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· Explained, illustrated, and searched so well | Which door, dear Lord ? knock, speak, that The tender theme on which they chose to I may know; dwell,

Hark, heart, He answers with His hand and That reaching home, The night, they said, is I voicenear,

| O still small sign, I tremble and rejoice, We must not now be parted, sojourn here— Nor longer doubt which way my feet must go. The new acquaintance soon became a guest,

Full lief and soon this door would open ton, And, made so welcome at their simple feast,

If once my key might find the narrow slit He blessed the bread, but vanished at the

Which, being so narrow, is so hard to hitword, And left them both exclaiming. "Twas the But lol one little ray that glimmers through, Lord!

Not spreading light, but lighting to the Did not our hearts feel all He deigned to say! lightDid they not burn within us by the way?" Now steady, hand, for good speed's sake be Now theirs was converse, such as it behoves

slow, Man to maintain, and such as God approves; One straight right aim, a pulse of pressure, Their views, indeed, were indistinct and dim,

80,But yet successful, being aimed at Him, How small, how great, the change from dark Christ and His character their only scope,

to bright! Their object, and their subject, and their i Now He is here I seem no longer here! They felt what it became them much to feel,

This place of light is not my chamber dim,

It is not He with me, but I with Him, And, wanting Him to loose the sacred seal, Found Him as prompt as their desire was true,

And Host, not Guest, He breaks the bread of

cheer. To spread the new-born glories in their view.

William Corper. I was borne onward at His greeting,--He 459. COMMUNION, Key to

Earthward had come, but heavenward I With what clear guile of gracious love enticed,

had gone;

| Drawing Him hither, I was thither drawn, I follow forward, as from room to room, Through doors that open into light or

Scarce welcoming Him to hear Him welcome gloom,

mel To find and lose, and find again in Christ! I lie upon the bosom of my Lord,

| And feel His heart, and time my heart He stands and knocks, and bids me ope the

thereby; door,

The tune so sweet I have no need to try, Without He stands, and asks to enter in: |But rest and trust, and beat the perfect chord.

Why should He seek a shelter sad with sin ? Will He but knock and ask, and nothing | A little while I lie upon His heart, more?

Feasting on love, and loving there to feast,

And then, once more, the shadows are inHe knows what ways I take to shut my heart, creased

And if He will He can Himself undo Around me, and I feel my Lord depart.
My foolish fastenings, or by force break ini

Again alone, but in a farther place,
Nor wait till I fulfil my needless part.

I sit with darkness, waiting for a sign;

Again I hear the same sweet plea divine, But nay, He will not choose to enter 80,- And suit, outside, of hospitable grace.

He will not be my guest without consent, This is His guile.-He makes me act the host Nor though I say “Come in,” is He content ; ! To shelter Hirn, and lo! He shelters me; I must arise and ope, or He will go.

Asking for alms, He summons me to be He shall not go; I do arise and ope,

A guest at banquets of the Holy Ghost. “Come in, dear Lord, come in and sup with So, on and on, through many an opening door me,

That gladly opens to the key I bring, Oh, blessed Guest, and let me sup with From brightening court to court of Christ,

my King, Where is the door ? for in this dark I grope, Hope led, love fed, I journey evermore. And cannot find it soon enough; my hand, At last I trust these changing scenes will cease; Shut hard, holds fast the one sure key Il There is a court I hear where He abides; need,

I No door beyond, that further glory hides. And trembles, shaken with its eager heed: My Host at home, all change is changed to No other key will answer my demand.

peace. William O. Wilkinson. The door between is some command undone,

460. COMMUNION, Kinds of. Obedience is the key that slides the bar, | The wild woods are my chosen haunt, and

And lets Him in, who stands so near, so far; 1 there
The doors are many, but the key is one. I read a fairer tome, a richer page,


