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And office thawed into paternal love; Where'er a human spirit strives
Oppression feared the day of equal rights, After a life more true and fair,
Predicted; covetous extortion kept

There is the true man's birthplace grand,
In mind the hour of reckoning, soon to come; His is a world-wide fatherland!
And bribed injustice thought of being
judged,

Where'er a single slave doth pine, When he should stand on equal foot beside

Where'er one man may help another, The man he wronged. And surely—nay,

Thank God for such a birthright, brother, 'tis true,

That spot of earth is thine and mine! Most true, beyond all whispering of doubt, There is the true man's.

There is the true man's birthplace grand, That he, who lifted up the reeking scourge,

His is a world-wide fatherland. Dripping with gore from the slave's back, I

James Russell Lowell. before

290. BROTHERHOOD, Poet of. He struck again, had paused, and seriously Who feels that God and Ileaven's great deeps Of thát tribunal thought, where God himself are nearer Should look him in the face, and ask in Him to whose heart his fellow-man is nigh, wrath,

| Who doth not hold his soul's own freedom Why didst thou this? Man! was he not thy dearer brother?

[thine? Than that of all his brethren, low or high ; Bone of thy bone, and flesh and blood of Who to the Right can feel himself the truer But ah! this truth, by heaven and reason For being gently patient with the wrong, taught,

Who sees a brother in the evil-doer, (songWas never fully credited on earth.

And finds in Love the heart's-blood of his The titled, flattered, lofty men of power, This, this is he for whom the world is waiting Whose wealth bought verdicts of applause To sing the beatings of its mighty heart; for deeds

Too long hath it been patient with the grating Of wickedness, could ne'er believe the time of scrannel-pipes, and heard it mis-named Should truly come, when judgment should Art. proceed

To him the smiling soul of man shall listen Impartially against them, and they too,

Laying awhile its crown of thorns aside,
Have no good speaker at the Judge's ear,

And once again in every eye shall glisten
No witnesses to bring them off for gold, The glory of a nature satisfied.
No power to turn the sentence from its

James Russell Lowell. course;

291, BUILDING, Cautious. And they of low estate, who saw themselves,

All are architects of Fate, Day after day, despised, and wronged, and

Working in these walls of Time; mocked,

Some with massive deeds and great, Without redress, could scarcely think the day

Some with ornaments of rhyme. Should e'er arrive, when they in truth should stand

Nothing useless is, or low; On perfect level with the potentates

Each thing in its place is best; And princes of the earth, and have their And what seems but idle show cause

Strengthens and supports the rest,
Examined fairly, and their rights allowed.
But now this truth was felt, believed and

For the structure that we raise,

Time is with materials filled; That men were really of a common stock; Our to-days and yesterdays That no man ever had been more than man. Are the blocks with which we build.

Robert Pollok.

Truly shape and fashion these; 288. BROTHERHOOD, Grounds of.

Leave no yawning gaps between; Are we not creatures of one hand Divine, Think not, because no man sees, Formed in one mould, to one redemption Such things will remain unseen.

born, Kindred alike, where'er our skies may shine, In the elder days of Art, Where'er our sight first drank the vital

Builders wrought with greatest care.

Each minute and unseen part;

[twine; morn? Brothers-one bond around our souls should

For the gods see everywhere. And woe to him by whom that bond is

Let us do our work as well, torn,

Both the unseen and the seen; Who mounts by trampling broken hearts to

Make the house, where gods may dwell, earth,

Beautiful, entire, and clean; Who bows down spirits of immortal birth! |

Manzoni. Else our lives are incomplete, 289, BROTHERHOOD, Human.

Standing in these walls of Time, Where'er a human heart doth wear

Broken stairways, where the feet Joy's myrtle-wreath or sorrow's gyves,

Stumble as they seek to climb.

felt,

Build to-day, then, strong and sure,

A certain man a house would build ; With a firm and ample base;

The place is with materials filled;
And ascunding and secure

And everything is ready there-
Shall to-morrow find its place.

Is it a difficult affair?

Yes! till you fix the corner-stone;
Tbus alone can we attain

It wont erect itself alone.
To those turrets, where the eye

Day rolls on day, and year on year,
Sees the world as one vast plain,

And nothing yet is done-
And one boundless reach of sky.

There's always something to delay
H. W. Longfellor.

The business to another day. 292. BUILDING, Gradual.

And thus in silent waiting stood By trifles, in our common ways,

The piles of stone and piles of wood, Our characters are slowly piled;

Till Death, who in his vast affairs We lose not all our yesterdays;

Ne'er puts things off, as men do theirsThe man hath something of the child;

And thus, if I the truth must tell, Part of the Past to all the Present cleaves,

Does his work finally and wellAs the rose-odors linger in fading leaves.

