O'er friends enslav'd, foes wounded, allies crush'd;
High from the Alps, amid eternal snow,
Pour'd his fierce legions on the vale below,
With tramp of hurrying steed and armour's clang
War followed war; from conquest, conquest sprang.
In Scythian caves he fought; on Afric's sands,
Chas'd the wild Arab and his roving bands;
Perch'd on the pyramids in dizzy height.
Look'd scornful down on Alexander's might;
O'er Europe's realm like Attila he rush'd,
Snatch'd, rent, divided, subjugated, crush'd;
_Here_, planted minions in his smile to reign,
_There_, loaded monarchs with his vassal chain.
Rome's haughty pontiff trembled at the nod
That dar'd to threat the altar of his God;
While Albion's ships, whose bristled lightnings glow,
Were seen like Argus watching for their foe,
And her white cliffs in close array were lin'd
With sleepless soldiers, on their arms reclin'd.
Far distant realms beheld his glories tower,
And France forgot her wrongs, to boast his power;
The pale-brow'd conscript left, without a sigh,
Home, love, and liberty, for him to die.
Even heaven-taught Genius proffer'd venal lays,
The servile arts enlisted in his praise,
And the rich spoils of old Italia's shore
As trophies proud, his pirate legions bore.
In that gay city where his lofty throne
On run rear'd, in sudden brilliance shone,
The Old World met the New, and sons of fame
Who fill'd with awe, in long procession came,
Rais'd the imploring eye, to ask sublime
A milder sentence on the tyrant's crime.
But how can Europe grant their warm appeal,
Reft of her sons, and mangled by his steel?
Hath she a couch so dark, a cell so deep,
That burning Moscow's memory there may sleep?
What can the scenes of purple Jaffa blot?
And when shall Lodi's slaughter be forgot?
Who from a race unborn shall hide the view
Of Jena, Austerlitz, and Waterloo?
Earth, clad in sable, never can forego
The deep-grav'd trace, nor man forget the woe.
Yet, _let him live_, if life can yet be borne,
Disrob'd of glory, and depress'd with scorn;
Yes, _let him live_, if he to life can bend,
Without a flatterer, and without a friend;
If from the hand he hated, he can bear
To take the gift, his stain'd existence spare.
But who from yon lone islet shall exclude
The fearful step of Conscience, foul with blood?
What diamond shield repel the impetuous force
Or break the shafts of pitiless remorse?
Oh! in his sea-girt cell of guilt and fear,
Stretch the red map that marks his dire career,
Light the funereal torch, in terror spread
His reeking hecatombs of slaughter'd dead,
And if to hearts like his, Contrition comes,
There let him seek her 'mid impending glooms;
_There_ let him live, and to mankind display
The mighty miseries of Ambition's sway;
There let him sink, to teach them by his fate,
The dread requital of the falsely great.
Great, in the stores of an ambitious mind;
Great, in the deeds that desolate mankind;
Great, like the pestilence in mystic shroud
That darts its arrow from the midnight cloud;
Great, like the whirlwind in its wrecking path,
To sow in evil, and to reap in wrath.
Polycarp.
There have been in all ages some firm and consistent Christians, who,
rather than deny the true faith, have chosen martyrdom. Polycarp, the
Bishop of Smyrna, in Asia, was one of the earliest of these. He had
become very old and venerable, when, during one of the persecutions
under the Roman Emperors, his life was taken away. No accusation was
ever made against him, except that he was a follower of Christ.
Suddenly there was a great noise in the streets, and multitudes shouted,
"Let Polycarp be brought!" Not dismayed at the tumult, he retired to
pray, as was his custom at that hour. Then his enemies rushed forcibly
into his house, and foreseeing their purpose, he said,
"The will of the Lord be done."
Calmly he talked with them, and as some seemed weary and exhausted, he
commanded food to be set before them, remembering the words of the
forgiving and compassionate Redeemer, "If thine enemy hunger, feed him;
if he thirst, give him drink."
He requested that he might have one hour for his devotions, ere they
took him from his home, to which he felt persuaded that he should return
no more. This they granted, and when the hour was passed, placed him on
an ass, to carry him to the city. Two Romans of wealth and power,
passing by, took him up into their chariot. There they endeavoured to
persuade him to sacrifice to the heathen gods. He replied, "I shall
never do what you advise." Then they threw him out of the chariot so
roughly, that he was bruised and hurt. But rising, he walked on
cheerfully, notwithstanding his great age. When he was brought before
the tribunal, the Governor urged him to deny the Saviour. "Reverence
thine age," said he. "Repent. Swear by the fortunes of Caesar. Reproach
Christ, and I will set thee at liberty."