Than pen of man has traced with characters And free and rapid motion, it had life,
Of reason or of fancy. I become,

| And floated as a spirit floats away, In the society of untaught things,

And wandered gayly on from flower to Drawn from my duller and my grosser sense, flower, And lifted in my longings, and I learn And was so light and so ethereal, man How little there is great in the pursuit Selected it the symbol of the soul, Of riches, or of honor, how the mind, And its free flight through ether, on a wing Let in the channel of heroic thought

That, moving through eternity, will ever To flow in freedom onward, and pervade Be active and unwearied, and as bright The purer regions of philosophy,

In its unruffled plumage, after years And tasteful and impassioned poesy

Have gathered into ages, and have gone How mind alone is the true worth of man, Beyond the eldest memory of time. And that which raises him above the sense Of meaner creatures, and permits a hope

But yet the pen of Genius cannot cheer Of unembodied being, in a high

And heighten, like the spirit-speaking eye; And holy dwelling, lifted far above

And so we seek the living, and we find The reach of tempest, with essential light

That there are spirits that commune with ours, Encircled, and with fairest wings of love

As if they were our kindred, and were formed O'ershadowed, the reward and resting place

In the same mould; and when we meet with

them, Of such as hold their journey patiently, Nor pause nor faint upon their weary way.

We cling with childlike fondness, as if life

Had not a charm without them, and the sky The recollection of one upward hour With its ethereal beauty, and the earth Hath more in it to tranquillize and cheer Flowering or fading, and the fairest flow The darkness of despondency, than years

Of pure and tranquil waters, and the words Of gayety and pleasure. Then, alone Of the departed with their might of thought, We wander not in solitude, but find

Could be to us no solace, and have power Friends in all things around us, for the heart To lend no high conception, nor subdue Sinks not, and in its sinking bends the mind | The spirit unto meekness; so we lean From its true lofty region, where it lives On an accordant bosom, and we love Rejoicing in bright energy; and so

The beating of a heart that beats as ours, All things are open to the searching eye

The speaking of an eye that tells us thoughts Of an unclouded intellect, and bring

Which harmonize with what we feel, and all Their several treasures to it, and unfold The light of beauty, passion, tenderness, Their fabric to its scrutiny. All life, And purity, and love of great, and fair, And all inferior orders, in the waste

And fitly fashioned things, until we deem Of being spread before us, are to him

A sole existence is a wilderness, Who lives in meditation, and the search

| That yieldeth only terror, and a curse. Of wisdom and of beauty, open books,

James Gates Percival. Wherein he reads the Godhead, and the ways 461. COMPANIONS, Choice of. He works through His creation, and the links

S/Not with the light and vain, That fasten us to all things, with a sense

| The man of idle feet and wanton eyes; Of fellowship and a feeling, so that we

Not with the world's gay, ever-smiling train; Look not upon a cloud, or falling leaf, Or flower new blown, or human face divine,

| My lot be with the grave and wise. But we have caught new life, and wider Not with the trifler gay, thrown

| To whom life seems but sunshine on the The door of reason open, and have stored

In memory's secret chamber, for dark years Not with the empty idler of the day;
Of age and weariness, the food of thought, My lot be with the wise and grave.
And thus extended mind, and made it young,
When the thin hair turns gray, and feeling

: Not with the jesting fool,

Who knows not what to sober truth is due,

Whose words fly out without or aim or rule! But this communion with inferior things My lot be with the wise and true. Shall leave a void behind it, and we seek The kindred thoughts of other men, and

Not with the man of dreams,


In whose bright words no truth nor wisdom bend

in Dazzling the fervent youth with mystic Attentive o'er their written souls, wherein

gleams; We see thcir better moments, when they cast The slough of earth aside, and tried a fight

My lot be with the simply wise. On an ascending pinion, and renewed With them I'd walk each day, [learn Their purer being, as the insect bursts

