Be wise, and use thy wisdom well;
Who wisdom speaks must live it, too;
He is the wisest who can tell

How first he lived, then spoke the true.

Be what thou seemest,-live thy creed;
Hold up to earth the torch divine;
Be what thou prayest to be made;
Let the great Master's step be thine.

Fill up each hour with what will last;
Buy up the moments as they go;
The life above, when this is past,
Is the ripe fruit of life below.

So if thou the truth would reap;

Who sows the false shall reap the vain;
Erect and sound thy conscience keep;
From hollow words and deeds refrain.

Sow love, and taste its fruitage pure;
Sow peace, and reap its harvest bright
Sow sunbeams on the rock and moor,
And find a harvest-home of light.

-Horatius Bonar.

LXII.-MENTAL ACTIVITY.

IF the water runneth, it holdeth clear, sweet, and fresh; but stagnation turneth it into a noisome puddle. If the air be fanned by winds, it is pure and wholesome; but from being shut up, it groweth thick and putrid. If metals be employed, they abide smooth and splendid; but lay them up, and they soon contract rust. If the earth be labored with culture, it yieldeth corn; but, lying neglected, it will be

overgrown with bushes and thistles, and the better it is, the ranker weeds it will produce. All nature is upheld in its being, order, and shape by constant agitation; every creature is incessantly employed in action conformable to its designed use. In like manner, the preservation and improvement of our faculties depend on their constant exercise; to it God hath annexed the best and most desirable reward—success to our undertakings, wealth, honor, wisdom, virtue, salvation,—all which, as they flow from God's bounty, and depend on his blessing, so from him they are usually conveyed to us through our industry as the ordinary channel and instrument of attaining them.

-Barrow.

THOUGHT AND LANGUAGE.

A PERFECT thought will always clothe itself in appropriate language; and when people suppose that they are in want of words to express themselves, they are really in want of thought-they have only got hold of a part of a thought instead of the complete thought, and are in difficulty about the clothing of an unformed thing. De Retz says that strong emotions find their utterances in monosyllables, and the language of the poor, in grief, is often of an earnestness and simplicity rising to eloquence. "Out of the fullness of the heart the mouth speaketh."

INDUSTRY.

THE more a man accomplishes the more he may. An active tool never grows rusty. You always find the most enterprising the most busy. Men of industry start our railroads, our steamships, machine shops, and our factories. We go for activity-in body, in mind, in every thing. Keep all things in motion. We would rather have death find us breasting a whirlpool than sneaking from a cloud.

K. N. E.-20.

LXIII.—WHAT'S HALLOWED GROUND?

WHAT'S hallowed ground? Has earth a clod
Its Maker meant not should be trod
By man, the image of his God,
Erect and free,

Unscourged by Superstition's rod

To bow the knee?

What hallows ground where heroes sleep?
'Tis not the sculptured piles you heap:
In dews that heavens far distant weep,
Their turf may bloom;

Or Genii twine beneath the deep
Their coral tomb.

But strew his ashes to the wind,

Whose sword or voice has saved mankind,— And is he dead, whose glorious mind

Lifts thine on high?

To live in hearts we leave behind,

Is not to die!

Is't death to fall for Freedom's right?-
He's dead alone that lacks her light!
And murder sullies, in heaven's sight,
The sword he draws:-

What can alone ennoble fight?—
A noble cause!

Give that; and welcome War to brace

Her drums, and rend heaven's welkin space!

The colors planted face to face,

The charging cheer,

Though Death's pale horse lead on the chase, Shall still be dear!

And place our trophies where men kneel
To heaven!-but heaven rebukes my zeal,

The cause of truth and human weal,

O God above!

Transfer it from the sword's appeal
To peace and love!

Peace, love, the cherubim that join
Their spread wings o'er devotion's shrine,—
Prayers sound in vain, and temples shine,
Where they are not;

The heart alone can make divine

Religion's spot!

What's hallowed ground? 'Tis what gives birth
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth!
Peace! Independence! Truth! go forth

Earth's compass round;

And your high priesthood shall make earth
All hallowed ground!

-Thomas Campbell.

LXIV.—MAN AFTER ALL.

REST shall come to all,

Rest to the heavy-laden and the frail,

Rest to the lean and beggared wretch, whose steps
Have wound among misfortune's flinty stones;

Rest to the pallid, stricken sufferer,

Who hath not seen a setting sun for years!
Rest to the dungeon-doom'd prisoner

Grasping in vain for heaven's precious breath.
All shall have rest, the rest that comes to all
When giant Death whispers, "Come along with me."
Some men, I know, are weary with the world,
Because its brutal tongue hath slandered them;
But what is slander to the great, brave heart,
Supported by innate integrity?

It can outlive the jest of littleness,
The taunt of narrow-minded arrogance,

And, with a manly, yes, heroic front,
Beat back its coward foes to infamy.
It is the office of the base-born mind
To carry petty packages of lies,

And sell them with a peddler's artful tongue
To every waiting, unwash'd scavenger.
If thou art right, then never fear thy foes;
For every man that liveth in the world
Will be traduced,-misunderstood by some,
By some be sneered at in their ignorance;
By others praised with hesitating hate;
Beloved by those that only know him best.
Life is a strange, and yet an awful, thing;
Not always most belov'd by those most blest,
No more than by the heart-sick sons of grief;
For, take away the prop men find in wealth,
The joy they know in chasing flighty honor,
The self-consoling sense of power and pride,
Superiority of intellect,

Station, good office, and the like,

And many that are called philosophers,

Or pleasant orators for holidays,

Would molder, and fall down like rotten wood,
With the mere weight of their own worthlessness.

LXV. BE COMPREHENSIVE.

TALK to the point, and stop when you reach it. The faculty which some possess of making one idea cover a quire of paper, is despicable. To fill a volume upon nothing is a credit to nobody, though Chesterfield wrote a very clever poem upon Nothing.

There are men who get one idea into their heads, and but one, and they make the most of it. You can see it and almost feel it in their presence. On all occasions it is produced, till it is worn as thin as charity. They remind