The nice analogy, the clenching fact, the metaphor bold

and free,

The grasp of concentrated intellect wielding the omnipotence of truth,

The grandeur of his speech, in his majesty of mind! Champion of the right,-patriot, or priest, or pleader of the innocent cause,

Upon whose lips the mystic bee hath dropped the honey of persuasion, (19)

Whose heart and tongue have been touched as of old, by the live coal from the altar,

How wide the spreading of thy peace, how deep the draught of thy pleasures!

To hold the multitude as one, breathing in measured

cadence,

A thousand men with flashing eyes, waiting upon thy

will;

A thousand hearts kindled by thee with consecrated

fire,

Ten flaming spiritual hecatombs offered on the mount of God:

And now a pause, a thrilling pause,—they live but in thy words,

Thou hast broken the bounds of self, as the Nile at its

rising,

Thou art expanded into them, one faith, one hope, one

spirit,

N

They breathe but in thy breath, their minds are passive

unto thine,

Thou turnest the key of their love, bending their affections to thy purpose,

And all, in sympathy with thee, tremble with tumultuous

emotions.

Verily, O man, with truth for thy theme, eloquence shall throne thee with archangels.

OF READING.

ONE drachma for a good book, and a thousand talents for

a true friend;

So standeth the market, where scarce is ever costly :

Yea, were the diamonds of Golconda common as shingles on the shore,

A ripe apple would ransom kings before a shining stone; And so, were a wholesome book as rare as an honest

friend,

To choose the book be mine: the friend let another take. For altered looks and jealousies and fears have none entrance there;

The silent volume listeneth well, and speaketh when thou listest:

It praiseth thy good without envy, it chideth thine evil

without malice,

It is to thee thy waiting slave, and thine unbending

teacher.

Need to humour no caprice, need to bear with no in

firmity;

Thy sin, thy slander, or neglect, chilleth not, quencheth not, its love:

Unalterably speaketh it the truth, warped nor by error nor interest;

For a good book is the best of friends, the same to-day and for ever.

To draw thee out of self, thy petty plans and cau

tions,

To teach thee what thou lackest, to tell thee how largely thou art blest,

To lure thy thought from sorrow, to feed thy famished

mind,

To graft another's wisdom on thee, pruning thine own

folly,

Choose discreetly, and well digest the volume most suited

to thy case,

Touching not religion with levity, nor deep things when thou art wearied.

Thy mind is freshened by morning air, grapple with science and philosophy:

Noon hath unnerved thy thoughts, dream for awhile on fictions:

Grey evening sobereth thy spirit, walk thou then with worshippers:

But reason shall dig deepest in the night, and faney fly most free.

O books, ye monuments of mind, concrete wisdom of the

wisest ;

Sweet solaces of daily life; proofs and results of immor

tality;

Trees yielding all fruits, whose leaves are for the healing of the nations;

Groves of knowledge, where all may eat, nor fear a flaming sword;

Gentle comrades, kind advisers; friends, comforts, trea

sures;

Helps, governments, diversities of tongues; who can weigh your worth ?—

To walk no longer with the just; to be driven from the porch of science;

To bid long adieu to those intimate ones, poets, philosophers, and teachers;

To see no record of the sympathies which bind thee in communion with the good;

To be thrust from the feet of Him, who spake as never

man spake;

To have no avenue to heaven but the dim aisle of su

perstition;

To live as an Esquimaux, in lethargy; to die as the Mohawk in ignorance;