From them time's solemn lessons would I The walls that bound it in its second state, That false from true, and true from false I It might be a gilded prison-house,

may But yet it was a prison : when its wings Each hour more patiently discern. Unfolded, and it knew the bliss of air,

Horatius Bonar.,


| Wisdom, in an ailing body; or a common 'Tis the last rose of summer,

mind, with health: Left blooming alone :

Godliness, with man's scorn; or the welcome All her lovely companions

of the mighty, with guilt; Are faded and gone;

Beauty, with a fickle heart; or plainness of No flower of her kindred,

face, with affection. No rosebud, is nigh

For so hath Providence determined, that a To reflect back her blushes,

man shall not easily discover Or give sigh for sigh!

Unmingled good or evil, to quicken his envy

or abhorrence. I'll not leave thee, thou lone one ! A bold man or a fool must he be, who would To pine on the stem;

change his lot with another. Since the lovely are sleeping,

It were a fearful bargain, and mercy hath Go, sleep thou with them!

lovingly refused it. M. F. Tupper. Thus kindly I scatter

466. COMPENSATION, Moral. Thy leaves o'er the bed

Just, and strong, and opportune is the moral Where thy mates of the garden

rule of God; Lie scentless and dead.

Ripe in its times, firm in its judgments, So soon may I follow,

equal in the measure of its gifts. When friendships decay,

Yet men, scanning the surface, count the And from love's shining circle

wicked happy, The gems drop away!

Nor heed the compensating peace, which When true hearts lie withered,

gladdeneth the good in his afflictions. And fond ones are flown.

They see not the frightful dreams that crowd O, who would inhabit

a bad man's pillow, This bleak world alone!

Like wreathed adders crawling round his

midnight conscience; Thomas Moore.

They hear not the terrible suggestions that 463. COMPANY, Ohoice of.

knock at the portal of his will, Some love the glow of outward show, Provoking to wipe away from life the one

Some love mere wealth and try to win it: L_ weak witness of the deed; The house to me may lowly be,

They know not the torturing suspicions that If I but like the people in it.

sting his panting breast, What's all the gold that glitters cold, When the clear eye of penetration quietly When linked to hard or haughty feeling? .,

readeth off the truth. Whate'er we're told, the nobler gold Likewise of the good what know they? the Is truth of heart and manly dealing!

memories bringing pleasure, Then let them seek whose minds are weak, Shrined in the heart of the benevolent and

Mere fashion's smile, and try to win it; glistening from his eye. The house to me may lowly be,

The calm, self-justifying reason that estabIf I but like the people in it!

lisheth the upright in his purpose; . - Charles Swain. The warm and gushing bliss that floodeth all 464. COMPANY, Vicious

the thoughts of the religious.

X. F. Tupper. Avoid a villain as you would a brand,

467. COMPENSATION Required. Which, lighted, burns, extinguished, smuts Nothing comes free-cost here. Jove will not the hand.

Oriental. 465, COMPENSATION, Law of.

His gifts go from him, if not bought with sweat.

Robert Herrick. The poor man counteth not the cost at which such wealth hath been purchased;

468. COMPLAINT, Constant. He would be on the mountain's top without

Ever complaining,

Nothing is right; the toil and travail of the climbing

Daylight is drearyBut equity demandeth recompense; for high

Wearisome night: place, calumny and care;

Ever rejecting, For state, comfortless splendor eating out the heart of home;

Quick to destroy .

The little that's left
For warrior fame, dangers and death; for a

For our life to enjoy!
name among the learned, a spirit over-

Shame on the nature
For honor of all kinds, the goad of ambition;

Thankless and pain, on every acquirement the tax of anx

Shame on the temper iety.

Eager to pain! He that would change with another, must

Hearts that in selfishness take the cup as it is mixed.

Only are cast; Poverty, with largeness of heart; or a full

Darkening the present purse, with a sordid spirit:

With clouds of the past !


