m 
wi 
[The following lullaby is sufficiently tender and musical 
to make every woman who reads it wish for a baby to sing 
it to:] 
Come to my arms, yon bewildering elf! 
Let me gather you, body and soul, to myself; 
Bury your scintillanl eyes and hair, 
And all the beauty and grace you wear 
From twinkling feet to golden crown, 
Clasping you closely to my bosom and heart, 
A thing of my holiest being a part; 
Crooning a song in olden rhyme, 
Tender and sweet as a vesper chime. 
Sleep, baby boy, 
The little birds rest, 
Downy and soft, 
In the mother bird's nest; 
The lambkins are safe 
In the shepherd’s warm fold ; 
The dew drops asleep 
In the buttercup’s gold. 
The violet nods 
To the daisy’s dream ; 
The lily lies bushed 
On the lap of the stream ; 
And holy and calm, 
Like motherly eyes, 
The stars look down 
From the silent skies. 
bleep, baby boy, 
My birdling, my flower, 
My lily, my lambkin, 
My dew-drop, my dower? 
While heart against heart, 
Beats softly in time, 
To the mumuring flow 
Of my tender old rhyme. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
IF I WAS RICH. 
I WAS thinking—not of what I mighfodo now, 
but of what I would, do were I only rich. An 
old song was at the bottom of it all. Up from 
the past it had Come, with a band of merry sing¬ 
ers, and gaily from my lips fell the words— 
“ O, that I might once be rich, 
Not for feasting Of for quaffing, 
But that all who come with tears, 
1 might see go from me laughing.” 
• Then came the merry “ha, ha,” of the deep, 
rich basso, and the musical tenor, until in fancy 
I heard “ the old hall ring to the roof/’ as of 
yore. Again J sang— 
“ Want and wo should be no more, 
Hunger, thirst, nor waste, nor folly, 
All should pay their honest debts, 
All be innocent and jolly ; 
All should have a bed of flowers, 
Fresh and bright, and sweetly scented, 
Every face should wear a smile, 
Every heart should rest contented.” 
O, yes, J said, with a half-drawn sigh—the sor¬ 
rowful-looking little girl who passes here so 
often, should no longer go so thinly dad. hut 
what a nice warm suit 1 would give her, ami how 
glad I would make her mother’s heart tiy the 
many little comforts I would send to her cheerless 
home; and after having relieved the few really 
destitute ones around me, bringing thereby (he 
smile of contentment to their faces, how I would 
send of my means to the “ Home for the Friend¬ 
less,” and the toiling missionaries “out on the 
prairie." Then the soldier in camp or hospital 
should not be forgotten, or the soldier's wife and 
children. So far as was in my power, all should 
become recipients of my bounty. 
Across the meadows, gleaming through the 
gold and crimson foliage of autumn, rose the 
mansion-like farm-house of Mr. Gott — “Old 
GOrr,” “Stingy Gott." and various like names 
lie was called. He was our rich neighbor. By 
bond and mortgage did ho hold at his mercy 
many of his less fortunate or less scheming 
neighbors' homos. Broad acres were his, and 
barns and store-houses were full. Butter, in 
scores of packages, stood waiting for the highest 
“market price,” for he could afford to risk its 
advance. Fruits and vegetables crowded every 
spare nook, and he might relieve largely if he 
labor, on long evenings, 1 could accompany some 
of those dear old songs I used to sing in my 
early home ere changes came, Then, loo. I 
could see something of the world—travel, and 
visit many places, both at home and abroad, that 
I had so much longed to. I could keep plenty of 
“help,” and care would not prevent. Do not 
suppose my wardrobe was forgotten. By no 
means; that should he duly replenished. I 
would drees more as certain ladies ef my 
acquaintance, and 1 was more than ever con¬ 
vinced that J was obliged to dress very plain. I 
really began to think, if I was as 1 wished— 
rich—charity would begin at home, and I should 
not have so very much to give to poor people 
after all. 
Musing thus, upon imaginary riches and imagi¬ 
nary wants, I must have dreamed; at any rate, 
the hour brought instruction it. were well to heed. 
In the beautiful autumn twilight, there came to 
me one who seemed to have had much intimacy 
with the world and its hollow hopes and wishes. 
