Written for Moore’s Ruin! New-Yorker 
SOME OF MY THOUGHTS. 
ny HELI.H CM.1TOX. 
Thkke winters have wearily passed, mother, 
Three times sped the beautiful spring, 
Since you kissed me good night for the last, mother, 
And went with the angels to sing. 
Snowy blossoms were gemming the orchard, 
Bright bi^ds sang the music of May— 
That dawning to me seemed hut darkness, 
To you, it was ‘‘infinite day.” 
For you spake of the music of Heaven, 
Its glories, transcendently bright— 
How the presence of Jzstrs, your Savior, 
Was gilding “ Death’s talley ” with light. 
Thus you left u», one beautiful morning, 
Exchanging earth's pain for “sweet rest,” 
The thin hand* were peacefully folded 
For aye, o’er your passionless breast 
I am listening again to the music, 
Am watching again for the flowers, 
Yet vainly I listen and wait, mother, 
For tliej, through the long summer hours. 
But I’m going the wav you have trod, mother, 
I'm nearer you,—nearer to night,— 
Must I bear the ammo wearisome pain, mother, 
Ere meet for the mansions of light V 
If “crosses” and ills must be mine, mother, 
Ere the “crown ” of the blest I can wear, 
May the Savior, so graciously thine, mother, 
Help me all things to patiently bear. 
Then, when over the dark mystic river, 
The “pale Boatman” coming, I see, 
I can joyfully welcome the message 
That summons to Heaven, and thee. 
Chenango Co., N V., 1803. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
MOTHER. TEACH ME HOW TO DIE. 
I had watched the sun glide gloriously away 
in his golden chariot of flame, I had seen traces 
of his beautifUl departure iu the mellow lines of | 
gold and crimson that adorned the summer sun¬ 
set, and wondered who, amid the millions of] 
earth, were then passing away, surrounded by 
the glorious light of immortality, the traces of 
whose departure should linger in beauty and 
brightness as they wero borne in Goo’s chariot 
of love over the Jordan of death. With these 
thoughts my companions. I heard a gentle rap 
A flower of a very common species, hun- 
| dreds and thousands of them, are to be seen in a 
short ramble through the woods. How many 
have, perchance, passed this one, scarcely deign¬ 
ing it a passing notice, or, perhaps, spurning it 
as a thing beneath their notice, yet let us pause 
and study it a moment and see if there be i 
nothing of beauty or design within it. How | 
symmetrical it is in all its parts; its colors j 
how beautifully distinct; its parts how admira¬ 
bly arranged for the end in view. How deli¬ 
cately the veins are interwoven.—how beauty, 
order and usefulness are all mingled iu har¬ 
mony,—how fragrant is the air with its redolence, 
and, to say nothing of the world of cause and 
effect to bo found in the parent stem, what a 
complete cabinet of curiosities is to be found in 
this simple flower. Simple, yet a whole ualion 
of artists can make nothing approaching its 
beauty. The most gaudy colors of man are but 
mockery of its exquisite tints and blushes. In¬ 
deed. a single flower contains more Knowledge 
than a score of Lexicons — more Chemistry than 
a Turner or Comstock — more Theology than 
a Library of Institutes and Catechisms — more 
beauty than a gallery of painting. 
Take your child from its pent-up, illy-venti¬ 
lated prison-house, (falsely called a school,) 
throw aside that dull and silly tale of the gods— 
which will benefit him quite as little as it did 
those who believed in it—dress him in rural 
attire, and lend your time and attention for a 
grand romp through the sylvan shades and 
mossy recesses of the noble forest. Let him 
pluck the flower, and sip the gurgling nectar as 
it oozes from the rent in the hill-side rock,—let 
him peer into the hollow stump for the Bluebird’s 
nest, or gafi er worms fur the liobin’s unfledged 
brood,— lei him hold converse face to face with 
Nature in her gayest, most bewitching forms, 
and in th it single romp of pleasure you have 
done more to educate your child than months of 
dry and forcible application to unintellible 
theorem*, and to him, at least, senseless, mean¬ 
ingless i lies. 
The present method of education is all wrong 
from the beginning. The little urchin ere he 
can scarcely lisp the name of his sire, is hurried 
Written for Moore's Kara! New Yorker. 
SUMMER MORN, 
BY FKA-VK VOLTCa. 
List ! tlm music wild and thrilling, 
Tiny woodland bird* are trilling ! 
