the other life, we are sure that our endeavors will succeed, and that we shall not be disappointed of our hope. 9. The following question is started by one of our schoolmen. Supposing the whole body of the earth were a great ball or mass of the finest sand, and that a single grain or particle of this sand should be annihilated every thousand years? Supposing, then, that you had it in your choice to be happy all the while this prodigious mass of sand was consuming, by this slow method, until there was not a grain left, on condition that you were to be miserable for ever after? Or, supposing that you might be happy for ever after, on condition you would be miserable until the whole mass of sand were thus annihilated, at the rate of one sand in a thousand years;-which of these two cases would you make your choice? 10. It must be confessed, in this case, so many thousands of years are to the imagination as a kind of eternity, though, in reality, they do not bear so great a proportion to that duration which is to follow them, as an unit does to the greatest number which you can put together in figures, or as one of those sands to the supposed heap. Reason therefore tells us, without any manner of hesitation, which would be the better part in this choice. 11. However, as I have before intimated, our reason might, in such a case, be so overset by imagination, as to dispose some persons to sink under the consideration of the great length of the first part of this duration, and of the great distance of that second duration which is to succeed it ;—the mind, I say, might give itself up to that happiness which is at hand, considering, that it is so very near, and that it would last so very long. 12. But when the choice we have actually before us is this— Whether we will choose to be happy for the space of only three score and ten, nay, perhaps of only twenty or ten years, I might say for only a day or an hour, and miserable to all eternity; or, on the contrary, miserable for this short term of years, and happy for a whole eternity-what words are sufficient to express that folly and want of consideration which, in such case, makes a wrong choice! 13. I here put the case even at the worst, by supposing what seldom happens,-that a course of virtue makes us miserable in this life: but if we suppose, as it generally happens, that virtue would make us more happy, even in this life, than a contrary course of vice, how can we sufficiently admire the stupidity or madness of those persons who are capable of making so absurd a choice? it 14. Every wise man, therefore, will consider this life only as may conduce to the happiness of the other, and cheerfully sacrifice the pleasures of a few years, to those of an eternity. LESSON CIX. My Mother's Picture.-CowPEr. 1. O THAT those lips had language! life has pass'd 2. I heard the bell toll'd on thy burial day. 3. Thy maidens, griev'd themselves at my concern, 4. My boast is not, that I deduce my birth To have renew'd the joys that once were mine, And while the wings of fancy still are free, LESSON CX. Ode to Disappointment.-HENRY KIRKE WHITE. 1. COME, Disappointment, come, Not in thy terrors clad; Come in thy meekest, saddest guise; The restless and the bad. But I recline Beneath thy shrine, And round my brow resign'd, thy peaceful cypress twine. 2. Though Fancy flies away Yet meditation, in her cell, Hears, with faint eye, the lingering knell, That tells her hopes are dead; And though the tear By chance appear, Yet she can smile and say, my all was not laid here. 3. Come, Disappointment, come. Though from hope's summit hurl'd, To turn my eye From vanity, And point to scenes of bliss that never, never die. 4. What is this passing scene? A little sun, a little rain, And then night sweeps along the plain, And all things fade away. Man (soon discuss'd) Yields up his trust, And all his hopes and fears lie with him in the dust. 5. Oh! what is Beauty's power? It flourishes and dies; Will the cold earth its silence break, To tell how soft, how smooth a cheek O'er Beauty's fall; Her praise resounds no more when mantled in her pall. And yet 'twas sweet, 'twas passing sweet, Thus does the shade In memory fade, When in forsaken tomb, the form beloved is laid. 7. Then since this world is vain, Why should I lay up earthly joys And cares and sorrows eat? Why fly from ill With anxious skill, When soon this hand will freeze, this throbbing heart be still. 8. Come, Disappointment, come ! I bend my knee to thee. I only bow and say-my God, thy will be done. LESSON CXI. What is Time?-MARSDEN. 1. I ASKED an aged man, a man of cares, 2. I asked the ancient, venerable dead, 3. I asked a dying sinner, ere the tide Of life had left his veins: "Time!" he replied; "I've lost it! Ah, the treasure!" and he died. 4. I asked the golden sun, and silver spheres, 5. I asked the Seasons, in their annual round, 6. I asked a spirit lost; but oh, the shriek 7. Of things inanimate, my dial I Consulted, and it made me this reply:- 8. I asked my Bible; and methinks it said, 9. I asked old Father Time himself, at last, 10. I asked the mighty Angel* who shall stand "I now declare, the mystery is o'er Time was," he cried, "but Time shall be no more!" * See Revelation, chap. x. |