The loving eves, and sweet, pensiw face. I must 
have seen in childhood and, that voice, it said 
so sweetly, “ Bell, know you the early history 
of your wealthy neighbor? If not. i will teil 
you; lie once was poor —once had such dreams 
as you are now indulging, and his wife, from an 
unpretending home, has gained theoue now here. 
She was kind-hearted—ever ready to sympathize 
with, oi' help, so far as in her power, those in 
want or affliction. But as life was prosperous 
with them, and riches increased, the desire to 
imparl to those in less favored circumstances 
diminished, and the idea that all might do thus, 
and be thus prospered, tilled their minds. Their 
hearts became cold and unsympatlmiug—and 
now the one desire to accumulate more and more 
outweighs every other. Do not envy them, or 
desire their wealth to do good with. Flatter not 
yourself you would do better than they, tor the 
heart is deceitful above all things, and Gon 
knows what is host for you. You have no want, 
such as thousands to-night feel in cheerless, deso¬ 
late homes. What cold, and hunger, and sor¬ 
row? How many moum for those they loved, 
and looked to for support, who will never return 
from the distant battle-ground? What is wealth 
to them? In the love and quiet which surrounds 
you in your home, you know not the terrible 
anguish of their hearts. Gon graut you never 
may. Trust ever in Him, and do all you can 
now with what he has entrusted you, remember¬ 
ing the ‘cup iif cold water’ shall not lose its 
reward. 0, how much above all (lie amassed 
treasures of earth will you one day esteem it to 
have recorded of you simply this—‘she hath 
done what she could.'" 
The sweet voice of little May calling “mama,” 
aroused me. The lamp was already lighted, and 
husband, although weary w ith the day’s labor, 
reading the Rural beside it. How bright and 
cheerful the sitting-room looked. I forgot about 
riches, and began to think I was well enough off 
after all. I would make a warm dress for the 
little pule girl, front an old one 1 could well do 
without, olid, on (he morrow I could find some¬ 
thing, I was sure, to take to the sad woman and 
her little ones on the hill; at least I could give 
them my sympathy and kind wards, if nothing 
more. These are oft-times invaluable. After 
we can fully comprehend in what the “ ,/nr/ 
gain” of life consists, we can more perfectly ful¬ 
fil] its mission. Bell Clinton. 
Chenango Co., N. Y., 1862. 
& 
zju 
§J 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
SNOW-FLAKES. 
Mm 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
CONTENTMENT. 
r a, 
<2 J:X 
1ST JEJfST A- STOAT. 
SN0W-FI.AITE8, snow flakes, 
Floating gently down. 
Circling the frozen I,row of earth 
With a feathery erown. 
Do ye know what gentle thoughts 
In my heart me stirred ’> 
Each new wreath a rnouiory,— 
Every flake a word. 
Snow-gems, snow-gems, 
O, how bright ye gleam. 
Radiant a» the stars of Heaven 
Shining in a dream. 
1c have summoned lmek to me 
Joys I dreamed were lost. 
Sands of gold that years agone 
To the wind.-, I tossed 
Snow-flakes, snow-flakes, 
Bright and blessed tilings, 
Come and nestie on my heart 
With your downy wings. 
Ye have made it pare again 
With dreaming o'er the past, 
For oil ! my cheek would blush to own 
Such memories could not last. 
Snow-flakes, snow-flakes, 
Fall upon mv brow, 
But all! the burning tide beneath 
Dissolves your beauty now. 
And will they too, ttius quickly flee, 
These snow-flake thoughts of mine ? 
Those links that hind the golden past, 
Heart, do not thus resign 
Snow flakes, snow flakes, 
Whisper m> of Ileaven, 
I will hush my heart to catch 
Words so gently given. 
Fin a very child to-night. 
Weary years have flown, 
And I kneel, a worshiper, 
Once more at Nature’s Throne. 
Show-flakes, snow-flakes, 
Your angel task is done. 
Contentment is a word often used, but its 
proper meaning is not always understood by 
those who say most about it. Many a man 
preaches contentment to his wife when she 
urges him to provide the comforts and conven¬ 
iences which he could well afford, but is either 
too miserly or too indolent to provide. Perhaps 
he meets her urgent request for a new house 
with the remark that she ought not to be so 
discontented with what she has already; for their 
house now is not as uncomfortable as the old log 
one which he remembers his mother lived in 
when she first came to the country. 
