the affections and harden the heart; while gentleness subdues the most stubborn will. A look of gentle, firm reproof will penetrate the soul and make it weep for shame. power in gentle words." O, say not, "There is no There is gentleness in nature. Though the mountain stream is noble as it bursts in grandeur from its vantage ground, and strength is in its gleam of brightness, and thunder in its deafening roar, yet lovelier far is the streamlet as it gently murmurs by the lone churchyard, and by its dirge-like melody speaks its modest worth and living beauty — fit emblem of true gentleness. The proud ocean, heaving with convulsion when the furious tempest spends its strength upon its waters, fills our souls with awe and wonder, and we fear and dread its wrath. But when its waters gently rock proud vessels that sail on her bosom, we love to sing "Beautiful Sea," and never tire of gazing on its deep, blue waters. The roar of the angry lion and the screams of the hungry panther may fill the heart with fear; but we love the sweet, gentle strains of the feathered songsters, rejoicing in their being. We listen to the orator's bold figures, and feel emotions rising in our bosoms in obedience to his NEVER RAIL AT THE WORLD. 215 O will; but we love the gentle strain of infant voices, and find our hearts subdued by the magic of their power. Woman needs the elements of gentleness instilled into her nature, else she falls far short of filling the place her God assigned for her. She may, without it, be admired for wit, beauty, and intelligence; but never can she hold the sway of the affections, if this most important element be wanting, or make her home the nursery of happiness and love. NEVER RAIL AT THE WORLD. NEVER rail at the world. it is just as we make it; We see not the flower if we see not the seed; The heart that's in earnest no bars can impede. 0, HASTEN ON, YE WINGED HOURS. O, HASTEN on, ye winged hours! I yearn once more to see The valley of my childhood's home, The mountains, and the lea; The feathery groves that crown the hills, The silvery brooks, the murmuring rills, Where water-lilies float, And spread at eve their stainless sails, Like some sweet fairy boat. The dark-gray rocks that raise their heads Far up the mountain side, The gentle stream that winds below Like a clinging, timid bride. All, all my spirit pines to see Each spot within that vale, Each looming crag, each mossy stone, Then hasten on, ye winged hours, O, safely launch and guide my bark MARY'S DIRGE. 'Tis now the month of light and bloom, The month of many roses; I heed it not. The silent tomb The sun upon the bright blue streams The winds are playing through the trees And that is stilled forever! INCENSE FROM THE FAMILY ALTAR. WHAT can be more beautifully appropriate than the worship of God in families! Here is a little company of human beings joined together in the most intimate connection - dwelling under one roof, fed at one table, supplied with the necessaries of life from sources of income that are common to them all; feeling themselves to have altogether common interests, common wants, and common exposures. It is granted that they all ought to worship God; is it not appropriate that they should worship him together? Each of them ought to thank God for his daily food, and daily to ask God for the needed supply. But the family take their meals together. It is supplied from a common store, and spread upon a common table, and the daily gatherings around that table are the recognized symbol of their close intimacy. Is there any other scene which ought to be sanctified with prayer, if not that where a family most frequently look in |