But Polycarp replied, "Fourscore and six years have I served him, and he
hath never done me an injury. How then can I blaspheme my King and
Saviour?"
"I have wild beasts," said the furious governor. "I will cast you unto
them, unless you change your mind."
"Call for them," answered Polycarp.
"Nay, if you dread not the lions," said the Roman, "I will order you to
be consumed by fire, except you repent."
"Threatenest thou me," said the gray-haired Christian, "with the fire
that burns for an hour, and then is extinguished? And art thou ignorant
of the fire of the future judgment, and of the everlasting punishment
reserved for the wicked?"
Then the whole multitude, both of Jews and Gentiles that inhabited
Smyrna, cried out furiously, "This is the father of the Christians, who
teaches all Asia not to worship our gods. Let a lion loose upon him, or
let him be cast into the flame."
They hastened to raise a pile of wood and dry branches. He unclothed
himself at their command, and endeavoured to stoop down and take off his
shoes, which he had long been unable to do, because of his age and
infirmity. When all things were ready, they were going to nail him to
the stake. But he said, "He who gives me strength to bear this fire,
will enable me to stand unmoved without being fastened with nails." Then
he thus prayed:
"Oh Father of the beloved and blessed Son, Jesus Christ, through whom we
have obtained the knowledge of Thee, Oh God of angels and
principalities, of all creation, and of all the just who live in thy
sight, I bless Thee that Thou hast counted me worthy of this day, and at
this hour, to receive my portion in the number of martyrs, in the cup of
Christ, for the resurrection of eternal life, both of soul and body, in
the incorruption of the Holy Ghost, among whom may I be received before
Thee, as an acceptable sacrifice, which Thou, the faithful and true God,
hast prepared, promised, and fulfilled accordingly. Wherefore, I praise
Thee for all these things, I bless Thee, I glorify Thee, by the eternal
High Priest, Jesus Christ, thy well-beloved Son, through whom and with
whom, in the Holy Spirit, be glory to Thee, both now and for ever."
Scarcely had the hoary-headed saint uttered his last earnest _Amen_, ere
the impatient officers kindled the pile. Flame and smoke enwrapped the
blackening body of the martyr. It was long in consuming, and so they ran
it through with a sword. Thus died the faithful and venerable Polycarp
in the year 168, at the age of eighty-six.
Christmas Hymn.
"Peace on earth, and good-will to men."
Lift up the grateful heart to Him,
The Friend of want and pain,
Whose birth the joyous angels sang,
On green Judea's plain;
"Good-will and peace!" how sweet the sound
Upon the midnight air,
While sleep the fleecy flocks around,
Watched by their shepherd's care.
So we, within this Christian fold,
Lambs of our teacher's love,
Who hear that melody divine,
Still echoing from above,
Would fain, through all of life, obey
The spirit of the strain,
That so the bliss by angels sung
Might not to us be vain.
The Frivolous King.
Richard the Second was grandson of Edward the Third, and the only son of
the celebrated Black Prince. He ascended the throne at the age of
eleven, with every advantage that could be derived from the partiality
of the people for his illustrious ancestors. Especially the firmness and
magnanimity of his father, and his union of goodness with greatness, won
the favour of the historians of his times, who assert that he left a
stainless honour and an unblemished name.
The young king, during an insurrection, gave some proofs of courage and
presence of mind that impressed the nation favourably: and as he
approached maturity, his graceful, majestic person awakened their
admiration and pride. Had he by wise conduct and deportment confirmed
these impressions, he might have swayed their affections, and firmly
established himself in their love. But his demeanour was so light and
frivolous, that he commanded no respect, while his self-confidence and
contempt of wise counsel plunged him into misfortune. And as the mind
that indulges itself in error is never stationary, he passed from
indolence to acts of injustice, and even of cruelty.
