Then rose another hoary man, and said, In faltering accents, to that weeping train, "Why mourn ye that our aged friend is dead? Ye are not sad to see the gathered grain, Nor when their mellow fruit the orchards cast, Nor when the yellow woods shake down the ripened mast. "Ye sigh not when the sun, his course fulfilled,— "Why weep ye then for him, who, having run "His youth was innocent; his riper age Marked with some act of goodness every day; And, watched by eyes that loved him, calm and sage Faded his late-declining years away. Cheerful he gave his being up, and went "That life was happy; every day, he gave “And I am glad that he has lived thus long; When his weak hand grew palsied, and his eye * A chronic disease is one of long duration. † Pron. nun. LESSON LVI. Sunday Evening.—BowRING. How shall I praise thee, Lord of light? And life and beauty glow around. How shall I seek, thou infinite Mind, Gently the shades of night descend; grace, In all their loveliest robes were dressed. Dost claim earth's children for thy own, LESSON LVII. The Star of Bethlehem.-J. G. PERCIVAL. BRIGHTER than the rising day, When the sun of glory shines; The Star that rose in Bethlehem. When our eyes are dimmed with tears, Grief's dark clouds may o'er us roll, Gloomy conscience rack the soul, And sorrow's tears in torrents flow; Still, through all these clouds and storms Shines this purest heavenly gem, With a ray that kindly warmsThe Star that rose in Bethlehem. When we cross the roaring wave And wander through this world no more Let the world be sunk in sorrow, We can see a fair to-morrow Smiling in ke rosy west; This, her beacon, Hope displays; Shines, with Faith's serenest rays, When this gloomy life is o'er, LESSON LVIII. Tre Funeral of Maria.—MACKENZIE. MARIA was in her twentieth year. To the beauty of her form, and excellence of her natural disposition, a parent, equally indulgent and attentive, had done the fullest justice. To accomplish her person, and to cultivate her mind, every endeavour had been used, and had been attended with that success which parental efforts commonly meet with, when not prevented by mistaken fondness, or untimely vanity. Few young ladies have attracted more admiration; none ever felt it less: with all the charms of beauty, and the polish of education, the plainest were not less affected, nor the most ignorant less assuming. She died when every tongue was eloquent of her virtues, when every hope was ripening to reward them. It is by such private and domestic distresses, that the softer emotions of the heart are most strongly excited. The fall of more important personages is commonly distant from our observation; but, even where it happens under our immediate notice, there is a mixture of other feelings, by which our compassion is weakened. The eminently great, or extensively useful, leave behind. them a train of interrupted views, and disappointed expectations, by which the distress is complicated beyond the simplicity of pity. But the death of one, who, like Maria, was to shed the influence of her virtues over the age of a father, and the childhood of her sisters, presents to us a little view of family affliction, which every eye can perceive, and every heart can feel. On scenes of public sorrow and national regret, we gaze as upon those gallery pictures, which strike us with wonder and admiration: domestic calamity is like the miniature of a friend, which we wear in our bosoms, and keep for secret looks and solitary enjoyment. The last time I saw Maria, was in the midst of a crowded assembly of the fashionable and the gay, where she fixed all eyes by the gracefulness of her motions, and the native dignity of her mien; yet, so tempered was that superiority which they conferred with gentleness and modesty, that not a murmur was heard, either from the rivalship of beauty, or the envy of homeliness. From that scene the transition was so violent to the hearse and the pall, the grave and the sod, that once or twice my imagination turned rebel to my senses: I beheld the objects around me as the painting of a dream, and thought of Maria as still living. I was soon, however, recalled to the sad reality. The figure of her father bending over the grave of his darling child; the silent, suffering composure, in which his countenance was fixed; the tears of his attendants, whose grief was light, and capable of tears; these gave me back the truth, and reminded me that I should see her no more. There was a flow of sorrow, with which I suffered myself to be borne along, with a melancholy kind of indulgence; but when her father dropped the cord, with which he had helped to lay his Maria in the earth, its sound on the coffin chilled my heart, and horror for a moment took place of pity! It was but for a moment.-He looked eagerly into the grave; made one involuntary motion to stop the assistants, who were throwing the earth into it; then, suddenly recollecting himself, clasped his hands together, threw up his eyes to heaven; and then, first, I saw a few tears drop from them. I gave language to all this. It spoke a lesson of faith, and piety, and resignation. I went away sorrowful, but my sorrow was neither ungentle nor unmanly; I cast on this world a glance rather of pity than of enmity; and on the next, a look of humbleness and hope! Such, I am persuaded, will commonly be the effect of scenes like that I have described, on minds neither frigid nor unthinking for, of feelings like these, the gloom of the |