PATIENCE and resignation disarm the most severe misfortunes of their bitterness; they render us easy to ourselves and respectable even to our enemies; while, on the contrary, boisterous sorrow and outrageous complaints render us a burden to ourselves, and a jest to the unfeeling and vulgar. Elizabeth Helme.

No cloud can overshadow a true Christian, but his faith will discover a rainbow in it.

Bishop Horne.

LOVE, that Geyser of the soul, can melt the ice and snow of the most frozen regions; wherever its warm springs well up, there glows a southern climate.

Frederika Bremer.

I THANK my heavenly Father for every manifestation of human love; I thank him for all experiences, be they sweet or bitter, which help me to forgive all things, and to enfold the whole world with blessing. "What shall be our reward," says Swedenborg, "for loving our neighbor as ourselves in this life? That when we become angels we shall be enabled to love him better than ourselves!" This is a reward pure and holy; the only one which my heart has not

rejected, whenever offered as an incitement to goodness. It is this which chiefly makes the happiness of lovers more nearly allied to heaven, than any other emotions experienced by the human heart; each loves the other better than himself; each is willing to sacrifice all to the other, nay, finds joy therein. This it is that surrounds them with a golden atmosphere, and tinges the world with rose-colour. A mother's love has the same angelic character; more completely unselfish, but lacking the charm of perfect reciprocity. The cure for all the wrongs and ills, the cares, the sorrows, and the crimes of humanity, all lie in that one word, love. It is the divine vitality that every where produces and restores life. To each and every one of us it gives the power of working miracles if we will. 'Love is the story without an end, that angels throng to hear;

The word, the king of words, carved on Jehovah's heart.'

From the highest to the lowest, all feel its influence, all acknowledge its power.

Mrs. Child.

OH! never let us lightly fling
A barb of woe to wound another;
Oh let us never haste to bring
The cup of sorrow to a brother.

Each has the power to wound, but he
Who wounds that he may witness pain,
Has learnt no law of charity,

Which ne'er inflicts a pang in vain.

"Tis godlike to awaken joy,

Or sorrow's influence to subdue,
But not to wound, nor to annoy,
Is part of virtue's lesson too.

Peace winged in fairer worlds above
Shall bend her down and brighten this,
When all man's labor shall be love,

And all his thoughts a brother's bliss.

John Bowring.

O WOULDST thou set thy rank before thyself?
Wouldst thou be honored for thyself or that?
Rank that excels the wearer, doth degrade.
Riches impoverish, that divide respect.
O, to be cherished for oneself alone!

To owe the love that cleaves to us to nought,
Which fortune's summer-winter-gives or takes!
To know that while we wear the heart and mind,
Feature and form, high heaven endowed us with,
Let the storm pelt us, or fair weather warm,

We shall be loved! Kings from their throne cast down,
Have bless'd their fate, that they were valued for
Themselves and not their stations; when some knee
That hardly bow'd to them in plenitude,

Has kiss'd the dust before them, stripp'd of all.

Sheridan Knowles.

No endowments of the mind are a sufficient justification for pride.

IN youth from rock to rock I went,
From hill to hill in discontent

Of pleasure, high and turbulent,

Most pleased when most uneasy;
But now my own delights I make,
My thirst at every rill can slake,
And gladly nature's love partake
Of thee, sweet daisy!

Thee winter in the garland wears,
That thinly decks his few grey hairs;
Spring parts the clouds with softest airs
That she may sun thee:

Whole summer fields are thine by right,
And autumn melancholy wight!
Doth in thy crimson head delight
When rains are on thee.

In shoals and bands a morrice train,
Thou greet'st the traveller in the lane,
Pleased at his greeting thee again,
Yet nothing daunted;

Nor grieved if thou be set at nought;
And oft alone in nooks remote

We meet thee like a pleasant thought,
When such is wanted.

Be violets in their secret mews

The flowers the wanton zephyrs choose;
Proud be the rose, with rains and dews
Her head impearling-

Hewlit.

Thou liv'st with less ambitious aim,
Yet hast not gone without thy fame,
Thou art indeed by many a claim
The poet's darling.

If to a rock from rains he fly,
Or, some bright day of April sky
Imprisoned by hot sunshine lie
Near the green holly;

And wearily at length should fare,
He needs but look about, and there
Thou art!-a friend at hand to scare
His melancholy.

A hundred times by rock or bower,
Ere thus I have lain couched an hour,
Have I derived from thy sweet power
Some apprehension-

Some steady love, some brief delight, Some memory that had taken flight, Some chime of fancy wrong or right, Or stray invention.

If stately passions in me burn,

And one chance look on thee I turn,
I drink out of an humbler urn,
A lowlier pleasure;

The homely sympathy that heeds,
The common life our nature breeds,
A wisdom fitted to the needs

Of hearts at leisure.

Fresh smitten by the morning ray,
When thou art up, alert and gay,