Sad that the summer

| With purpose to be dress'd in an opinion Of life should be spent

Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit;
In blighting the roses

As who should say, "I am Sir Oracle,
For happiness sent; .

And, when I ope my lips, let no dog bark !"
Sad that affection

I do know of these,
So often should grieve

That therefore only are reputed wise,
Over natures that seem

For saying nothing; who, I am very sure,
Only bom to deceive!

If they should speak, would almost damn Charles Swain.

those ears, 469. COMPLAINT, Groundless.

| Which, hearing them, would call their I think we are too ready with complaint

brothers fools. Shakespeare. In this fair world of God's. Had we no 474. CONCENTRATION, Final. hope

Many things having full reference Indeed beyond the zenith and the slope To one consent, may work contrariously; Of yon gray bank of sky, we might be faint

As many arrows, loosed several ways, To muse upon eternity's constraint

Fly to one mark; –ăm2m2?Â2Ò2§2ņ2ņ2?Âò§22222222/§Â§222/2222ņēmēņ22/2/2/2/2/2ņēģ22ņģētiņ2?Â2Ò2ÂòÂ2Ò2 Must widen early, is it well to droop

As many fresh streams run in one self sea; For a few days consumed in loss and taint? As many lines close in the dial's centre; O pusillanimous Heart, be comforted, So many a thousand actions, once afoot, And, like a cheerful traveller, take the road, End in one purpose, and be all well borne Singing beside the hedge. What if the Without defeat.

Shakespeare. bread Be bitter in the inn, and thou unshod

475, CONDEMNATION, Record of. To meet the flints? At least it may be said. (And since in God's recording book "Because the way is short, I thank Thee, Our sins are written, every one, God!

E. B. Brorening. The crime, the wrath, the wandering look, 470. COMPLAINT, Lesson of.

The good we knew and left undone, A pilgrim, bound to Mecca, quite away his Lord, ere the last dread trump be heard, sandals wore,

And ere before Thy face we stand, And on the desert's blistering sand his feet Look Thou on each accusing word, grew very sore.

And blot it with Thy bleeding hand. "To let me suffer thus, great Allah, is not

C. F. Alexander. kind nor just,

476. CONFESSION, Humblo. While in his service I confront the painful

God of mercy, God of grace, heat and dust,”

Hear our sad repentant songs; He murmured in complaining tone; and in O restore Thy suppliant race, this temper came

Thou to whom our praise belongs. To where, around the Caaba, pilgrims knelt of every name:

Deep regret for follies past, And there he saw, while pity and remorse his Talents wasted, time misspent, bosom beat,

Hearts debased by worldly cares, A pilgrim who not only wanted shoes, but Thankless for the blessings lent. feet. Oriental, tr. by W. R. Alger.

These and every secret fault, 471. COMPLAINT, Loss by.

Filled with grief and shame, we own, To tell thy mis’ries will no comfort breed; Humbled at Thy feet we lie, Men help thee most that think thou hast no Seeking pardon from Thy throne. need;

J. Taylor. But if the world once thy misfortunes know,

477. CONFESSION, Romish. Thou soon shalt lose a friend and find a foe.

Thomas Randolph.

A parent ask'd a Priest his boy to bless,

Who forthwith charged him—he must first 472. COMPLIMENTS, Truo.

confess. Throughout the world if it were sought,

“Well,” said the boy, “suppose, sir, I am Fair words enough a man shall find;

willing, They be good cheap, they cost right nought,

What is your charge ?” “To you 'tis but a Their substance is but only wind;

shilling!” But well to say and so to mean,

“Must all men pay, and all men make conThat sweet accord is seldom seen.

fession?" Sir Thomas Wyatt. Yes, every man of Catholic profession."

“And who do you confess to ?” “Why, 473. CONCEIT, Appearance of.

the Dean." There are a sort of men, whose visages “ And do the Deans confess ?” “Yes, boy Do cream and mantle like a standing pond; I they do, And do a wilful stillness entertain,

| Confess to Bishops, and pay smartly too ! ".

