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While the same sunbeam shines upon
The guilty and the guiltless one,
And hymns of joy proclaim through Heaven
The triumph of a soul forgiven!

'Twas when the golden orb had set,
While on their knees they lingered yet,
There fell a light more lovely far
Than ever came from sun or star-
Upon the tear that, warm and meek,
Dewed that repentant sinner's cheek:
To mortal eye this light might seem
A northern flash or meteor beam;
But well th' enraptured Peri knew
'Twas a bright smile the angel threw
From Heaven's gate, to hail that tear-

Her harbinger of glory near!
“ Joy! joy !" she cried, “my task is done-
The gates are passed, and Heaven is won!"





ECALL to your recollection the free nations which have gone

before us. Where are they now? “Gone glimmering through the dream of things that were,

A school-boy's tale, the wonder of an hour.” And how have they lost their liberties? If we could transport ourselves to the ages when Greece and Rome flourished in their greatest prosperity, and, mingling in the throng, should ask a Grecian if he did not fear that

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some daring military chieftain covered with glory some Philip or Alexander-would one day overthrow the liberties of his country, the confident and indignant Grecian would exclaim, “No! no! we have nothing to fear from our heroes ; our liberties will be eternal.” If a Roman citizen had been asked if he did not fear that the conqueror of Gaul might establish a throne upon the ruins of public liberty, he would have instantly repelled the unjust insinuation. Yet Greece fell ; Cæsar passed the Rubicon, and the patriotic arm even of Brutus could not preserve the liberties of his devoted country.

We are fighting a great moral battle, for the benefit, not only of our country, but of all mankind. The eyes of the whole world are in fixed attention upon us. One, and the largest portion of it, is gazing with contempt, with jealousy, and with envy; the other portion, with hope, with confidence, and with affection. Everywhere the black cloud of Legitimacy is suspended over the world, save only one bright spot, which breaks out from the political hemisphere of the West, to enlighten, and animate, and gladden the human heart. Observe that, by the downfall of liberty here, all mankind are enshrouded in a pall of universal darkness. belongs the high privilege of transmitting, unimpaired, to posterity, the fair character and liberty of our country. Do you expect to execute this high trust by trampling or suffering to be trampled down, law, justice, the Constitution, and the rights of the people ? by exhibiting examples of inhumanity, and cruelty, and ambition ? Beware how you give a fatal sanction, in this infant period of our Republic, scarcely yet two-score years old, to military insubordination. Remember that Greece had her Alexander, Rome her Cæsar, England her

To you

Cromwell, France her Bonaparte, and that, if we would escape the rock on which they split, we must avoid their




T mither's knee I waitin' stood,

Wi' fingers link'd behind me,
The bauldest o’the bairnheid brood :-

That hour they seldom faund me;
My mither's weel-arch'd bree aboon,

Wi’ lo’e-lit e'e, a' droopin'-
The deid, the gaun, they gather roun',

In memory's halie groupin'!

Her han’ she placed upon my heid;

Hoo aften I've caressed it!
An' syne it mould'red with the deid,

Hoo aft wi' tears ha'e blessed it!
Hoo sweet she tauld us o’ Christ's lo'e,

Hoo He lay in the manger:
Hoo, then, she leuked our hale life thro',

And mapped out ilka danger.

A roguish, rompin' bairn was I,

Wi, een deep-set, blue-blinkin',
Wha speir'd o' things baith laigh and high,

An' had a way o' thinkin';
Her leuk o'lo'e could mak' the tear

Adoon my cheek fast trickle-
But, ah, nae bairn lang face lang wears,

He has o' joys sic mickle.

She never thought her wark was gran',

Nor bruited it, nor tauld it ;
But, kept at it, wi' silent han',

Our bairnheid life to mould it;
She blent it wi' the halie sphere,

Ower whilk she stretch'd lo'e's scepter ;
The harvest o' life's comin' year,

Hopefu' through a' this kept her.

For, like the sources o' the burn,

Frae rocks an' trees doon-drappin',
These deft-hid things that first we learn,

Still oot they maun be crappin',
I've lang forgot the beuks I read,

The wise things taught i' college ;
But time'll na dri'e frae oot my head

That ither bairnheid knowledge !


For Missionary Meetings.


ISTEN! I will tell a legend of a land beyond the

sea ; Listen! I will tell a legend, strange, and strangely sweet


to me,

Of the days of superstition, when the hearts of men were

led From the Saviour's dying sorrow, to the cross whereon

He bled; When they worshiped less the Saviour, than the cross

on which He died ; When they held aloft a symbol, till the type was glorified.


But the cross they counted sacred-so the weird tradi

tions go

Vanished from sight of mortals, how or wherefore, none

could know. So they journeyed late and early, hoping they might find

again, Raise, and hold it up forever, in the sight of doubting men. Watchers waited on each summit, on each towering

mountain height, For the signal which should tell them that the cross was

brought to light. Long and far the pilgrims journeyed, long they sought

in patient trust, Till at last they found their object, rudely trampled in

the dust. Lo! a sudden cry of gladness over plain and valley

rung, And a chorus of thanksgiving for the sacred cross was

sung ; On the nearest mountain summit soon a fire was all

aglow, Blazing forth the joyful tidings to the waiting hearts

below. Watchers on another mountain saw the fire that burned

afar, Shining through the dark and distance like a glory

giving star. So they quickly gathered fagots, lit them up, and sent

the word To another group of watchers, till the hearts of men were

stirred. And from summit unto summit thus the signals passed



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