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3. Can we, whose souls are lighted
With wisdom from on high;
Can we, to men benighted,
The lamp of life deny ?
Salvation! O Salvation!

The joyful sound proclaim,
Till earth's remotest nation
Has learned Messiah's name.

4. Waft, waft, ye winds, his story;
And you, ye waters, roll,
Till, like a sea of glory,

It spreads from pole to pole;
Till o'er our ransomed nature,
The Lamb, for sinners slain,
Redeemer, King, Creator,

In bliss returns to reign.-Heber.

This hymn, like all other solemn pieces of poetry, requires long quantity, and rather a low key. The voice should, however, be somewhat elevated on the words in italic, and yet not enough to be disagreeable to the ear.

SOLILOQUY ON THE PRINCESS THEKLA.

1. It is his spirit calls me! "Tis the host
Of faithful souls that sacrificed themselves
In fiery vengeance for him. They upbraid me
For this loit'ring: they in death forsook him not,
Who in their life had led them; their rude hearts
Were capable of this: and I can live:

No! No! That laurel garland which they laid
Upon his bier was twined for both of us!
What is this life without the light of love?
I cast it from me since its worth is gone.
Yes, when we found and loved each other, life
Was something! Glittering lay before me
The golden morn: I had two hours of heaven.

2. Thou stoodest at the threshold of the scene
Of busy life; with timid steps it cross'd it:
How fair it lay in solemn shade and sheen!
And thou beside me, like some angel posted
To lead me out of childhood's fairy land
On to life's glancing summit, hand in hand!
My first thought was of joy no tongue can tell,
My first look on thy spotless spirit fell.

And Fate put forth its hand: inexorable, cold,
My friend it grasp'd and clutch'd with iorn hold,
And under the hoofs of their wild horses hurl'd
Such is the fate of loveliness i' th' world!-Schiller.

This beautiful Soliloquy is from the tragedy of Wallenstine, written by the celebrated German Poet, Frederic Schiller. He died in the year 1805 in the 45th year of his age. The Princess Thekla had been married, it seems, but two hours before her husband was killed. The Soliloquy requires to be given on a low key and with quantity.

LINES FOR THE FOURTH OF JULY.

1. Hail our country's natal morn!
Hail our spreading kindred born!
Hail thou banner not yet torn!
Waving o'er the free;

2. While this day in festal throng,
Millions swell the patriot song,
Shall not we thy notes prolong,
Hallowed Jubilee?

3. Who would sever freedom's shrine?
Who would draw the invidious line?
Though by birth one spot be mine,
Dear is all the rest:

4. Dear to me the South's fair land,
Dear the central mountain band,
Dear New England's rocky strand,
Dear the prairied West.

5. By our altars, pure and free,
By our law's deep rooted tree,
By the past dread memory,

By our WASHINGTON ;

6. By our common parent tongue,
By our hopes, bright, buoyant, young,
By the tie of country, strong,

We will still be one.

7. Fathers! have ye bled in vain?
Ages! must ye droop again?
Maker! shall we rashly stain

Blessings sent by thee?

8. No! receive our solemn vow,
While before thy throne we bow,
Ever to maintain as now,

UNION, LIBERTY.-Anonymous.

These truly patriotic lines are admirably suited to each returning anniversary of our national independence.

ON THE DEATH OF MRS. WOLFE.

1. If I had thought thou could'st have died,
I might not weep for thee;
But I forgot when by thy side,
That thou could'st mortal be.

2. It never through my mind had pass'd,
That time would e're be o'er,
And I, on thee, should look my last,
And thou should'st smile no more.

3. And still upon that face I look,
And think 'twill smile again;

And still the thought I will not brook,
That I must look in vain.

4. But when I speak, thou dost not say,
What thou ne'er left'st unsaid,

And now I feel as well I may,
Dear Mary-thou art dead!

5. If thou would'st stay e'en as thou art,
All cold and all serene→→→

I still might press thy silent heart,
And where thy smiles have been!

6. While e'en thy chill, bleak corse I have,
Thou seemest still my own;

But there, I lay thee in thy grave,-
And I am now alone!

7. I do not think where'er thou art
Thou hast forgotten me ;

And I, perhaps, may soothe this heart
In thinking, too, of thee,

8. Yet, there was round thee such a dawn
Of light, ne'er seen before,
As fancy never could have drawn,
And never can restore!-Wolfe,

HOW SCHOLARS ARE MADE.

1. Costly apparatus and splendid cabinets have no magical power to make scholars. In all circumstances, as a man is, under God, the master of his own fortune, so is he the maker of his own mind. The Creator has so constituted the human intellect, that it can grow only by its own action, and by its own action it most certainly and necessarily grows.

2. Every man must, therefore, in an important sense, educate himself. His books and teachers are but helps ; the work is his. Aman is not educated until he has the

ability to summon, in case of emergency, all his mental powers in vigorous exercise to effect his proposed object.

3. It is not the man who has seen most, or who has read most, who can do this; such an one is in danger of being borne down, like a beast of burden, by an overloaded mass of other men's thoughts. Nor is it the man that can boast merely of native vigor and capacity.

4. The greatest of all the warriors that went to the siege of Troy, had not the pre-eminence because nature had given him strength, and he carried the largest bow, but because self-discipline had taught him how to bend it.-D. Webster.

BOOKS.

1. It is chiefly through books that we enjoy intercourse with superior minds, and these invaluable means of communication are in reach of all. In the best books, great men talk to us, give us their most precious thoughts, and pour their souls into ours.

2. God be thanked for books. They are the voices of the distant and the dead, and make us heirs of the spiritual life of past ages. Books are the true levellers. They give to all who will faithfully use them, the society, the spiritual presence of the best and greatest of our race.

3. No matter how poor I am, no matter though the prosperous of my own time will not enter my obscure dwelling, if the sacred writers will enter and take up their abode under my roof, if Milton will cross my threshold to sing to me of Paradise, and Shakspeare to open to me the worlds of imagination and the working of the human heart, and Franklin to enrich me with his practical wisdom, I shall not pine for want of intellectual companionship; and I may become a cultivated man, though excluded from what is called the best society in the place where I live.-Dr. Channing.

These beautiful and excellent remarks on books, were made by Dr. Channing in the course of his address, introductory to the "Franklin Lectures," delivered at Boston, in 1838, on "Self-Culture."

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