“Do Bishops, sir, confess ? if so, to whom?" He lives to comfort me when faint;
" Why, they do confess, and pay the Church He lives to hear my soul's complaint.

of Rome."
“Well,” quoth the boy, all this is mighty

He lives to silence all my fears; odd:

He lives to stoop and wipe my tears; “And does the Pope confess ?” “Oh yes, to

He lives to calm my troubled heart;

He lives all blessings to impart. “And does God charge the Pope ?” “No,” |

He lives, my kind, wise, heavenly Friend ; quoth the Priest, “God charges nothing." "Oh, then God is

He lives and loves me to the end;

He lives, and while He lives I'll sing, best; God is able to forgive, and always willing;

He lives, my Prophet, Priest, and King. To Him I shall confess, and save my shill He lives, and grants me daily breath; ing.”

He lives, and I shall conquer death; 478. CONFIDENCE, Christian.

He lives my mansion to prepare ;
I know not if the dark or bright

He lives to bring me safely there.
Shall be my lot;

He lives, all glory to His Name;
If that wherein my soul delight

He lives, my Jesus, still the same;
Be best or not.

Oh, the sweet joy this sentence gives,
It may be mine to drag for years

I know that my Redeemer lives.
Toil's heavy chain;

Samuel Medley.
Or day and night my meat be tears 480. CONSCIENCE, Accusations of.
On bed of pain.

It is a dang'rous thing;

It makes a man a coward ; a man
Dear faces may surround my hearth

Cannot steal but it accuseth him; a man
With smiles and glee;

Cannot swear, but it checks him.
Or I may dwell alone, and mirth

'Tis a blushing shame-fac'd spirit, that
Be strange to me.

Mutinies in a man's bosom ; it fills
My bark is wafted to the strand

One full of obstacles. It made me once
By breath divine,

Restore a purse of gold, that by chance I
And on the helm there rests a hand

Found. It beggars any man that keeps it. Other than mine.

It is turned out of towns and cities for

A dang’rous thing; and every man that means
One who has known in storms to sail To live well, endeavors to trust himself,
I have on board;

And live without it.

Shakespeare. Above the raging of the gale

481. CONSCIENCE, Angry. I hear my Lord.

No; 'tis the tale which angry conscience tells, He holds me with the billow's might When she with more than tragic horror swells I shall not fall;

Each circumstance of guilt; when stern, but If sharp, 'tis short; if long, 'tis light;

true, He tempers all.

She brings bad actions forth into review,

And, like the dread handwriting on the wall,
Safe to the land-safe to the land, Bids late remorse awake at reason's call;
The end is this:

| Armed at all points, bids scorpion vengeance And then with Him go hand in hand

pass, Far into bliss.

And to the mind holds up reflection's glassDean of Canterbury. The mind, which starting, heaves the heart. 479. CONFIDENCE, Comforting.

felt groan, I know that my Redeemer lives;

And hates that form she knows to be her What comfort this sweet sentence gives !


Charles Churchill. He lives, He lives, who once was dead, | 482. CONSCIENCE, Conviction of. He lives, my ever-living Head !

There is no power in holy men, He lives triumphant from the grave;

Nor charms in prayer, nor purifying form He lives eternally to save;

Of penitence, nor outward look, nor fast, He lives all glorious in the sky;

Nor agony, nor, greater than all these,

The innate tortures of that deep despair, He lives exalted there on high.

Which is remorse without the fear of hell, He lives to bless me with His love;

But all in all sufficient to itself, He lives to plead for me above;

Would make a hell of heaven-can exorcise, He lives my hungry soul to feed;

From out the unbounded spirit, the quick He lives to help in time of need.


Of its own sins, wrongs, sufferance, and reHe lives to grant me rich supply;

venge He lives to guide me with His eye; | Upon itself.

Lord Byron.

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