Winked at our hero as he passed,

“Your house is finished, sir, at last; In ceaseless toil, from year to year,

A narrower house-a house of clayWorking with loathe or willing hands, Your palace for another day!Stone upon stone we shape and rear,

Tr. from the Russian by Bororing. Till the completed fabric stands;

293. BURDEN, Help with the. And, when the last hush hath all labor stilled, I child of mo la

tinted, Child of my love, “ LEAN HARD" The searching fire will try what we have

And let me feel the pressure of thy care, striven to build.

I know thy burden, child : I shaped it,
W. Morley Punshon.

Poised it in my own hand, made no pro293. BUILDING, Instinctive.

portion The hand that rounded Peter's dome,

In its weight to thine unaided strength;

For even as I laid it on I said, And groined the aisles of Christian Rome,

I shall be near, and while she leans on me, Wrought in a sad sincerity;

| This burden shall be mine, not her's: farms Himself from God he could not frec;

So shall I keep my child within the circling He builded better than he knew;

Of " mine own love." Here lay it down, nor The conscious stone to beauty grew. Know'st thou what wove yon woodbird's

To impose it on a shoulder which upholds nest

| The government of worlds, yet closer come; Of leaves, and feathers from her breast ?

Thou art not near enough, I would embracı Or how the fish outbuilt her shell,

thy care

(breast. Painting with morn each annual cell ?

So I might feel my child reposing on my Or how the sacred pine-tree adds

Thou lovest me, I know it, doubt not, then; To her old leaves new myriads ?

But loving me-LEAN HARD!
Such and so grew those holy piles,
Whilst love and terror laid the tiles.

296. BURDEN, Laying Down the. Earth proudly wears the Parthenon,

Lay down thy burden here; As the best gem upon her zone;

With such a weary load And Morning opes with haste her lids,

Thou canst not climb yon hill,
To gaze upon the Pyramids;

Yon steep and rugged road.
O'er England's abbeys bends the sky,
As on its friends, with kindred eye;

'Tis rough, and wild, and high, For out of Thought's interior sphere,

Thickets and rocks impede; These wonders rose to upper air;

Scant resting-place between,
And Nature gladly gave them place,

How canst thou upward speed ?
Adopted them into her race,
And granted them an equal date

Lay down thy burden here,

Poor weary son of time; With Andes and with Ararat.

So shall thy limbs be strong, -
These temples grew as grows the grass ;

So shalt thou upward climb.
Art might obey, but not surpass;
The passive Master lent his hand

The sun is hot, no cloud
To the vast soul that o'er him planned.

To shield thee from his ray:
R. W. Emerson.

It scorches up thy strength; 294. BUILDING, Neglect of.

Stay now, poor climber, stay.
Whate'er thou purposest to do,

Thou breathest hard, the drops
With an unwearied zeal pursue;

Are on thy burning brow;
To-day is thine--improve to-clay,

Try not another step ;
Nor trust to-morrow's distant ray.

Lay down thy burden now.

fear

So shalt thon climb yon hill,
: Up to its steepest height;
Like eagle of the rock,

With easy, joyful flight.
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Thy God appoints to thee;
So shalt thou serve thy God

In happy liberty. Horatius Bonar. 297. BURIAL, Place of. “O could thy grave at home, at Carthage,

be! ” Care not for that, and lay me where I fall. Everywhere heard will be the judgment-call. But at God's altar, 0, remember me! Thus Monica, and died in Italy. Yet fervent had her longing been, through all Her course, for home at last, and burial With her own husband, by the Lybian sea. Had been; but at the end, to her pure soul All ties with all beside seemed vain and cheap, And union before God the only care. Creeds pass, rites change, no altar standeth

whole; Yet we her memory, as she prayed, will keep, Keep by this : Life in God and union, there!

Matthew Arnold.
298. BURIAL, Sequence of.
Gather up, O earth! thy dead; .
Grass ! thy peaceful pillow spread,
Add another mortal's bed

To the bed where mortals sleep:
Where they sleep-but not to rise
When morn's sunlight clears the skies,
But to rest—while centuries

Their long-during watches keep.
Centuries shall pass away;
Earth shall hasten to decay ;
Days will bring of days the day

When the exhausted cycles end;
Then, earth's every fugitive
Shall appear; the grave shall give
Up its dead, the dead shall live,

And the Eternal Judge descend.
Day of worders: duz of you!
Day of evil's overthrow!
Day of joy! when all shall know-

Know and sce the Lord of heaven!
Then, O then, may hope appear,
Faith our fainting spirits cheer,
Love dry up the trembling tear,
Whispering sweetly, “Šins forgiven !"

