For this terrestrial garden, the departed was too bright and delicate a flower-"of such is the kingdom of heaven." She has bid adieu to earth and gone to heaven, which makes us willingly leave the one, and anxiously seek the other. WOMAN. BY THE EDITOR. - "For thou art woman-with that word Life's dearest hopes and memories come, Truth, beauty, love-in her adored, And earth's lost Paradise restored In the green bower of home." YES, gentle Halleck, that is woman. Thy lines have stirred the spirit that is in me, and I pronounce a blessing on thee for these truthful words. Beautiful as true, and no less true than beautiful, is thy character of woman. When sin separated earth from heaven, and sent the seraphs to their upper residence, God, in his boundless pity, left us one angel, and that was woman. Believe me, sweet bard, heaven itself hath no better. Yes, with that word, woman, "life's dearest hopes and memories come." When long years have borne us from the parental roof-when life goes hard with toil and trouble-when hope sickens, and fancy fails us, and the heart runs low with musing sorrowwhen all that is within us, turning from the angry present, seeks its solace in the past, then, as the diorama of other years brings back the pictured scene of joys aforetime tasted, woman, pure, lovely, charming woman, is the bright centre of its revolutions, the sweet enchantress of the magic vision. There, in life's pictured foreground, stands the virtuous one, who gave us being. In years long gone by, she soothed our little sorrows, kissed the fresh tear from our young eye-lids, replaced the happy smile and buoyant look upon our fallen features, taught our mute lips to reveal the loves and longings of the soul in language, distilled upon our hearts and into our very natures the dews of gentle virtue, sought after us in our wanderings, forgave our errors, and corrected the waywardness of our dispositions, and, when all was over, and her holy work was finished, she sent us into the great world with the sincerest prayers ever offered for our prosperity. Indeed, delightful poet, what memories are connected with the name of Mother! There, too, is that gentle spirit, who, in early life, when the heart was young, played, and mused, and frolicked with us. As life wore on, she was the first to ripen. When, in youth's excessive gayety, we passed, or essayed to pass, the narrow Rubicon that divides from unlawful pleasures, there was a soft hand gently holding us on the side of virtue. In still later years, after we had laid low in dust our first protectress, this being, now mature in every line of virtuous life and conduct, became our second mother, and the guardian of our earthly happiness. By none other on the wide earth were we then loved so purely, devoutly, fervently. But, as a plant of heavenly quality, she has long since been transferred to that radiant world, where the flowers of loveliest hue droop not, nor lose their bloom and beauty. Heaven itself, all beautiful as it is, is yet more beautiful for thy presence, Sister! Yes, truthful poet, life's dearest hopes, not less than its memories, are blent in woman. In the life of every man there is an hour of pining loneliness. In the midst of the giddy multitude, he feels forsaken. Far from the sweet scenes and soft charities of early home, nay, in the very soul and centre of this primeval paradise, the heart has its natural longings-longings which Paradise itself could not wholly satisfy. It is man's nature seeking for its counterpart. Without it man is an unfinished being. His soul, his very essence, and all his faculties, demand the influence of gentler graces blended with them. As the cold earth is warmed by the heavens' sweet light, so man needs the smiles of woman to soften and develop him. With such a congenial spirit he cannot be lonely. His path brightens up before him. The darkness of the future disappears for ever. Though, through the long vista where his anxious eye is tracing out his pathway, he descries many dangers, he looks to his attending angel and goes on cheerily. Though the heavens above him may grow dim, and storms may threaten on the far horizon, he fears not, so long as he has one star, which, in the hour of darkness, will only shine more brightly. And, should the threatening tempest really beat on him, should the lightnings flash, and the thunders roll, the voice of his loved one whispers, that the storm cannot last for ever, and on its retiring bosom, black with its wrath suspended, she paints to his admiration the bow of promise. All life, all nature has taught thee this; and thou knowest, my Halleck, friend of the classics, that Iris, the only faultless creation of ancient genius, the golden-winged messenger of the gods in their kindlier feelings, was only the purest and loveliest of women. But never, from the time