to be introduced and systematised, it was desirable to find, not only vigour and resolution to clear away the rubbish of error -but elegance of taste, to clothe unwelcome novelties with attractive beauty: in a word, if existing circumstances called for a MARTIN LUTHER, they demanded also a PHILIP MELANCTHON! After long ages of depression, philosophy, literature and theology at length revived. It was impossible that any of them should prosper, during a period in which the human mind was burthened by superstition, and the mental faculties were unable to expand beneath the oppressive weight, while, century after century rolled on, scarcely presenting any thing worthy of the historian to record, or the moralist to admire. At length, a new era arose, which afforded facilities for the circulation of thought, and the comparatively free exercise of public opinion. In proportion as it became possible to express sentiments and announce discoveries in science or religion, without incurring the charge of heresy, and being consigned to perpetual imprisonment or death, knowledge increased, and truth lifted up her drooping head. The imperfections which usually characterise first discoveries, were indeed apparent; but the clouds of prejudice, and the mists of ignorance gradually melted away; objects which were blended together became distinctly visible, and this morning-light of scientific discovery "shone more and more unto the perfect day." Luther said:"I clear the ground of stumps and roots, thorns and briars: fill up ditches, raise causeways, and smooth the roads through the woods: but to PHILIP MELANCTHON it belongs, by the grace of God, to perform a milder and more grateful labour-to build, to plant, to sow, to water, to please by elegance and taste." Melancthon was the pen of the Reformation: when he first heard of Luther's death he exclaimed: "My Father! My Father the chariot of Israel and the horseman thereof."-They were not perfectly agreed, but they were perfectly united. LIFE OF MELANCTHON. Che Christian Warfare. "TAKE up the Cross and follow me!" Advance thy Captain's sign! Conquering, to conquer, forth He goes: By thy weak arm his might can crush his proudest foes. With Truth's unsullied baldrick girt The spirit's' glaive thy Leader's word, In strife and furnace, guard thy breast, And let Salvation's helm, thy dauntless brow invest. But most upon thy martial arm, Take Faith's impervious targe, Amid the deadly charge: Then forth on thy victorious way Speed on, thy steps prepared on Love revealed to stay. Sawest thou the waters foaming high? 'Tis passion's restless sea: Heard'st thou the storm that swept the sky? "Tis stern Adversity. Heed not-tread on-the billows cleft, Shall fence with crystal wall, thy right hand and thy left. Sawest thou the broad and arid plain? No sheltering leaf is there No fount where scorched and fainting Pain Beneath the sultry glare, 94 THE CHRISTIAN WARFARE. May slake his lips. Nor fear, nor fly, Heaven's stores shall ope for thee, when earth and wave deny. Greater and mightier far than thou, The hosts that bar thy way: A loftier power than they, Melts Anak's Titan horde, and rampart walled to Heaven. True, dark ingratitude is there And disappointment cold, And mean Suspicion from his lair, Yet fear not-He whose knight thou art, With energy divine, can nerve thy human heart. True, Earth in treacherous charms arrayed— With eye too wildly sweet, Would seek to her unhallowed shade, To lure thy pilgrim feet: Yet yield not. She who woos thy vows, With crown of bleeding thorn, enwreathed thy Master's brows. Say not thy yoke is hard to bear But look on Him who bore, And then repine no more. His yoke is light: His ways are rest— They that endure with Him, with Him too shall be blest. Fear not, and thou shalt overcome Yea, through His love, who led : AUTUMN. Mid white-robed hosts of fair renown, The "morning star" shall shine, first jewel of thy crown! Fear not! in victory thou shalt stand Upon the glassy sea, And chaunt, with Heaven's own lyre in hand, Sing to the Lord! the fight is done! The fearful foe is 'whelmed the rest eternal, won! 95 Autumn. THE first severe frost has come, and the miraculous change has passed upon the leaves, which is known only in America. The blood-red sugar-maple, with a leaf brighter, more refined and delicate than a Circassian lip, stands here and there in the forest, like the Sultan's standard in a host, the solitary and farseen autocrat of the wilderness. The Birch, with its amber leaves, ghosts of the departed summer, turned out along the edges of the woods, like a lining of the palest gold. The broad Sycamore, the fan-like Catalpa, flaunted their saffron foliage in the sun, spotted with gold, like the wings of the lady-bird: the kingly Oak, with its summit shaken bare, still hid his majestic trunk in a drapery of sumptuous dyes, like a stricken monarch gathering his robes of state about, to die royally in his purple. The tall Poplar, with its minaret of silver, stood blanched like a coward in the dying forest, burthening every breeze with its complainings. The Hickory . paled through its enduring green: the bright berries of the Mountain Ash flushed with a more sanguine glory in the unob structed sun. The gaudy Tulip-tree-the Sybarite of vegetation-stripped of its golden cups, still drank the intoxicating light, in leaves, than which, the lip of an Indian shell was never more delicately tinted. The still deeper-dyed Vines of the lavish wilderness, perishing with the noble things whose summer they had shared, outshone them in their decline. And, alone and unsympathising in this universal decay, outlaws from nature, stood the Fir and the Hemlock, their frowning and sombre heads less lovely than ever, in contrast with the death-struck glory of their companions. The dull colours of English autumnal foliage, give you no conception of this marvellous phenomenon: the change there is gradual; in America it is the work of a night-of a single frost! Oh, to have seen the sun set on hills in the still green and lingering summer, and to awake in the morning to a scene like this! It is as if a myriad of rainbows were laced through the tree-tops, as if the sunsets of a summer's gold purple and crimson had been fused in the Alembic of the West, and poured back, in a new deluge of light and colour, over the wilderness. It is as if every leaf in these countless trees, had been painted to outflush the tulip-as if, by some electric miracle, the dyes of the earth's heart had been struck upward-and her crystals and ores, her sapphires, hyacinths and rubies had let forth their imprisoned colours, to mount through the roots of the forest, reanimating the perishing leaves, and revelling an hour in their bravery. N. P. WILLIS. LET more than the domestic mill, Be turned by Feeling's river: Let Charity begin at home, But not stay there forever. |