Sir John Bowring.
299, BURIAL, The Christian's.

Cease, ye tearful mourners,

Thus your hearts to rend:
Death is life's beginning

Rather than its end.
All the grave's adornments,

What do they declare,
Save that the departed

Are but sleeping there?

What though now to darkness

We this body give;
Soon shall all its senses

Re-awake and live.
Soon shall warmth revisit

These poor bones again,
And the blood meander

Through each tingling vein;
And from its corruption

This same body soar,
With the self-same spirit

That was here of yore.
E'en as duly scattered

By the sower's hand
In the fading autumn

O'er the fallow land,
Nature's seed, decaying,

First in darkness dies,
Ere it can in glory

Renovated rise.
Earth, to thy fond bosom

We this pledge intrust;
Oh! we pray, be careful

Of the precious dust.
This was once the mansion

Of a soul endowed
With sublimest powers,

By the breath of God.
Here eternal Wisdom

Lately made His home;
And again will claim it

In the days to come;
When thou must this body,

Bore for bone, restore,
Every single feature

Perfect as before.
O divinest period !

Speed upon thy way;
O eternal Justice !

Make no more delay.
When shall love in glory

L's frition sce?
When shall hope be lost in

Immortality? .
Prudentius Clemens, tr. by E. Caswall.
300. BURIAL, The Sinner's.
Wrapt in a Christless shroud,

He sleeps the Christless sleep; Above him, the eternal cloud,

Beneath, the fiery deep. Laid in a Christless tomb,

There, bound with felon-chain,
He waits the terrors of his doom,

The judgment and the pain.
O Christless shroud, how cold,

How dark, O Christless tomb!
O grief that never can grow old,

O endless, hopeless doom!

these

O Christless sleep, how sad!

| And hold free converse with his wife, for What waking shalt thou know?

. [hope For thee no star, no dawning glad, To ill are shrewd instructors: through the Only the lasting woe!

Of sordid lucre, one corrupts his wife;

One, who hath fallen from virtue, like herself To rocks and hills in vain

Wishes to make her vile; and many urge, Shall be the sinner's call;

Through wanton forwardness, their pleas to O day of wrath, and death, and pain,

ill. The lost soul's funeral !

Hence, the pure fountain of domestic bliss O Christless soul, awake

The husband finds polluted; these against, Ere thy last sleep begin!

Let him guard well his gates with locks and O Christ, the sleeper's slumbers break,

bolts, Burst Thou the bands of sin !

For nothing good these female visitants

Work by their converse, but abundant ill. . Horatius Bonar.

Tr. from Euripides. 301. BURIAL-GROUND, Sacredness of the.

304. CALAMITY, Expecting. I like that ancient Saxon phrase which calls

Know, he that The burial-ground God's-Acre! It is just; Foretells his own calamity, and makes It consecrates each grave within it's walls,

Events before they come, twice over doth And breathes a benison o'er the sleeping | Endure the pains of evil destiny. dust.

But we must trust to virtue, not to fate ; God's-Acre! Yes, that blessed name imparts That may protect, whom cruel stars will hate. Comfort to those who in the grave have

W. Davenant. sown

[hearts,

hearts | 305. CALAMITY, Influence of. The seed that they had garnered in their Methinks, if ye would know Their bread of life, alas! no more their How visitations of calamity own.

Affect the pious soul, 'tis shown you here. Into its furrows shall we all be cast,

Look yonder at the cloud, which, through In the sure faith that we shall rise again lsail

the sky

Sailing along doth cross in her career At the great harvest, when the archangel's The rolling moon: I watched it as it came. blast

. Lorain; | And deemed the deep opaque would blot her Shall winnow, like a fan, the chaff and

beams, Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, But, melting like a wreath of snow, it hangs

In the fair gardens of that second birth! In folds of wavy silver round, and clothes And each bright blossom mingle its perfume | The orb with richer beauties than her own; With that of flowers which never bloomed | Then, passing, leaves her in her light serene. on earth.

Robert Southey. With thy rude ploughshare, Death, turn up

306. CALVARY, Fountain of. the sod,

Come to Calvary's holy mountain, And spread the furrow for the seed we sow;

Sinners ruined by the fall; This is the field and Acre of our God,

Here a pure and healing fountain This is the place where human harvests Flows to you, to me, to all, grow! · H. W. Longfellow. In a full, perpetual tide,

Opened when our Saviour died. 302, BUSINESS, Vain.