when the Thunderer first darkened the firmament with his anger, has been seen, O man, a more radiant circle than that drawn around thy future prospects by the one thou lovest. The Wife, believe me, is the hope-giving Iris of thy days of cloud and tempest. Yes, earth's lost Paradise is restored "in the green bower of home." Here is thy little cottage. It is covered all over with vines, and shaded by a green grove of trees and ornamental bushes. Thy garden walks are clean, and wide, and beautiful. The sweet lawn before thy cot is tastefully set out; the roads and alleys through it are cool and airy; and all things around thee wear a familiar, quiet, rural aspect. SACRED MUSIC. Within thy dwelling thou hast every comfort. Taste and neatness reign. The spirit of the age-a spirit of intellectual progress-has left its impress on all within. The mighty dead, through their works, speak to those that share life with thee. Virtue and religion are honored within thy peaceful walls. The voices of melodious song occasionally rise and swell, rolling a flood of joyous harmony throughout "The green bower of home!" Need I say the wife, the mother, the angel of this lower world, is there? But, hark! the bell is pealing a sad note of woe. Sighs come sweeping on the sounding breeze. The angel has returned to heaven; and now, poor man, home is no more home to thee. Thy cottage, it is true, remains. The vines, and shrubs, and trees, and garden walks, and shaded avenues, are there. Intelligence yet shines from the pages of the great and good. The piano, that instrument of seraphic tones, both of soft and strong, yet holds its place. But, alas! the hand is gone that touched its strings-the voice is gone that summoned the very muses to listen to its strains the spirit has fled that gave life, and being, and rapture to all this happy scene. The whole aspect of every thing around thee has faded in an hour. Thou hast the body of thy former home, but the soul is gone; and thou, bereaved one, dost sit a mourner over all that now remains. But let Providence speak the word. Let the resurrecting power be felt. Let another soul be given, and then thy former joys revive, and home, sweet home, smiles and blooms again. Then, O man, if that be woman in her excellence, should she not be always excellent? If woman be the presiding spirit of this life, should any thing be spared that will make her happy, intelligent, and good? Far be that heathenism from us, which crowds upon her only the toils and drudgery of life. Far be it from us, to trample her heavenly intellect in the dust. Far be it from every man to let her angelic moral qualities lie buried in neglect. Let her soul be fully fed, her high capacities expanded. Let all the influences of education be spent upon her faculties. Standing, as she does, in the very centre of this glorious universe, let the light of universal nature be concentrated into her capacious mind. Let religion, pure, divine, heavenly religion, pour its soft influences into her generous heart. Then give her her true position-let her stand forth as the model of humanity to the race, and let philosophy itself retire abashed in the presence of its long-sought idol, the restored image of the Good, the Beautiful, and True. LET every one read the following lines of the Bard of Avon: "Mount, mount, my soul! thy seat is up on high, Whilst my poor flesh sinks downward, here to die." VOL. VI.-39 SACRED MUSIC. BY REV. THOMAS FOX. "He that hath no music in his soul, Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds, Is fit for treason, stratagems, and spoils." 305 SHAKSPEARE. SACRED Song has always held a prominent place in the services of the sanctuary. Like Noah's dove, it has lingered around the ark of the covenant, and by its heaven-born notes enkindled pious emotions in the saints of all ages. When Israel fled from Egypt's bondage, music was employed to give vent to the joyous feelings of their hearts. Their deliverance at the Red Sea was celebrated in holy song; and thus the remembrance of it was transmitted to future generations: "Then sang Moses and all the children of Israel this song unto the Lord, and spake, saying, I will sing unto the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously: the horse and the rider hath he thrown into the sea." Vocal and instrumental music were introduced by David into the temple service of the Jews. An immense choir was organized and instructed by competent leaders; and ample provision was made for their support, in order that their entire attention might be devoted to improvement in singing. And what a sublime spectacle must have been presented at the dedication of Solomon's temple! The sacred historian thus speaks of it: "And the Levites which were the singers, all of them of Asaph, of Heman, of Jeduthun, with their sons and their brethren; being