He banished for life the Duke of Norfolk, against whom no crime had been
proved, and condemned to a ten years' exile the young Duke of
Bolingbroke, against whom no offence had been alleged. The last named
nobleman was his own cousin, the son of John of Gaunt, Duke of
Lancaster, brother of the Black Prince. The aged father deeply mourned
this disgrace and unjust punishment inflicted on his only son. Had not
Richard been destitute of true sympathy, it would have grieved him to
see his white-haired relative sinking in despondence, and mourning night
and day for the absence of his son. Borne down by sorrow, and the
infirmities of declining years, he died, and his large estates were
immediately taken for the use of the crown.
The banished Bolingbroke, exasperated at the seizure of his paternal
inheritance, returned before the term of his exile had expired. When he
entered his native land, some followers joined him, and as he passed
onward, they increased to a formidable force. Richard was dilatory in
his preparations to oppose them, and unfortunate in his encounters. He
was defeated, and made prisoner by him who had once been the victim of
his own tyranny.
The weather was cold and cheerless, when, on almost the last day of
December, 1399, a strange and sad scene was exhibited in the streets of
London. There, Bolingbroke, with the title of Henry Fourth, appeared
riding in great pomp, with a vast retinue, who filled the air with
acclamations, followed by the drooping and degraded Richard, exposed to
the insults of those who flattered or feared him in his day of power,
and now spared not to cast dust and rubbish upon him. Shakspeare has
given a most striking description of this entrance into the city, which
seems to bring it before the eye like a picture.
Though the fickle throng showered their praises upon the fortunate
monarch, there were some left to pity the fallen. He was kept a close
prisoner in Pomfret Castle, and subjected to many sufferings and
indignities. There he died, some historians say by the stroke of an axe,
and others, by the slow torture of starvation.
From his untimely grave, a voice seems to rise, warning the young
against the folly and rashness that were his ruin. Let them avoid this
thoughtlessness and waste of time, and if they are ever tempted to
frivolity, or contempt of the rights of others, remember what this
prince might have been, and what he became, nor pass by this melancholy
monument of blasted hope without learning a lesson of wisdom.
To a Pupil Leaving School.
Farewell! Farewell! Once more regain
Your happy home, your native plain;
Yet here, in Learning's classic fane,
None have discharg'd the allotted part
With firmer zeal or fonder heart.
And true affection still shall hold
Your image, set in Memory's gold.
Yet think, sweet friend, where'er you rove,
That He who strews your path with love,
Accords no boon of which to say,
"'Tis light, go trifle it away."
No. Every fleeting hour survives;
It seems to vanish, yet it lives;
Though buried, it shall burst the tomb,
And meet you at the bar of doom.
But _how_ it rises, _how_ appears,
With smiles or frowns, with joys or fears.
And ah! what verdict then it bears,
Rests on your labours, and your prayers.
Pious Princes.
The pomp with which royalty is surrounded must be unfavourable to a
right education. Its proud expectations are often destructive to
humility, and its flatteries blind the mind to a knowledge of itself.
Yet History records a few instances, where the young heart has escaped
these dangers, and chosen truth for its guide, and wisdom as its
portion. Here and there, we find one, whom the possession of an earthly
crown did not deter from the pursuit of that which is incorruptible and
eternal.
Josiah, the king of Judah, was one of these rare examples. He was born
about the year six hundred and thirty-three, before the Christian era,
and at the early age of eight was called to succeed his father on the
throne. The temptations of kingly power, which are so often a hindrance
to piety, seemed rather to dispose his heart to its influence, for the
sacred historian records that in the eighth year of his reign, while he
was yet young, "he began to seek after the God of David his father."
The religion of this young prince of sixteen soon unfolded itself in
earnest deeds; the overthrow of idolatry, the repair of the Holy Temple,
and the establishment of laws for the welfare of his people and realm.
Modern history, also, describes some young heirs of royalty, whom it is
pleasant to contemplate. Conspicuous among these is Edward VI. of
England, who began his reign in 1547, at the age of nine years. His
mother died almost immediately after his birth, and until he was nearly
seven he was under the care of females, whose virtues and
accomplishments were calculated to make the happiest impression on his
character. Thus, by the grace of God, was laid the foundation of that
deep, tender, and consistent piety, that marked his conduct through
life, and left him, at death, an unblemished fame.
In early childhood he discovered strong powers of mind, and a
conscientious heart. His reverence for the Scriptures was remarkable.
Once, while playing with some infantine companions, he desired to reach
an article that was considerably above their heads. So they moved a
large book for him to stand upon. Scarcely had he placed his foot upon
the covers when he saw it was the Bible. Instantly drawing back, he
folded his arms around it and said seriously to his play-fellows, "Shall
I trample under my feet that which God hath commanded me to treasure up
in my heart?"