Often an untidy woman, who is so wedded to 
sloth that it is only by a great effort that she per- 
fomis the unavoidable labors of her house, ex¬ 
cuses her own shortcomings by saving to herself 
that she is contented without being so “starched 
up' as her next neighbor, who takes so much 
pains with herself and her work. Matter-of-fact 
parents sometimes stifle the eager cry of their 
Children for better opportunities of education, by 
telling them that they must be contented with 
their station, and that their parents had nothing 
Compared with their opportunities when they 
were young. Even the satisfaction of sympathy 
with their desires is denied them, not from pre¬ 
meditated tinkinduoss, but from lack of apprecia¬ 
tion, and they are silenced, but seldom convinced, 
with the flimsy argnmentof contentment. Proper 
contentment is being satisfied with whatever be¬ 
longs to your station. It would lie both foolish 
and wrong for n woman to urge her husband to 
build a new house when he was so involved that 
by so doing he would risk the loss of his properly, 
but perfectly right for one whose means would 
warrant the expense. 
No one ought to be contented with bad habits. 
We should lie content with gifts we have, and 
not enviously sigh for those beyond our reach; 
bet it is both right and proper to strive to better 
our condition in all lawful ways. The only eon- 
f 
8, 
Written for Moore's Rural Now-Yorker. 
THE EVENING SERVICE. 
nv k. j . risen . 
The sun had drawn near to his setting, 
One beautiful Sabbath in June. 
When I sat at my window and listened 
SpeU-bound to a glorious tone. 
’Twas the peal of « wonderful organ, 
Touched by a performer unseen, 
And the full -relumed music arose like 
The prelude- to some mighty strain. 
Then the whole voice of Nature responded 
In chorus that floated along; 
The high air, the low earth, the deep ocean, 
All joined in harmonious song, 
I thought thnt I well could interpret 
The meaning of this festive lay; 
’Tw.os a tribute of pmlse and thanksgiving 
To Him who perfected the day. 
Then I knew 'twas the evening service, 
And our priest was the bird on a tree; 
For a glory from Heaven was on him, 
No priest ununointed was he. 
So I waited in reverent silence 
Til] the going down of the sun, 
For-the prayer, and the hymn, and the blessing, 
, That come when the sermon is done. 
But one long, continuous warble 
Was sermon, aud anthem, and prayer; 
And I Knew not that service was over 
’Till the priest was away in the air. 
Avuea, N. Y., 1802. 
FROM A THANKSGIVING SERMON. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
MAN-WORSHIP, 
tontment that should satisfy a reasonable being fc 
a rational progress, according to our abilities in 
worldly affairs, as well as in the improvement of 
our minds. C- 
Geneva, Win., 1862. 
THOSE “NOISY CHILDREN.” 
M ell, how do yon like your stupid, quiet block¬ 
heads, that never make a noise only when some 
one pushes them out of the way? “ I cannot bear 
the noise of children.” Then go and shut your- 
would. 0, that mine were a bettor fortutn 
Had I but half his wealth, (1 had no desire for 
his titles,) I would do much for the sorrowful, flu 
suffering, the lonely and tearful. I would not 
hold my purse-strings so tightly, when demands 
were made tor small sums of money, either at 
home or abroad. The sad woman in that low 
house on the hillside yonder* whose husband hat 
left her and Ills little ones to valiantly do service 
for his country, and from whom she had not 
heard for long months, should not feel the pres¬ 
sure of one want during the long, cold winter of 
loneliuess and suspense which was before her. 
The old man who saws wood for a livelihood 
should always have butter at one shilling per 
pound, wi re it evor so high—or, bettor still, were 
1 rich 06 Mr. G., I would give it him. 
The shadows of night came, and the dim tw i¬ 
light shutting out distant objects, my view became 
more and more circumscribed, as did also my 
thoughts, until they at last became concentrated 
upon home and self. This time, a long sigh 
accompanied Lite wish that 1 was rich—and said 
self, coining forward with an array of wants, 
mused thus:—Yes, 1 would “fix up” things so 
nicely. The floor-yard fence, which is beginning 
to look antiquated, should be replaced by a neat, 
ornamental one. The brow u house, by a cozv 
white cottage, surrounded by frees and flowers. 