arrayed in white linen, having cymbals, and psalteries, and harps, stood at the east end of the altar, and with them a hundred and twenty priests sounding with trumpets. It came even to pass, as the trumpeters and singers were as one, to make one sound to be heard in praising and thanking the Lord, saying, For he is good; for his mercy endureth for ever: that then the house was filled with a cloud, even the house of the Lord; so that the priests could not stand to minister by reason of the cloud: for the glory of the Lord had filled the house of God." Also at the rebuilding of the temple by Nehemiah, a similar scene was witnessed, (Nehemiah xii.) At this time the choir numbered one hundred and fortyeight persons. How enrapturing must have been the music of that day! How cheering to the long captivated Jew were its mellifluous notes, as they floated along the aisles of his cherished temple! A great part of the writings of the prophets was composed in the poetic style, and designed to be chanted or sung in the great congregation. Victories over their enemies, remarkable interpositions of Providence, and a variety of great topics, were always commemorated in poetry. But especially was the coming Messiah the theme of their song. Jesus is the soul of music, the universe is the grand orchestra, and all created things are the musicians. To Adam was given the key-note-angels were permitted to touch the octave. Patriarchs, seers, and prophets but filled the intermediate spaces. None of them, however, touched a sweeter note than did David, Israel's favorite bard. Heaven seems to have appointed him chorister general for the Church militant. By him, sacred music was more fully unfolded, and more permanently incorporated with divine worship. His Psalms have been a medium of praise for the Church in all ages; and like the green waving pine amid the faded forest, these heaven-inspired hymns have stood in all their original beauty and grandeur, the wonder and admiration of the world. But it was their theme that gave them majesty and glory. It was this theme of undying interest that gave to each note a certain sound. Music belongs to Jesus. It is a kind of sacrilege to devote it chiefly to aught else. No wonder, then, that such unutterable sweetness gushed from David's harp-no wonder that listening angels were so frequently attracted earthward by Judah's minstrels. Singing was incorporated by the Savior himself into the Christian worship. The solemnly interesting meeting at which the eucharistic feast was instituted, was concluded by this delightful exercise: "And when they had sung a hymn, they went out into the Mount of Olives." It is also recognized by the apostle Paul as forming a part of divine worship: "Speaking to yourselves in psalms, and hymns, and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your hearts to the Lord." Accordingly, with a very few exceptions, it has been adopted by all Christian Churches as an essential part of their religious services. Having thus briefly sketched the history of sacred song, we may contemplate some of its advantages. Singing improves the mind. It harmonizes the feelings of the heart, smooths the asperities of our nature, and opens to us new avenues of pleasure. Saul is not the only one who has been moved and melted by the power of song. Surrounded as man is by the perplexing scenes of life, he needs something to soothe his sorrows and calm his passions, some guiding power to enter his soul, ride upon the tempest, and cast oil upon the troubled waters. Music has been given by our Creator for this purIt possesses a secret power that defies descrip pose. tion. By its melting, moving strains, it reaches every fibre of the soul; and, like the gentle dew of evening falling upon the mown grass, it pervades and harmonizes the whole. The Jesuits, it is said, never sing-befitting description of those engaged in deeds of darkness. Truthfully may they be pronounced "fit for stratagems, and spoils, and death.” Music's æolian strains would grate harsh discord upon their relentless hearts. New sources of pleasure are opened to us by song. It leads us up on old Parnassus, and with its wand bids the waters flow. Orpheus touches his lyre, and all nature is charmed. Delighted, we listen to the music of the spheres, as they "in solemn silence all move round this dark terrestrial ball," "For ever singing, as they shine, The hand that made us is divine.'" Rocks, hills, brooks, and vales, all join in symphonies of song. Music helps the soul to praise God. This is its great advantage-this is its chief excellence; and this should be its chief employment. By singing, divine truth is more deeply engraven upon the mind. "Let me write the ballads for a nation," said one, "and I care not who make its laws." And who does not feel the force of this remark? Who has forgotten