On his seventh birth-day he was placed under the tuition of learned men,
to study such branches of knowledge as they considered best for him,
among which were the Latin and French languages. He was docile to all
their directions, and frequently expressed his gratitude for their
instructions. Letters elegantly written in Latin, at the age of eight,
to his father, Henry Eighth, Queen Catharine Parr, his mother-in-law,
and the Earl of Hertford, his uncle, are preserved as curiosities in the
annals of those times.
At his coronation, being then nine years old, three swords were laid
before him to signify that he was the monarch of three separate
kingdoms.
"There is another sword yet wanting," said the child-prince, "one more,
the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God. Without that we are
nothing, we can do nothing; we have no power. Through that, we are what
we are, at this day. From that Book alone, we obtain all virtue and
salvation, and whatever we have of divine strength."
Constancy and regularity in prayer was among his early traits of
character. After he became a king, and was subject to the interruptions
and temptations of a court, nothing could induce him to neglect his
daily seasons of private devotion. One day, he was told, that Sir John
Cheeke, who had given him lessons in Latin, when quite a young child,
was dangerously sick. With deep solemnity on his countenance, he went to
his stated retirement, and afterwards hearing that the physician had
said there was little hope of his recovery, replied in the simple
fervour of faith,
"Ah! but I think there is. For I have most earnestly begged of God, in
my prayers, this morning, to spare him."
When the sufferer was restored to health, and informed of this
circumstance, he was deeply touched by the grateful affection and
confiding piety of his royal pupil.
Edward Sixth kept an exact diary of all the memorable events that passed
under his observation. The conferring of every office, civil or
ecclesiastical, the receipts and expenditure of the revenue, the repairs
or erection of forts, the sending forth or reception of ambassadors, and
indeed, all matters of business that occurred during his reign, were
legibly recorded by his own hand, with their appropriate dates. This
diary, which evinces industry and uprightness of purpose, is often
quoted by historians.
But pulmonary consumption early made fatal inroads on his health, and he
prepared for a higher and happier state with the benignity of one whose
heart was already there. The following prayer, which is among those
which he used as the close of life drew nigh, will show how much the
progress of true religion among his people dwelt on his mind, when about
to be taken from them:
"My Lord God! if thou wilt deliver me from this miserable and wretched
life, take me among thy chosen. Yet, not _my_ will, but _Thy_ will be
done. Lord I commit my spirit unto Thee. Thou knowest how happy it were
for me to be with Thee. But if Thou dost send me life and health, grant
that I may more truly serve Thee.
"Oh my God! save thy people, and bless thine inheritance. Preserve thy
chosen realm of England, and maintain Thy true religion, that both king
and people may praise Thy holy name, for the sake of our Lord Jesus
Christ."
Edward Sixth died at the age of sixteen, July 6th, 1553, beloved and
lamented by all over whom he had reigned.
The historians of France record, with high encomium, the virtues of one
of their princes, a son of Louis Fifteenth, who died before his father.
He possessed a noble spirit, amiable manners, and in all the duties and
sympathies of private life was so exemplary, that he was pronounced by
national enthusiasm, "too perfect to continue on earth." He was
exceedingly attentive to the education of his children, and vigilant in
guarding them against the pride and arrogance of royalty. He continually
endeavoured to impress upon their minds, that though they had been
placed by Heaven in an elevated station, yet virtue and religion were
the only true and enduring distinctions. His death, which was deeply
mourned by the nation over which he had expected one day to rule, took
place on the 20th of December, 1765, when he had just attained the age
of thirty-seven years.
He directed the preceptor of his children to take them to the abodes of
the poor, and let them taste the coarsest bread, and lie down upon the
hardest pallet, that they might know how the needy live, and learn to
pity them.
"Ah! suffer them also to weep," he would say, "for a prince who has
never shed tears for the woes of others can never make a good king."
Yes, take them to the peasant's cot,
Where penury shrinks in pain and care,
Spread to their view the humblest lot,
And let them taste the coarsest fare,
And bid their tender limbs recline
Upon the hard and husky bed,
Where want and weary labour pine,
Diseased, unpitied, and unfed;
And let them weep; for if their eyes
With tender Pity ne'er o'erflow,
How will they heed their subjects' signs,
Or learn to feel a nation's woe?