I would have a nice garden and walks: exter¬ 
nally, everything should be in order, and meet 
my ideas of good taste. Then, of course, the 
interior must be all that outward appearances 
indicated for it, and it should be as nearly per 
feet in arrangement and furnishing as money 
could make it. I would have all the books— 
take all the papers, magazines, and journals I 
wanted—have a fine piano, for the entertainment 
of my musical triends, and although I could nor 
skillfully touch its keys, yet in the intervals of 
sell up in some quiet nook w here the music of 
childhood is never heard. Shut yourself away 
from the world, and thus stifle the little music 
stirring in your heart. If you wish lo crush the 
life and spirit from the souls of children, stop 
their noise, instruct them to play carefully, avoid¬ 
ing all outbursts Of joy. We like the noise of 
children. Not that rude, wicked, wild noise that 
is hoard in the retreats of the profane and uncul¬ 
tivated, but the natural outbursts of childhood's 
innocence and mirth. 
As well may you command the spring brooklet, 
swelled by recent showers, to run over its rocky 
lied w ithout making any noise, as to expect chil¬ 
dren, full of the springs of human life, to play 
and make no noise. Do not. banisll your children 
out of hearing that you may not be troubled with 
their noise. Let them feel that you love to see 
them happy and cheerful, and. thou they will 
not seek to avoid your presence to find 
enjoyment. 
To Let.— There are more things “ to let” than 
are placarded. Hearts are to let every day; old 
hearts, young hearts, stricken hearts —all empty 
all to let. I here are heads to let—to any new 
thing—to isms, ologies, and ists; heads without a 
tenant. There are consciences to let ; elastic, ac¬ 
commodating, caoutchouc, at five per cent, per 
month—sixty per cent, a year. To let on bond 
and mortgage, and pound of flesh. And so it goes 
from sods to souls; almost everything with its 
price: everything in the market Imt griefs. They 
are never quoted, never at a premium, never to 
let. 
What is a Darling? —It is a dear little beam¬ 
ing gi*'l who meets one on the doorstep; who 
flings her fair ai ms around one’s neck, and kisses 
one with her soul of love; who seizes one’s hat; 
who relieves one of one’s coat, and hands the tea 
and toast so prettily: who places her elfish form 
at tin' piano, and warbles forth, unsolicited, such 
delicious songs; who caste herself at one’s foot¬ 
stool. and clasps one’s hand, and tusks eager, 
unheard-of questions, with such bright eyes and 
flushing face, and on whose light, flossy curls one 
places one’s hand and breathes. “ God bless her,” 
as the fairy form departs. 
Queer creatures we are. we lords and ladic 
of creation! Queer creatures! whether consul 
ered in the aggregate as a race, or separately as 
individuals. Strange and on accountable are we 
in out likes and our dislikes, our pros and our 
antis. How incomprehensible and past tlndin,, 
out are the motives by which we are actuated iii 
the distribution of our favors and our disfavors, 
How subtile and hidden the secret springs 
whence emanate the impulses by which we are 
guided in the hostowrnent of our love or our 
hatred. How strange t hat attribute of our being 
\\ hich leads us to deify some inferior object am 
confer upon it that veneration which is due to 
Him alone, who implanted in our natures these 
hidden springs of action. 
T he history of ojir r.cr is a history of idol-wor¬ 
ship, and among tfho multitude of objects which 
we make gods ol, one is man. When one of our 
number by the exercise of superior talents and 
abilities as warrior, statesman, or politician, 
acquires renown and gains a prominence above 
the level of his fellows, he is regarded by many 
with sentiments ol almost idolatrous reverence. 
In olden times such a personage would have been 
clothed with the honors and attributes of divinity 
and venerated as a pod; and yet it is doubtful, 
notwithstanding their enrollment among the 
deities, whether the heroes of antiquity were 
more sincerely worshiped titan are the heroes of 
our own time. In evidence of this, witness the 
enthusiasm which bursts forth at the mere men¬ 
tion of the name of some public favorite at a 
political gathering. Let him pass through the 
country, and witness the crowds which collect 
along liis line.of travel to do him homage. See 
them throw up their hats with shout and hurrah 
when he appears to them as though they were 
looking upon something more than a mere man 
like one of themselves. 
Now. we do not demur against a man's receiv¬ 
ing due praise when he deserves it; on the con¬ 
trary. we say, “ Honor ad gunn honor:” but the 
excessive demoiwt rations which are sometimes 
made in honor of some public favorite we regard 
as simply ridiculous— even surpassing in ab¬ 
surdity the games and festivities which celebrated 
the deification of some ancient here. This man- 
worship is not, however, solely characterized by 
collective and noisy manifestation. It crops out 
in tin' public print, and exhibits itself in private 
conversation. Go where we will, we find nearly 
every man has his particular military or political 
idol to whom he pays homage with a zeal which 
would do credit to a Christian. But when the 
stars of those man-deities begin to decline and 
fortune begins to frown, they lose their divinity. 