Sweat their matin song* eome to us, 
A nd from realm- of sleep they woo us, 
Just a* dewy morning flings 
The stars from off her roseate wings, 
Aod plumes them for her tireless flight, 
A follower of the mystic night 
’Tis morn, his morn I the gentle breeze 
With fragrance laden, through the trees 
Sighs softly, and as ’twere a sigh 
Of joy for living beauties nigh, 
And sorrow, over tiny tombs 
Where lie the fallen apple blooms; 
And as the coming day-klug rests 
His first beam on the mountain crests, 
The meadow songsters, on the wing, 
A wild and rapturous welcome 6lng; 
And budding tlow’rets lift their eyes 
To greet him with a sweet surprise. 
Afar the forests, wierd and grand, 
Like Orient temples proudly stand, 
While dark within their shadows lie 
Un fathomed depths Of mystery 
In suck stately, tuysUe temple, 
With such choir, untaught and simple 
As these winged warblers, trilling 
Music soft, but sweet and thrilling,— 
Every whispering leaf a preacher,— 
Every mossy stone a teacher. 
Lonely hours, spent in perusing 
Simple tasks of Nature's choosing, 
Bring us nobler aspirations,— 
Fit us better for our stations; 
And we meekly bear life's trials, 
Bear its crosses and denials, 
Having bad the glimpse of Heaven 
That this summer mom has given 
Orange, Schuyler Co., N. Y., 1863, 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker 
THE GOLDEN RULE, 
Thus doing to others as we would have others do 
to us. we gain the approbation of the monitor 
within us, and the favor of God above, and unite 
the scattered tribes of men in one universal 
brotherhood. C. P. Hard. 
Lima, N, Y., 1863. 
THE BATTLES OF THE SHEEP. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
ALL THINGS DO PRAISE THEE 
mmp 
oil' to school, surrounded by musty parchments, 
cooped up in a seat, which, for convenience, 
might well be supposed to be a relic of the on- j 
(tines of torture used in the horrid Tun nisi linn. 
That was a strange command which, sound¬ 
ing from the mountain side in Judea, fell upon 
the ear of the selfish multitude, “ Thou shalt love 
thy neighbor as thyself." There was no note 
affixed to this rule, enumerating the cases when 
revenge might plan its schemes and the deep-laid 
plot be unfolded in deeds, but the maxim, grand 
friend, and was soon ushered into the chamber 
of death. There, resting upon a couch with 
drapery of snowy whiteness, I saw the youthful 
girl who was dying. 
She was beautiful. Stricken in health, its 
impress had hardly faded from her rounded 
cheek, or lessened* the brilliuncy of her dazzling 
eye. The elegance of (he chamber, its .costly 
adornings, tile.group of friends so richly attired, 
the halo of light that surrounded the half-con 
coaled lamp,—forced a comparison of the scene 
I had just contemplated to this I now witnessed. 
The inquiry came, where is that inward glory 
that should adorn the wasting tenement bolore 
m«V 1 needed not long to pause for a reply. 
In a voice of startling sadness, mingled with the 
sobs of the weeping group:—“ Ob, mother, teach 
me how to die,” said the young girl, gazing im¬ 
ploringly into her mother’s face. The beautiful, 
the gifted, the petted child, calling in her death 
struggles to be taught how to die. Had she 
asked for gold or gems, how eagerly w ould those 
parents seek to procure them; but now, in 
life's last moment, “ when the spirit needed balm 
to heal its fever," the fond parents could breathe 
no word of hope or comfort to their child, nei¬ 
ther could money obtain the knowledge for 
which she sought. They could not teach their 
darling how to go peacefully, happily, over the 
Jordan of Death. Ah, no, though they bad 
taught her all things else she sought to know 
they could not tell her how to die. They had 
carefully guarded every avenue through which 
she might obtain a knowledge of death, least 
when iu health it should sadden her joyous 
spirit, and in sickness oxcite her; but now, as 
the death-damp gathered oo her brow, and they 
heard her beseeching tones, they were nearly 
Iran tic with grief,—indeed, they were willing she 
should know how to die. 
The bitterness of that moment I shall never 
forget, neither the unutterable gloom that rested 
on the features of that young face. There were 
the parents aud friends, the lover too. whose 
be toothed lay almost clasped about by the icy 
arms ol death,—sbe whom he had hoped to wed 
when the flowers were bloomed, was dying,—her 
young life almost done, but still pleading to be 
taught how to die. None of those she loved so 
well could point her to the Lamb of God, to 
Jesus, on whose bosom her weary head might 
rest. 
