The moon is up, it is the dawn of night; Stands by her side one bold, bright, steady star; Star of her heart, and heir to all her light, Whereon she looks so proudly, mild and calm, As though she were the mother of that star. The rising moon has hid the stars, Had dropt her silver bow Upon the meadows low. Longfellow. The watchman on the battlements partakes | Scarce visible, as in the utmost depth And to the virgin mother silently My own lov'd light, MORAL LAW. The moral law is written on the tablets of eternity. For every false word or unrighteous deed, for cruelty and oppression, for Just or vanity, the price has to be paid at last. J. A. Froude. MORNING. APPEARANCE of. But, look, the morn in russet mantle clad, Now from night's womb the glorious day And seems to kindle from the setting stars. See, how at once the bright effulgent sun, Whose influence o'er all tides of soul hath The short-liv'd twilight; and with ardent power, blaze Who lend'st thy light to rapture and des- Looks gaily fierce o'er all the dazzling air. pair; Thomson. The purple morning left her crimson bed Morn, in the white wake of the morning Came furrowing all the orient into gold. APPROACH OF. Day dawns, the twilight gleam dilates, Over the pallid sea and the silvery mist of The sun comes forth, and, like a god, the meadows: Rides through rejoicing heaven. Southey. Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows Night wanes-the vapours round the moun of heaven, Blossom'd the lovely stars, the forget-menots of the angels. Longfellow. tains curl'd Melt into morn, and light awakes the world. Now morn her rosy steps in th' eastern clime Lo on the eastern summit, clad in grey, And from his tower of mist H. H. White. Morning light Let us with caution indulge the supposition that morality can be maintained with- LIGHT OF. out religion. Reason and experience both forbid us to expect that natural morality More orient in yon western cloud, that draws can prevail in exclusion of religious princi- O'er the blue firmament a radiant white. Milton. SIGNS OF. The glow-worm shows the matin to be near, And 'gins to pale his uneffectual fire. Shakespeare. Day glimmer'd in the east, and the white moon Hung like a vapour in the cloudless sky. Rogers. Sullen, methinks, and slow the morning breaks, As if the sun were listless to appear, Dryden. Yon grey lines, That fret the clouds, are messengers of day. Shakespeare. The morn Rises upon my thoughts; her silver hand With her fair pencil strikes the darkness out And paints the glorious face of day. Havard. Is not yon gleam the shudd'ring morn, that flakes With silver tincture the east verge of heaven? Marston. The eye of day hath oped its lids. Shakespeare. The silent hours steal on And flaky darkness breaks within the east. Ibid. A SIMILE. Morn, like a maiden glancing o'er her pearls, Streamed o'er the manna-dew, as though the ground Were sown with star-seed. P. J. Bailey. The rosy-finger'd morn did there disclose Her beauty, ruddy as a blushing bride, Gilding the marigold, painting the rose, With Indian chrysolites her cheeks were dy'd. Baron. The loss of a mother is always felt; even though her health may incapacitate her from taking any active part in the care of her family, still she is a sweet rallying point, around which affection and obedience, and a thousand tender endeavours to please, concentrate; and dreary is the blank when such a point is withdrawn! It is like that lonely star before us; neither its heat nor light are anything to us in themselves; yet the shepherd would feel his heart sad if he missed it, when he lifts his eye to the brow of the mountain over which it rises when the sun descends. A FRIEND. Lamartine. A mother is a mother still, QUEEN OF THE WORLD. The mother, in her office, holds the key Of the soul; and she it is who stamps the coin of character, and makes the being who would be a savage, But for her gentle cares, a christian man; Then crown her queen of the world. Old Play. MOTION. Motion is the life of all things. Duchess of Newcastle. |