the simple truths conveyed in rhyme by a mother's voice? Or who does not remember the little sonnets, with which he made the forests ring in his school-boy days? Who can tell how many an angry feeling has been suppressed by the remembrance of those nursery lines of Dr. Watts', beginning, "Let dogs delight to bark and bite!" and how many spurs have been given to industry by the well known lines: "How doth the little busy bee Singing tends to the preservation of health. Man is singularly constituted. He contains within him a complete musical apparatus. "This instrument is termed the larynx, and is composed of five elastic cartilages, joined together by projections, and securely bound by ligaments or cords. These cartilages are moved by seven pairs of muscles, which, acting separately in pairs or in combination with the whole, are capable of producing sixteen thousand different sounds." These muscles, however, though possessing such wondrous power, are but a few of the active agencies in the production of voice. Other cartilages or ligaments are employed as antago-juvenile mind by this means! Moral poison, covered nists and directors, which, when co-operating with those already mentioned, are susceptible of an immense number of changes. The lungs act as a bellows in propelling air through this instrument. By singing, all this complicated machinery is brought into motion. Its various parts-its cells, cartilages, liga-laby, in the nursery rhymes, and in youthful sonments, muscles, and pipes, are all properly exercised. Thus disease is prevented, and a healthy action given to the whole system. How effectually, too, has vice been cultivated in the up in song, has often spread its venom through the soul. Impurity has been traced upon the imagination in colors deep, and dark, and lasting. How important, then, that this powerful agency for weal or woe be rightly employed; that, in the mothers's lul nets, sentiments of virtue should be inculcated! SACRED MUSIC. part of divine worship is generally conducted, one important end is entirely lost-that of impressing truth upon the mind. Sense is lost in sound. Our beautiful hymns are full of rich and varied sentiment. Doctrines, precepts, promises, invita- { tions, and warnings, all drawn from the fountain of inspiration, are here clearly set forth. And while the soul is melted by the melody of the tune, by a distinct articulation of the words used, like an impression made upon soft wax, may the truth be riveted in the mind. This, indeed, has often been the case. 307 that they have nothing to do with the singing. This they leave for others to perform. Hence it is that so many difficulties originate among singers. Says a certain writer: "The enemy of souls, if he can preach and pray, cannot sing. Nothing, therefore, he so much dreads, as harmony, either of voice or feeling, among a company of singers; and if a choir have no higher motives in singing than to amuse themselves and hearers, depend upon it, some false reasoning will be presented to excite jealousies and animosities among them. Even the most frivolous circumstances, such as the good sense of the indi An esteemed layman of our Church, in this state, dates his conviction and conversion from sing-vidual is ashamed to relate, will be exaggerated into ing the hymn commencing, tremendous abuses." "There is a land of pure delight, Where saints immortal reign." Who can tell the power of music upon the soul! What appropriate descriptions, too, of Jehovah's character are here presented! His power, and wisdom, and goodness, in the works of creation, are sketched by an inimitable hand. But especially is redemption's plan delineated as it could be only by those who had caught inspiration at the cross. These moral images of beauty, of sublimity, and of grandeur, may, by song, be enthroned in the imagehouse of the soul, and thus exert a transforming influence over the whole man. Harmonious singing throws an unearthly sweetness around the sanctuary of God. "One thing," said David, "have I desired of the Lord, and that will I seek after, that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in his temple." From this temple would he exclude singing? Dwells not beauty in holy song? Hear him again: "O, sing unto the Lord a new song: sing unto the Lord all the earth. O, worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness." What visions of beauty passed before the Psalmist's mind, while meditating upon this theme! In imagination he beheld a universe wrapt in adoring praise. Man is the only dissonant being. With heavenly ardor, the "sweet singer of Israel" endeavors to move his ungrateful species. He pants to witness all that hath breath praising the Lord. We trust the time is not far distant, when a united and vigorous action will be taken on this subject. How delightful to witness a