Come in poverty and meanness, The business of the world is child's play mere;

Come defiled, without, within; Too many, ah! the children playing here :

From infection and uncleanness, Their pleasure and their woe, their loss and

From the leprosy of sin,

Wash your robes, and make them white : gain, Alike mean nothing, and alike are vain.

Ye shall walk with God in light.
As children who, to pass the time away, Come, in sorrow and contrition.
Build up their booths, to buy and sell in Wounded, impotent, and blind ;

Here the guilty, free remission,
But humewird hungering must at eve repair, Here the troubled, peace may find;
And standing leave their booths with all Health this fountain will restore,
their ware.

[come, He that drinks shall thirst no more. So the world's children, when their night is

He that drinks shall live forever ; With empty satchels turn them sadly home. |

"Tis a soul-renewing flood : R. C. Trench.

God is faithful,—God will never 303. BUSY-BODIES, Danger of.

Break His covenant in blood;
But never more than once, Signed when our Redeemer died,,
Let me repeat it, never let the wise

Sealed when He was glorified.
Give females license to frequent his house,

James Montgomery.

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307. CALVARY, Lovely.

But they who led us captive touched the When on Sinai's top I see

string, God descend in majesty,

And waked its music with unhallowed hand, To proclaim His holy law,

And-mocking all our sadness—bade us sing
All my spirit sinks with awe.

The song of Zion in a foreign land.
When, in ecstasy sublime,

Oh! never, never !-hushed be now its
Tabor's glorious steep I climb,

strains ! At the too transporting light

Far, far away her exiled children roam,
Darkness rushes o'er my sight. And never will they sound, on other plains,
When on Calvary I rest,

The holy music of their native home.
God in flesh made manifest
Shines in my Redeemer's face,

Jerusalem! all ruined as thou art,
Full of beauty, truth, and grace.

Thy temples by profaning footsteps trod,

Still art thou fondly cherished in each heart, Here I would forever stay,

Land of our sires, our childhood, and our
Weep and gaze my soul away;

God!
Thou art heaven on earth to me,
Lovely, mournful Calvary.

And, while we wander from thy sheltering
James Montgomery.

wing, 308, CALVARY, View of.

To lay on distant shores the weary head,
In weariness and pain,

Like houseless doves—alas ! how can we
By griefs and sins opprest,

sing? I turn me to my Rest again,

Our harps are tuneless, and our souls are My soul's eternal Rest,

sad!

T. K. IIeroey.
The Lamb that died for me,
And still my load doth bear:

310. CARE, Divine. To Jesus' streaming wounds I flee, What then? Why, then another pilgrim And find my quiet there.

song; Jesus, was ever grief,

And then a hush to rest, divinely granted;

And then a thirsty stage (ah me, so long !)
Was ever love, like Thine ?
Thy sorrow, Lord, is my relief;

And then a brook, just where it most is
Thy life hath ransomed mine

wanted. The Crucified appears !

What then? The pitching of the evening I see the dying God!

tent;

[thorny; Oh, might I pour my ceaseless tears,

And then, perchance, a pillow rough and And mix them with Thy blood ! And then some sweet and tender message, My sorrows I forget

sent In view of Calvary:

To cheer the faint one for to-morrow's I fall, and kiss thy bleeding feet,

journey.
And pant to share with thee.
Oh, were I offered up

What then? The wailing of the midnight
Upon Thy sacrifice!

wind,

[aching; Who would not drink the sacred cup,

A feverish sleep, a heart oppressed and

And then a little water-cruse to find
And die when Jesus dies ?

Cluse by my pillow, ready for my waking.
Thou seest my heart's desire :
I would thy cross partake;

What then? I am not careful to inquire; I long to be baptized with fire,

I know there will be tears, and fears, and And die for Thy dear sake;

sorrow; I long to rise with Thee,

And then, a loving Saviour drawing nigher, And soar to things above,

And saying, “I will answer for the morAnd spend a blest eternity

row." In praise of dying love.

Charles Wesler. What then? For all my sins his pardoning 309, CAPTIVES, Jewish,

grace; We sat by Babel's waters; and our tears For all my wants and woes, his lovingMingled, in silence, with the silent stream ; |

kindness; For, oh! our liearts went back to happier For darkest shades, the shining of God's face, years,

And Christ's own hand to lead me in my And brighter scenes, that faded like a dream. blindness. Our harps, neglected, hung upon the trees, What then? A shadowy valley, lone and That threw their shadows o'er the waves' dim; dark crest,

[breeze, And then, a deep and darkly rolling river; And sighed, responsive to each passing And then a flood of light, a seraph's hymn, That stirred a ripple on its slumbering And God's own smile forever and forever! breast.

Jane Crewdson.

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