0, parents, you to whom are entrusted the 
training of undying souls, be careful. While 
you are giving your children so many advan¬ 
tages. so much to entwine their affections about 
earth, think ol their eternal interests, lest, when 
they enter the dark river, they call on you to 
teach them how to die. Seek first the kingdom 
of heaven as your portion, place your hopes on 
Christ, then you can teach your children how 
to live, aud in death bid them trust in Jescs, 
Mrs. Mattie D. Lincoln. 
Canandaig-ua, N. Y., 1863. 
gorgon, be must compel his rebellious limbs,— The wor M * n its childhood stories, and, indeed, 
which Nature lias taught to be active,—to be in the education of its later years, had read of 
motionless as the chiseled marble. Ilis brain, scenes of blood where devastated plains were red 
throbbing and pulsating with the impulses of w ^h the slippery traces of human gore —where 
childhood, must be stopped in its useless ram- the ambulance train of fee ‘-vening zephyrs was 
bling. and taught to confine itself to Greek aud loaded with the groans of the dying, and the 
Latin idioms, or the terrible imaginable or un- hoof of the war horse crushed through the brains 
imaginative quantities of Euclid, and yet the of the wounded, while funds lighted anew their 
parent twmlers why ids child does not love his dark abode with the q lenehluas flames of cease- 
school! but prefers to spend his time in flying hws torments, ami sent echoing through their 
his kite, or chasing the gilded butterfly. School, imfatliomed caverns the shout of triumph. They 
to be attractive, must conform itself more to the seeu 010 vanquished dragging their weari- 
wante of buoyant, inquiring childhood; and in aome chains behind the car of the victor,—they 
the start let us have more roses aud fewer gram- had heard the wild rage of (lie eddying whirl- 
mars,—more grape-vine swings and less oil of pools of passion, until they have been almost 
There is a vein of good humor that appears 
even in their quarrels. A flock of them may 
have come into the yard together to drink, and 
one of them considerately walks obliquely across 
the path of another just before him, and in a 
manner to put a slight upon his dignity. .The 
injured wether hits him a sudden stroke with the 
side of his head; instantly the two are in line of 
battle. The attitude of the offended animal is 
most imposing, lie is not angry: he is indig¬ 
nant, morally. His whole being is opposed to 
that form of eviL He sets his face vertically 
against it. He stiffens his neck; he buckles up 
Ills back upon it. He repels it, he will bunt it. 
His adversary appears nowise less the embodi¬ 
ment of justice. He has forgotten the original 
trespass. None of the Jesuit fathers, of whom 
Pascal tells us, could more skillfully aim his 
thoughts to do the act and avoid ihe sin. He is 
intent only upon the violence that confronts him. 
But his enemy is upon him. The beads are to¬ 
gether with a heavy thump; and he is back for 
another run. There is a clear twinkle of roguery 
in his eye as he opens it after the shock. He 
hopes the blow has been for the abeopy fellow’s 
good, and he has more of the like. Half a score 
of others are bit in the running, and are quickly 
in for honor or frolic. The yard is alive with 
pushing and tumbling and prancing; except that 
a few of the more matronly and dignified of the 
flock are in the upper corner, looking grave, and 
stamping with their forward feet. 
Au things do praise Tliee! from the mountain high 
Rearing its doud-capt summit in the air, 
To the sweet wild flower that the passer by 
Finds humbly nest’ling in some crevice there. 
Aye, all things praise Thee! from the bursting bud, 
That opes its petals to the vernal air, 
To the industrious ant, with heavy load, 
Laying her store by with a frugal care 
The feathered choir that tune their little throats 
Through the long mornings of the summer days, 
Trilling their melodics In Joyous notes, 
Make the woods vocal with their songs of praise, 
The eouutle-3 thousands which at Thy command 
Are nightly marshaled thro’ the a/.urc dome, 
Since first the morning stars together sang. 
Silently speak the grandeur of Thy throne 
The soft wind sighing thro' the vinc-wreath’d bough, 
The- tiny leaflet on the grassy lea, 
The lambkins skipping o’er the mountain’s brow, 
Yea, all things. Father, speak to me of Thee. 
The grand old ocean in his sullen roar, 
That, roused to fury, maketh bravo hearts thrill, 
Snbtimelj images His wondrous power. 
Who to the tempest whispers, “ Peace, be still." 