“When a man begins to go down, down with him 
cries the world." and down he goes. In order to 
be truly and permanently honored a man must 
be truly—aud in the best sense of the word — 
great, lb' must achieve success. ' lie must be a 
benefactor. Jf called to public station he must 
show himself equal to t he service required. Suc¬ 
cess will bring with it the well-conferred honor of 
the wise and good, as well as the foolish homage 
of the unthinking. Failing, he must yield to the 
stern decree of “down with him.” 
West Sparta, N. Y., Dev., 1862. Rcsticus. 
A CHARMING LITTLE STORY. 
In the tribe of Neggdeli, there was a horse 
whose fame was spread far and near, and a Be¬ 
douin of another tribe, by name Daher, desired 
extremely to possess it. Having offered in vain 
for it his camels and his whole wealth, he hit at. 
length upon the following device, by which he 
hoped to gain the object of his desire. Here- 
Solved to stain his face with the juice of an herb, 
to clothe himself in rugs, to tie his legs and neck 
together so us to appear like a lame beggar. 
Thug equipped, lie went to Naber, the owner of 
the horse, who he knew was to pass that way. 
When he saw Naber approaching on his beauti¬ 
ful steed, be cried out in a weak voice, “ I am a 
poor stranger; for three days 1 ligvo been una¬ 
ble to move from this spot to seek for food. J am 
dying; help me and Heaven wilt reward you.” 
The Bedouin kindlj' offered to lake him upon his 
horse and carry him homo; but, the rogue re¬ 
plied, “ I cannot rise ; I have no strength left,” 
Naber. touched with pity, dismounted, led his 
horse to the spot, and, with great difficulty, set 
the seeming beggar on its back. But no soont 
did Dalier feel himself in the saddle, than he set 
spurs to the home, and galloped off, calling out 
as he did SO, “It is I, Daher. I have got lit 
horse, and am off with it,” Naber culled alb 
him to stop and listen. Certain of not being pur 
sued, lie turned, and halted at a short distance 
from Naber, who was aimed with a spear. *• You 
have taken my horse.” said the latter. “Since 
Heaven lias willed it, I wish you joy of if: but I 
do conjure you never to tell any one how you 
obtained it," “And why not?” said Daher 
Because, said the noble Arab, “anotherman 
might he really ill, and men would fear to bell 
lint, ’i on would bo the cause of many refusing 
to perform an act of charity, for fear of being 
duped as I have been.” Struck with shame at 
these words, Daher was silent for a moment, then 
springing from the horse, returned it to its 
owner, embracing him. Naber made him ac¬ 
company him to his tent, where they spent a few 
days together, and became fast friends for life. 
An Arab Proverb.— By six qualities may a 
foul be known—angorwitbout cause.speech with¬ 
out profit, change without motive, inquiry without 
an object, putting trust in a‘stranger, and want¬ 
ing capacity to discriminate between a friend 
and a foe. 
He that envies, makes another man’s virtue his 
vice; another’s happiness his torment. Whereas, 
he that rejoices at the prosperity of another, is a 
partaker of the same. 
EE A MAN OF YOUR WORD. 
When you promise to do a tiling, do it. Be 
man of principle in your word. Do not say that 
you intend to-day to visit your sick friend or 
neighbor, and then suffer the pressure of business 
to crowd it out oi - your mind. He has been 
watching for your coming during the week that 
is past. Could you have seen the bright smile 
that illuminated his countenance when he said, 
“ I hear his voice, his footsteps,” you would have 
said that the keeping of that promise was worth 
more to you than much “choice gold.” But when 
the vision had disappeared, and you came not, 
there was pity and sorrow, even for you, written 
upon those features. For gain had become a 
formidable barrier against that priceless gem in 
every man’s character, which either shines in its 
own conspicuous light of love of the troth, or is 
set in the midnight darkness of distrust and false¬ 
hood. Then, if you wish to do good and wield 
an influence for troth, be a man of your word. 
