Apt words have power to suage the tumors of a troubled mind.

Loneliness is the first thing which God's eye named not good.

But see! theVirgin blessed Hath laid her Babe to rest. Time is our tedious song should here have ending.

From morn To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve,- A summer's day; and with the setting sun Dropp'd from the Zenith like a falling star.

A short retirement urges a sweet return.

Suffering for truth's sake Is fortitude to highest victory, And to the faithful death the gate of life.

If the will, which in the law of our nature, were withdrawn from our memory, fancy, understanding, and reason, no other hell could equal, for a spiritual being, what we should then feel from the anarchy of our powers. It would be conscious madness,--a horrid thought!