The streamlet lending onward to the main, 
Its bright waves gladly dancing as they go, 
In softest cadence,—then in joyods strain,_ 
Whisper Thy praises in their murin’ring flow 
All things do praise Thee, and shall man be dumb, 
Who from the cradle knows thy tend’rest care_ 
While grateful Nature with her thousand tongues 
Fills with Thy praise the circumambieut air t 
Arlington, Mich., 1863. Lizzie D 
MY REDEEMER. 
GOD’S HEROES. 
hickory,—more butterflies, bluebells and haw¬ 
thorn blossoms and less dry disquisitions about 
the sublime grandeur of Metaphysics, In a word, 
lead the child to the beautiful realities of Nature' 
and not to the faint, unintelligible shadows, or 
her two-lbld worse perversions. 
Amicus Adolescentle. 
Harlem, Del. Co., Ohio, 1863. 
THE EVERY-DAY HEROES OF LIFE. 
compelled to believe that the highest and noblest 
principle was, “An eye for an eye, and a tooth 
for a tooth.” But the Savior informed them 
that in the propagation of His truth, and the 
increase of His realm, not only was the battle-cry 
to be hushed, and the Instrument of death beaten 
into an implement of peace,— not only was the 
golden harvest to wave above the place where 
once frowning battlements raised their defiant 
front,—not only wore nations to shake hands 
across the oceans,but the strife of individual con 
If you wish to be her love, her hero, her ideal, lention was to cease, the angry look be succeeded 
... I-. __•. ’ i . . .. U , ...... . 
BEAUTIFFL SIMILE. 
41 Tkkad softly, softly, like the foot 
Ot Winter, shod with fleecy snow, 
^ ko cometh white and cold and mute, 
Lest he should wake the Spring below . y 
her delight, her spontaneity, her utter rest and 
ultimatum, yon must attune your soul to fine 
issues,—you must bring out the angel in you, and 
keep the brute under. II is not that you shall 
stop making shoes, and begin to write poetry. 
That is just as much discrimination as you have. 
Tell you to be gentle, and you think we want 
you to dissolve into milk-and-water; tell you to 
be polite, and you infer hypocrisy; to be neat, 
and you leap over into dandyism; fancying all 
the while that bluster is manliness. No. sir. 
You may make shoes, you may run engines, you 
may carry coals: you may blow the huntsman's 
horn, hurl the base ball, follow the plow, smite 
the anvil; your lace may be brown, your veins 
knotted, your hands grimed: and yet you may 
be a hero. And. un the other baud, you may 
write verses and be a clown. It is not necessary 
to feed oil ambrosia in order to become divine; 
nor shall one be accursed, though be drink of the 
nine-fold Styx. The Israelites ate angel’s food 
iu the wilderness, and remained stiff-necked and 
uncircumcised in heart and ears. The white 
water-lily feeds on slime, and unfolds u heavenly 
glory. Come as the June morning comes, it 
has nqt picked Tls way daintily, passing only 
among the roses. It has breathed up the whole 
earth. It has blown through the fields aud the 
barn-yards, and all the common places of the 
and. It has shrunk from nothing. Its purity 
has breasted and overborne all filings, and so 
mingled and harmonized all that it sweeps 
around your forehead und sinks into your heart 
as soft and sweet and pure as the fragrancy of 
Paradise. So come you. rough from the world’s 
rough work, with all out-door airs blowing 
around you, and all your- earth smells clinging 
to you, but with a fine inward grace, so strong, 
so sweet, so salubrious that it meets and masters 
all things, blending every faintest or foulest odor 
of earthiiness into the grateful incense of a pure 
and lofty life .—Quit Hamilton. 
A contented mind is the greatest blessing a 
person can enjoy in this world. 
The strongest man feels the influence of 
woman’s gentlest thoughts as the mightiest oak 
| quivers in the softest breeze. 
by the smile, aud the disdainful form stoop to 
acts of kindness. 11 seemed to the inhabitants of 
earth that it would be impossible to effect this 
change, and all the rallying hosts of Satan de¬ 
manded that the world should not tie disturbed 
from the long sleep of ages by the intrdducuon 
of such a rash project. But the word had been 
spoken, the march of truth commenced, aud 
sooner or later the BOW Of Peace shall encircle 
all nations, and every community set beneath the 
flag of Friendship, aud with glad hearts plant 
the sod upon the grave of Discord, and welcome 
the reign of Harmony. 
Would we hasten the time when the baser pas¬ 
sions of the soul shall yield, and love unite all 
hearts, when injustice and cruelty shall be for¬ 
gotten and each one love hi* neighboi as him¬ 
self. there is room enough for every one to be 
employed in the broad field of self-denying labor. 