Complaining. —We do not wisely when we 
vent complaint aud censure. Human nature is 
more sensible in rejoicing, and the present endur¬ 
ances easily take up our thoughts. We cry out 
for a little paiu, when we do but smile for a great 
deal of contentment. 
Everything useful or necessary is cheapest 
Walking the most wholesome exercise; water the 
best drink: and plain food the most nourishing 
and healthy diet Even in knowledge, the most 
useful is the easiest acquired. 
[ M e are kin illy permitted to publish the subjoined elo¬ 
quent extract from a Sermon delivered by the Rev. G. D. 
Boaroma.n, oi tbis city, on lost Thanksgiving Day :J 
Recall, first, tin- important fact that the past 
year has been remarkable for the abundance of 
its harvests. In enumerating our physical bless¬ 
ings there is evident propriety in mentioning 
first the Rewards of Agriculture—for here is the 
basis of all material prosperity. It is literally 
upon the products of the field that the welfare 
and even existence of society, considered as to its 
earthly foundations, primarily rests. However 
much we may lie prospered in every other de¬ 
partment of activity, all that prosperity goes for 
nothing if we ultimately fail in the field. Though 
the number engaged in Agriculture is small com¬ 
pared with the whole population, yet it will be 
found that in the last analysis it is the tiller of the 
soil who serves as the corner-stone of the social 
fabric. “ The king himself is served by the field.” 
Yon have only to suppose the husbandmen of the 
land ceasing from their labors, or, what is the 
same thing, the earth refusing to yield her an¬ 
nual produce, and there would be an almost 
immediate arrest of all the businesses and enjoy¬ 
ments of the stirring community; every wheel 
would be clogged, every impulse suspended; so 
that, through every grade and division of society 
there would be no feeling but that of pain, and 
no thought but. that of 'warding off starvation. 
Conceive that during the past year the tillers 
ol the soil ha<l failed of receiving the usual. 
rewards ot agricultural labor, and consternation 
would be reigning over the land to-day. Such a 
failure would have been disastrous enough for 
any ordinary year; for this year it would have 
been appalling in the extrema—perhaps abso¬ 
lutely fatal to our national stability. Now, re¬ 
member that, while it is man who does the plant¬ 
ing and tilling, it is Gon alone who can give the 
increase. We believe that it is by llis direct vo¬ 
lition that the rain fulls and the dew gathers, and 
the sun lights and warms and actinizea, and the 
seed germinates and multiplies itself. And most 
abundantly lut.s Jto blessed us in the field. It 
has been a year of signal fertility, especially in 
the prime department of the cereals. We can 
hardly estimate the immense, priceless value of 
this fertility, when we take it in connection with 
the enormous necessary drainage by the war of 
the resources of the country. Truly, we have 
extraordinary reason for thanking Gon for His 
goodness to ns in rewarding the toils of the hus¬ 
bandman. Verily. He hath visited the land and 
greatly enriched it; He hath watered the ridges 
thereof abundantly, and settled the furrows 
thereof. He hath made it soft with straws; He 
hath hastened the springing thereof, lie hath 
clothed the pastures with plants and covered the 
valleys with corn. lie hath crowned the year 
with Ills goodness and Ills fields drop fatness, so 
that the little hills on every side rejoice. 
Good Deeds Rewarded.— Our blessed Mas¬ 
ter gives us the grace to do good, and sends the 
reward for it. In contemplation of such Moses 
refused to be called the son of Fharoah’s daugh¬ 
ter. because he had respect to the recompense of 
reward. It is not wrong, then, for the Christian 
to expect the reward which God has promised; 
for what says our Lord to those whom he bias 
gathered before him,—“Come, ye blessed of my 
Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you 
from the foundation ol' the world.” •• I was bun- 
gfyj and ye fed me.” Oh, let us rejoice together 
il God so blesses us that at last wo shall sing 
around llis throne the song of salvation, “ Glory 
to God in the highest, and on earth peace and 
good will toward men.” 
The greatest profits of a virtuous manhood are 
paid inside of a man. What is done chiefly, is 
done for your manhood; for your conscience; for 
your soul. God knows that you are going to 
ive after to-day and to-morrow; he sees a road 
of exaltation in which yon are to walk; he 
rememliers that lie is to lift you up and crown 
you with eternal honors in heaven; and there¬ 
fore he takes care that he does not reward your 
fidelity principally by that which builds you up 
in your outward life, but by remunerations that 
shall last to all eternity. 