Oh children! though your Maker's hand,
Hath mark'd for you a lofty sphere,
And though your welfare and command
Are now to partial Gallia dear;
Yet many a child from lowliest shed,
Whose peasant father turns the sod,
May in the righteous day of dread
Be counted _greater_ by his God.
Evils of War.
"From whence come wars and fightings?" James, iv. 1.
You will perhaps say they have been from the beginning. The history of
every nation tells of the shedding of blood. In the Bible and other
ancient records of man, we read of "wars and fightings," ever since he
was placed upon the earth.
Yet there have been always some to lament that the creatures whom God
has made should thus destroy each other. They have felt that human life
was short enough, without its being made still shorter by violence.
Among the most warlike nations there have been wise and reflecting
minds, who felt that war was an evil, and deplored it as a judgment.
Rome was one of the most warlike nations of the ancient world. Yet three
of her best Emperors gave their testimony against war, and were most
reluctant to engage in it. Adrian truly loved peace, and endeavoured to
promote it. He saw that war was a foe to those arts and sciences which
cause nations to prosper. Titus Antoninus Pius tried to live in peace
with every one. He did all in his power to prevent war, and said he
would "rather save the life of one citizen, than destroy a thousand
enemies." Marcus Aurelius considered war both as a disgrace and a
calamity. When he was forced into it, his heart revolted.
Yet these were heathen emperors. They had never received the Gospel,
which breathes "peace and good-will to man." The law of Moses did not
forbid war "An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth," was the maxim
of the Jewish people. But the law of Jesus Christ is a law of peace. "I
say unto you, that ye resist not evil," were the words not only of his
lips, but of his example. His command to his disciples was, "See that ye
love one another."
The spirit of war, therefore, was not condemned by the Jewish law, or by
the creeds of the heathen. But it is contrary to the spirit of the
Gospel.
Have you ever seriously considered the evil and sorrow of war? how it
destroys the lives of multitudes, and makes bitter mourning in families
and nations? You are sorry when you see a friend suffering pain, or a
lame man with a broken bone, or even a child with a cut finger. But
after a battle, what gashes and gaping wounds are seen, while the ground
is red with the flowing blood, and the dying in their agony are trampled
under the feet of horses, or covered with heaps of dead bodies.
Think too of the poverty and distress that come upon many families, who
have lost the friend whose labour provided them with bread, upon the
mourning of gray-headed parents from whose feeble limbs the prop is
taken away; upon the anguish of wives for their slaughtered husbands;
and the weeping of children, because their dear fathers must return to
them no more.
All these evils, and many which there is not room to mention, come from
a single battle. But in one war there are often many battles. Towns are
sometimes burned, and the aged and helpless destroyed. The mother and
her innocent babes perish in the flames of their own beloved homes.
It is very sad to think of the cruelty and bad passions which war
produces. Men, who have no cause to dislike each other, meet as deadly
foes. They raise weapons of destruction, and exult to hear the groans of
death. Rulers who make war, should remember the suffering and sin which
it occasions, and how much more noble it is to save life than to destroy
it.
Howard visited the prisons of Europe, and relieved the miseries of those
who had no helper, and died with their blessings on his head. Bonaparte
caused multitudes to be slain, and multitudes to mourn, and died like a
chained lion upon a desolate island. Is not the fame of Howard better
than that of Bonaparte?
The religious sect of Friends, or Quakers, as they are sometimes called,
never go to war. The beautiful State of Pennsylvania was originally
settled by them. William Penn, its founder, would not permit any discord
with the Indians, its original inhabitants. He obtained the land of them
by fair purchase, and set the example of treating them with justice and
courtesy.
In most of the other colonies there had been fearful wars with the
savages. In ambush and massacre, the blood of the new-comers had been
shed; and they had retaliated on the sons of the forest with terrible
vengeance. Older States looked upon this proffer of peace as a dangerous
experiment. They said, "These Quakers have put their heads under the
tomahawk." But on the contrary, no drop of their blood was ever shed by
the Indians in Pennsylvania. They gathered around William Penn with
reverence and love. Rude warriors as they were, they admired his
peaceful spirit. He explained his views to them with cordiality, and
they listened to his words.
"We will not fight with you," he said, "nor shed your blood. If a
quarrel arise, six of our people and six of your own, shall meet
together and judge what is right, and settle the matter accordingly."