There are sorrowing hearts to be cheered, thick¬ 
ening tears to be wiped away, and the smothered 
fire of hope to be re-kindled. There are house¬ 
less wanderers to be taken to some happy home, 
— there are fatherless and motherless ones whose 
wayward feet are to be turned back to the path 
of virtue,—there are outcasts, whom the proud 
world scorns, whose rights are to be defended 
and whose wrongs redressed. There are famish¬ 
ing ones whose outstretched hands are to be 
filled with food, and benighted ones whose gap¬ 
ing hearts are to be supplied with the bread of 
Life. There are shackles to be removed from 
fettered hands, there are bowed, lacerated forms 
of the oppressed to be raised, and the oppressor 
hurled to the dust. There are souls, bleeding 
and dying, who are to be pointed to the Lamb of 
God, and ieu up the shining way, until the 
celestial city throws open Its pearly gates to 
receive the redeemed from earth. Voices from 
the refreshing showers, from the unselfish harvest 
fields, from the melodious songster-, from the 
smiles of Liberty, from the pages of inspiration 
richly covered with truth, call to us. “Freelyye 
have received, freely give.” Give joy. give sun¬ 
shine, you need not spare it. for he who gives has 
constant resource to the treasuries of Heaven. 
Here are “God’s heroes,” the heroes of the 
chamber and the vigil by the cradle-side; the 
heroes of poverty and of the workshop; of silent, 
patient endurance, having learned through much 
tribulation that waiting and suffering are their 
destined work: the heroes of long suffering, for¬ 
bearance, and charity, or of victory over pain; of 
the unostentatious self-denials of the household; 
the lowly toiling, and women, climbing mounts 
of sacrifice under heavy crosses, without a human 
hand held out in sympathy; the noble army of 
martyrs who have found and followed the Mas¬ 
ter’s footprints in the daily round of humble 
duties, transfiguring that despised, circumscribed, 
care-encumbered life of theirs into a living testi¬ 
mony to the truth of Christ's evangel; the lonely 
sufferers, priests by a heavenly consecration, 
offering the sacrifices of praise in garret and cel¬ 
lar; men and woman far from stimulating 
delights of successful activities, co-workers with 
Christ, sowing in hope the seed whose increase 
they shall never reap; “ the sacramental host of 
God’s elect,” ever ascending with songs most 
jubilant from the faithful performance of earth's 
Still the marrow of Job’s comfort it seems to 
me lay in that little word “ My.” “ I know that 
my Redeemer liveth.” Oh, to get help of Christ! 
I know that In Ills offices He is precious. But, 
dear friends, we must get a property in nim be¬ 
fore we can really enjoy Him. What is honey 
in the wood to me, if, like the fainting Israelites, ■ 
I dare not eat. It is honey in my hand, honey 
on my lip, which enlightens mine eyes like those 
of Jonathan. What is gold in the mine to me? 
Men are beggars in Peru, and beg their bread 
in California. It is gold iu my puree that will 
satisfy my necessities, purchasing the bread I 
need. So, what Is a kinsman if he be not a kins¬ 
man to me. A Redeemer that docs not redeem 
me, an avenger who will never stand up for my 
blood, of what avail were such? But Job’s faith 
was strong and firm in the conviction that the 
Redeemer was his. Dear f riends, dear friends, 
can all of you say, “ I know that my Redeemer 
liveth.” The question is simple and simply put; 
but oh what solemn things hang upon your an¬ 
swer, l! Is it, my Redeemer?” I charge you rest 
nfit, be not content until by faith you can say. 
“ Yes. I cast myself upon Him; I am His, and 
therefore He is mine.” I know that full many of 
lower ministers to the perfect Service of the 
upper sanctuary, with its perennial and uuhin- J 011, "kilo you look upon all else that you have 
dered praise. They arc passing up through the 88 n °t being yours, yet can say. “ My Itedcoraei 
gates of the morning into ihe city without a * s mHU ‘- Hois the only piece of property that 
temple, and it is for other lingers than ours to is really ours. We borrow all else, the house, the 
weave the amaranth round their lowly brow,— children, nay, our very body we must return to 
North Jlritish Jiemcw. 
