SLOTH. "A LITTLE more sleep, a little more slumber, Touch not these curtains!—your hand will be tearing Thou art a blot on my beautiful brain ! Cease your dull lecture on cares and employment, Let me forget awhile trouble and strife, Leave me to peace,-let me husband enjoyment,— Of the sweet voice in my beautiful brain! Hush, for the halo of calmness is spreading Hush,-for new slumbers are over me stealing, ACTIVITY. OPEN the casement, and up with the Sun! Over the hills his chariot is roll'd, Banner'd with glory, and burnished with gold, Bridegroom of Earth, and brother of Time! Day hath broken, joyous and fair; Lo, the wondering world awakes, With its rosy-tipp'd mountains and gleaming lakes, In all their gratitude blessing HIM Who dwelleth between the Cherubim ! Break away boldly from Sleep's leaden chain; Rather, with vigour and resolute nerve, Up, up, to bless man, and thy Master to serve, The offering of prayer, and the incense of praise! Gird thee, and do thy watching well, Duty's Christian sentinel ! Sloth and Slumber never had part In the warrior's will, or the patriot's heart; Soldier of God on an enemy's shore! Slumber and sloth thrall thee no more. ADVENTURE. How gladly would I wander through some strange and savage land, The lasso at my saddle-bow, the rifle in my hand, Alone, alone-yet not alone, for God is with me there, The tender hand of Providence shall guide me everywhere, While happy thoughts and holy hopes, as spirits calm and mild, Shall fan with their sweet wings the hermit-hunter of the wild! Without a guide,-yet guided well,-young, buoyant, fresh and free, Without a road,-yet all the land a highway unto me, Without a care, without a fear, without a grief or pain, Exultingly I thread the woods, or gallop o'er the plain! Or, brushing through the copse, from his leafy home I start The stately elk, or tusky boar, the bison, or the hart, And then, -with eager spur, to scour, away, away, Nor stop,-until my dogs have brought the glorious brute to bay. Or, if the track, gang of hungry wolves come yelling on my I make my ready rifle speak, and scare the cowards back; Or, if the lurking leopard's eyes among the branches shine, A touch upon the trigger-and his spotted skin is mine! And then the hunter's savoury fare at tranquil even tide, The dappled deer I shot to-day upon the green hill side; |