The tumult of each sacked and burning village; The wail of famine in beleaguered towns. The bursting shell, the gateway wrenched asunder; Is it, O man, with such discordant noises, Were half the power that fills the world with terror, There were no need of arsenals nor forts. The warrior's name would be a name abhorred ! Down the dark future, through long generations, "Peace!" Peace! and no longer from its brazen portals The holy melodies of love arise. W. H. LONGFELLOW. GENTLE WORDS. A young rose in the summer time Is beautiful to me, And glorious the many stars That glimmer on the sea; But gentle words, and loving hearts, Or stars that ever shone. The sun may warm the grass to life, And eyes grow bright, and watch the light But words that breathe of tenderness, And smiles we know are true, Are warmer than the summer-time, It is not much the world can give, And gold and gems are not the things To satisfy the heart; But, oh! if those who cluster round The altar and the hearth, Have gentle words, and loving smiles, C. D. STEWART. ANGRY WORDS. Angry words are lightly spoken, Poison-drops of care and sorrow, Angry words! oh, let them never Love is much too pure and holy; J. MIDDLETON. MRS. FRY'S FAREWELL VISIT TO THE FEMALE CONVICT SHIP, "MARIA," OFF DEPTFORD. "She stood at the door of the cabin, attended by her friends and the captain; the women on the quarter-deck facing them. The sailors, anxious to see what was going on, clambered into the rigging, on to the capstan, or mingled in the outskirts of the group. The silence was profound,-when Mrs. Fry opened her Bible, and, in a clear, audible voice, read a portion from it. The crews of the other vessels in the tiers, attracted by the novelty of the scene, leant over the ships on either side, and listened apparently with great attention. She closed the Bible, and, after a short pause, knelt down on the deck and implored a blessing on this work of Christian charity. Many of the women wept bitterly-all seemed touched: when she left the ship, they followed her with their eyes and their blessings, until her boat having passed within another tier of vessels, they could see her no more."-Life of Mrs. Fry, vol. ii. p. 321. HARK! it is the voice of prayer, From a bark of sin and woe; They, a dark, degraded band, Dwellers long in convict-cell. Man despised-but Jesus bent Delicate, and soft, and fair, From her lovely home she fled- Thrilled as at an angel's tread. |