never ending, in the Land of Life and 
Light., 
Gainesville. N. Y., 1861. 
From the lips of those in glory. 
Hear I still the wondrous story 
How the Lord of Life and Glory lcfthU throne above the sky. 
With this song all Heaven is ringing— 
This, the " new song,” they are singing, 
To my raptured ear still bringing foretastes of the joy on 
high. 