whole Church singing with the spirit and with the understanding also, making one sound to be heard in praising the Lord! Sacred singing excites and gives vent to the emotions of pious hearts. There are fountains of song in the human soul. Like latent fire in the steel, they wait some exciting cause. Music alone can touch and call them forth. This is an acknowledged fact. Hence, all nations have used this powerful agency in exciting the emotions. It is considered indispensable in military operations. Under its power the warrior rushes to the battle field, and amid its pealing notes, dreams of victory. Music perverted, has lent to war half its tinseled charms. But few could be urged to meet their fellows in deadly strife, on the mercenary battle field, were they not bound by music's spell. Nor should it be less efficient in its appropriate work-in marshaling the sacramental hosts of God's elect for moral conflict. By its varied notes, every feeling of the heart can be revealed. It has a cadence for every chord of the soul. By it the lethargic may be aroused, the desponding revived, and the cheerful gladdened. Often on its wings has incense sweet ascended the holy hill of Zion. And often, too, in answer to song, has the cloud of mercy, dripping with the dews of heaven, rested upon an earthly Bethel. Singing tends to fit us for heaven. Music is not a stranger there. No songless being dwells in that bright world. Angels have their songs. Cherubim and seraphim with each other vie in holy mel{ody, while redeemed immortals wake higher notes of a sweeter tune: "Unto him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood, be glory and dominion for ever and ever." The music of heaven-how indescribably grand!-how inconceivably sublime! What songsters!-angels, those morn And the performance of this exercise should not be regarded as a mere mechanical part of divine worship. Why is it that less seriousness, or less piety, is considered requisite in singing than in praying? Is not the language used in the one as lofty and as sacred as that employed in the other? Indeed, a large share of our hymns are the most solemn invocations to Deity. How dare worms of earth thus trifle with the sacred name and attributes of their Maker! Nor will it avail as an excuse, that "theying stars and first-born sons of light that serenaded do not mean what they sing." As well might they engage in prayer, and then offer as an excuse for trifling and levity, that they were in jest, The Churches are faulty in this respect. Many of their most pious and devoted members imagine earth when first she ploughed the ethereal wave- "Sweeping harps of wondrous song, 308 A SHORT CRITICISM.-XAVIER'S ODE. What themes of song!-creation, redemption, resurrection, glory, immortality, eternal life, heaven for their temple, Jesus for their leader, salvation for their song, and eternity for their stay! Halleluiah, the Lord God omnipotent reigneth! THERE is no finer specimen of English poetry, than the celebrated lyric of Rev. Charles Wolfe, on the burial of Sir John Moore. Sir John died in Spain, and was hastily buried at night. Before the services were completed, the army of Napoleon approached, and the sad mourners were obliged to take refuge on the sea. For the benefit of our young rhymers, and particularly because the poem itself has been very generally misprinted, and badly mangled in many of the thousand and one publications of the day, I offer it as it fell mournfully from the poet's own pen. "Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note As his corse to the rampart we hurried; No useless coffin inclosed his breast, Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; Few and short were the prayers we said, But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, When the clock struck the hour for retiring, Slowly and sadly we laid him down From the field of his fame fresh and gory: We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory!" By studying carefully this poem, the young reader will perceive every species of excellence that can form any part of the most perfect specimen of lyric verse. Read it, then, my young friend, read it a hundred and fifty times, and you may yourself become a rival to the now unrivaled bard. XAVIER'S ODE. BY WILLIAM L. CALLENDER. THE following beautiful Latin ode is said to have been written by Francisco Xavier, Roman Catholic missionary to India several centuries ago: O Deus! ego amo te, Nec amo te ut salves me, Tu, tu, mi Jesu, totum me Ac mortem-et hæc propter me- Amen. The following translation is almost strictly literal; and, while it falls far below the beauty of the original, will convey the pious sentiment, and some idea of the style, to the English reader: God, I yield my love to thee; Why, then, should I not love thee, Amen. DEATH is the road that must be trod, |