Good Advice on Sundry Subjects.— Never 
cut a piece out of a newspaper until you have 
looked on the other side, where perhaps you may 
find something more valuable than that which 
you first intended to appropriate. Never put 
salt into your soup before you have tasted It. I 
have known of gentlemen very much enraged 
by doing so. Never burn your fingers if you 
can help it. People burn their fingers every 
day, when they might have escaped if they had 
been careful. Don’t put your feet upon the 
table. True, the members of Congress do so, 
but you are uot a member of Congress. If you 
form one of a large mixed company, and a diffi¬ 
dent stranger enters ihe room and takes a seat 
among you, say something to him, for heaven’s 
sake, even although it be only, “Fine evening, 
sir!” Do not let him sit bolt upright, suffering 
all the apprehensions and agonies of bashful¬ 
ness, without any relief. Ask how be has been; 
tell him you know his friend, so and so—any¬ 
thing that will do to break the icy stiffness in 
which very decent fellows are sometimes frozen 
on their debut before a new circle.— Exchange. 
the Great Lender. But Jesus, we can never 
leave, for even when we are absent from the 
body we are present with the Lord, aud I know 
that even death cannot separate us from Him, 
so the body and soul are with Jesus truly, even 
in the dark hours of death, in the long night of 
the sepulchre, and in the state of spiritual exist¬ 
ence. Beloved, have you Christ? It may be 
you bold Him with a feeble hand, you half think 
it is presumption to say, “He is my Redeemer;” 
yet remember, if you have but faith as a grain of 
mustard seed, that little faith entitles you to say, 
and say now, “I know that my Redeemer liveth.” 
—Spurgeon. 
OUR THOUGHTS. 
JUNE. 
To day the blue birds trill their gayest song, 
The robins whistle to their young, just flown, 
The soft south-wind sighs with a tender tone, 
The crystal brooklets murmur all day long. 
The stately laurels droop amid their leaves, 
The honeysuckle bends its graceful bead, 
Field strawberries hang ripe and luscious red, 
Its gauzy web the treach'rous spider weaves. 
Fair summer, in the first warm gush of youth, 
Reclines upon a couch of matchless flowers, 
Voluptuous and languid all these hours, 
While love beueath her smite becomes a truth. 
My heart is lost in a sweet dreamy thrill, 
1 am content to be myself—no more; 
I rest in peace I have not known before, 
My soul, all rapturous with hope, is still. 
[.V. J”. Sunday Times. 
Human Toil.— The sentence of toil and the 
promise ot glory have issued from the same 
throne. Even our troubles here may make the 
material of enjoyments above the circumscrip¬ 
tion of the earth. All are agents in the restora¬ 
tive mercy of the Great Disposer; all turn into 
discipline. The obstacles to knowledge, the 
struggles of the heart, the thousand roughnesses 
of the common path of man, are converted into 
muscular force of the mind. We are but sowing 
in the winter of our nature the seed which shall 
flourish in immortality.— Hr. Croly. 
We are ever thinking. Swift as the fleeting 
seconds, come and go from the mind the light¬ 
winged thoughts. We call them little things, 
are scarce conscious of their presence, and yet 
our characters are according to the nature of our 
thoughts. We indulge ourselves in a multitude 
of thoughts, frivolous uml unworthy. If we de¬ 
sire to honor our Savior, let us remember that 
not words and deeds alone, but the offering up 
of thoughts may also be acceptable service. As 
our minds dwell upon the ineffable beauty and 
sweetness of Jesus, let our thoughts, burdened 
with grateful love, rise as sweet incense to 
heaven. The love of Jesus, let it be the dear 
theme on which our thoughts linger long, and to 
which they return with new delight. 
We express our love for a friend by saying, I 
think a great deal of you. Let us thus express 
our affection for Jesus. We shall know that 
Christ is enthroned in our hearts when we find 
him enthroned iu oar thoughts. We need not 
doubt our love to Jesus, if through the busy 
day and in the still night, we are ever keeping 
in mind the memory of his goodness. 
If, then, we have nothing else to bring to 
the Savior, for mercies countless as the sands, 
let us bring our thoughts filled with a vision 
of the Redeemer’s beauty and glory, until lost 
in wonder, love and praise, and offer these as 
our sacrifice. 
We want to be like Jesus. The more we 
think of him, the more shall we increase in love 
and kindness to him. It is thus, that beholding, 
as in a glass, the glory of the Lord, we are 
changed into the same image — from glory to 
glory. 
---- 
Let us uot delude ourselves; this is a funda¬ 
mental truth,—they who are not made saints in 
this day of grace shall not be saints in the day of 
glory. 
< 
