wish that devotion breathes, "Father, not my will, but thine, be done?" in the whole conduct of life, in all the events of this ever-varying scene, what more likely to keep the mind in a calm and tranquil state, or to render the present moral discipline efficacious in preparing us for future eminence and glory, than the habit of devout intercourse with the great Father of our spirits? A practice so excellent in maturer life, is recommended to youth by reasons peculiarly forcible. Piety, a crown of glory to the hoary head, is an ornament of peculiar beauty upon that which has not seen many years. It is the language of the most absurd and fatal folly, that religion and its duties are not suited to the innocent gayety of youth; that devotion belongs to those only, who have passed that period; and that it will be sufficient to think of preparing for a future state, when we begin to lose our relish for the present. Such sentiments as these are not, I hope, adopted by any of those young persons, to whom I address myself. The reverse are such as they ought to maintain; such as, alone, are worthy of a rational mind. Is it reasonable, my young friends, that, living as you do upon the bounty of Providence, you should feel no gratitude, nor express any thankfulness for its bounties? that, dependant as you are upon God for life, and health, and all things, you should live without any regard for your unceasing Benefactor, and think yourselves improperly employed when celebrating his praise? Are the blessings you receive undeserving of your thanks? Are you insensible of the value of kind relations, judicious friends, and wise instructers; of bodily strength and activity; of cheerfulness of mind; of all the numberless means, by which life is not only supported, but rendered happy? Is it possible that you should not see and feel the ingratitude of employing your best days, and your most vigorous powers, without one thought of God; and of contenting yourselves with the resolution of devoting to his service the imbecility of old age? With so many monuments of death around you; with so many awful warnings of the uncertainty of life, even at your period of it; is it not the height of presumption and folly, to defer the formation of a religious and devotional temper to a period, which, it is probable, or at least possible, may never arrive? Have you seen so little of life, as not to know, that the feeling and conduct of maturer years, and of old age, are almost invariably marked by the character which distinguished the youth; that the man, who neglected God and religious duties when young, becomes more averse from them as he advances in life, and leaves the world with the same irreligious temper with which he entered upon it; unimproved by the events that have happened to him, bearing no similitude to God, without the favour of his friendship, and unprepared for the joys of his presence? Or, is this the envied character you desire to form? is this the happy end to which you aspire? is such the life you wish to lead? or such the death you hope to die? My young friends, let not any evil suggestions enslave you, and prevent you from pursuing that conduct, which reason and Scripture pronounce to be honourable and safe. If it be an awful thing to die without hope of future happiness, it is an awful thing to live every moment liable to death, without those dispositions, which, by the wise appointment of Almighty God, are necessary to obtain the blessedness of the world to come. LESSON LXXXI. The Seasons.-MRS. BARBAULD. WHO may she be, this beauteous, smiling maid, Loosed from their icy chains the rivers flow; At sight of her the lambkins bound along, And each glad warbler trills his sweetest song; Their mates they choose, their breasts with love are filled, And all prepare their mossy nests to build. Ye youths and maidens, if ye know, declare The name and lineage of this smiling fair. Who from the south is this, with lingering tread From her the brooks and wandering rivulets fly; To allay the fervour of her parching lips; Where spreading beeches cooling shades supply; Who may he be that next, with sober pace, Who is he from the north that speeds his way? LESSON LXXXII. March.-BRYANT. THE stormy March is come at last, With wind, and cloud, and changing skies: I hear the rushing of the blast, That through the snowy valley flies. Ah! passing few are they who speak, For thou to northern lands again, And, in thy reign of blast and storm, Then sing aloud the gushing rills And the full springs, from frost set free, The year's departing beauty hides Thou bring'st the hope of those calm skies, LESSON LXXXIII. April.-LONGFellow. WHEN the warm sun, that brings I love the season well, When forest glades are teeming with bright forms, From the earth's loosened mould The softly-warbled song Comes through the pleasant woods, and coloured wings Are glancing in the golden sun, along The forest openings. And when bright sunset fills The silver woods with light, the green slope throws And wide the upland glows. And when the day is gone, In the blue lake, the sky, o'erreaching far, Inverted in the tide Stand the gray rocks, and trembling shadows throw, And the fair trees look over, side by side, And see themselves below. Sweet April, many a thought Is wedded unto thee, as hearts are wed; |