Part 6

This attribute is God-like. It may be traced throughout the universe. It has descended from the skies—it is the great charm of angelic natures. It is hardly to be contemplated, even in the demon, without admiration. It is this which gives to the warrior his crown, and encircles his brow with a halo that, in the estimation of a misjudging world, neither darkness, nor lust, nor blasphemy, nor blood can obscure. The bard of Mantua, to whose tomb genius in all ages makes its willing pilgrimage, never presents his hero in a more attractive light, than when he represents him, “_tot volvere casus_,” rolling his misfortunes forward, as a river bearing all opposition before it.

I am well satisfied that it is a sure passport to mental excellence. Science has no summit too lofty for its ascent—literature has no gate too strong for its entrance. The graces collect around it, and the laurel comes at its bidding. Talk not of circumstances. Repudiate forever that doctrine so paralyzing, so degrading, and yet so general, “Man is the creature of circumstances.” Rather adopt that other sentiment, more inspiring to yourselves, more honorable to your nature, more consonant with truth, Man the architect of his own fortune. I grant that circumstances have their influence, and that often this is not small; but there are impulses within, to which things external are as lava to the volcano. Circumstances are as tools to the artist. Zeuxis would have been a painter without canvas; Michael Angelo would have been a sculptor without marble; Herschell would have been a philosopher without a telescope, and Newton would have ascended the skies though no apple had ever descended upon his head. One of the most distinguished surgeons of modern times performed nearly all the operations of surgery with a razor. West commenced painting in a garret, and plundered the family cat for bristles to make his brushes. When Paganini once rose to amuse a crowded auditory with his music, he found that his violin had been removed, and a coarse instrument substituted for it. Explaining the trick, he said to the audience, “Now I will show you that the music is _not in my violin_, but _in me_.” Then drawing his bow, he sent forth sounds sweet as ever entranced delighted mortals. Be assured, the world is a coarse instrument at best, and if you would send forth sweet sounds from its strings, there must be music in your fingers. Fortune may favor, but do not rely upon her—do not fear her. Act upon the doctrine of the Grecian poet,

“I seek what’s to be sought— I learn what’s to be taught— I beg the rest of heav’n.”

Talk not of genius. I grant there are differences in mind, originally, but there is mind enough in every ordinary human skull, if its energies are properly directed, to accomplish mighty results. Fear not obstacles. What are your difficulties? Poverty? ignorance? obscurity? Have they not all been overcome by a host well known to fame? But perchance you climb untrodden heights. Nevertheless, fear to set down any obstacle as insuperable. Look at the achievements of man in the natural and moral worlds, and then say whether you dare set down any difficulty as insurmountable, or whether you are ready to prescribe boundaries to the operations of human power.

Are you destined to maintain the worship of the true God amid the darkness of infidelity? Daniel in the den of lions, Shadrach, Meshech, and Abednego, in the flames of the furnace, and a long line of illustrious martyrs, shouting hosannas from the flames, put forth their hands from the stake to beckon you onward. Are you destined to plant the Gospel in heathen lands—an enterprise the most daring and glorious in which mortals can engage? Do you imagine you can meet a difficulty which the apostle Paul did not vanquish? But he was an apostle, yea, and the most successful of all the apostles. And what was the secret of his success? Was it his learning? The gift of tongues made the other apostles his equals in this respect. Was it his eloquence? Doubtless he was eloquent; but Apollos, too, was eloquent and mighty in the Scriptures. Was it his inspiration? But were not others inspired, also? It was his firmness and perseverance. When he preached Christ Jesus and him crucified, nothing could drive or divert, or daunt him: “This one thing I do,” etc.

Are you called to meet bigotry and superstition, armed with learning, power, and wealth? See Luther braving the thunders of the Vatican, and hear him say, “I would go to Worms were there as many devils there as there are tiles on the houses,” and then affirm, if you dare, that it is your duty to succumb to your difficulties. Are you destined, which heaven forbid, to lead an army to resist invaders, or advance to conquest? Ask Cæsar, Hannibal, Pyrrhus, Alexander, what kind of difficulties may be overcome by decision of character. Have you undertaken to ascend from poverty and obscurity to eminence and wealth? Ask the field or the cabinet, any profession whatever, or either house of Congress, whether there are any difficulties which will not yield to firmness and perseverance, and ten thousand voices shall respond, in animating accents, No.

[_December 24._]

CHRISTMAS SONGS.

THE BEAUTIFUL SONG.

There’s a song in the air, There’s a star in the sky, There’s a mother’s deep prayer, And a baby’s low cry, And the star rains its fire while the beautiful sing, For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a King!

There’s a tumult of joy O’er the wonderful birth, For the Virgin’s sweet boy Is the Lord of the earth. Aye, the star rains its fire, and the beautiful sing, For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a King!

In the light of the star Lie the ages impearl’d; And that song from afar Has swept over the world: Every hearth is aflame, and the beautiful sing In the homes of the nations that Jesus is King!

We rejoice in the light, And we echo the song That comes down through the night From the heavenly throng. Aye, we shout to the lovely evangel they bring, And we greet in his cradle our Savior and King. J. G. HOLLAND.

THE NATIVITY OF CHRIST.

Night of wonder, night of glory, Night all solemn and serene, Night of old prophetic story, Such as time has never seen: Sweetest darkness, softest blue That these fair skies ever knew.

Night of beauty, night of gladness, Night of nights—of nights the best; Not a cloud to speak of sadness, Not a star but sings of rest: Holy midnight, beaming peace, Never shall thy radiance cease.

Happy city, dearest, fairest, Blessed, blessed Bethlehem! Least, yet greatest, noblest, rarest, Judah’s ever-sparkling gem; Out of thee there comes the Light That dispelleth all our night.

Now thy King to thee descendeth, Borne upon a woman’s knee; To thy gates his steps he bendeth, To the manger cometh he; David’s Lord and David’s Son, This his cradle and his throne.

He, the lowliest of the lowly, To our sinful world has come; He, the holiest of the holy, Can not find a human home. All for us he yonder lies, All for us he lives and dies.

Babe of weakness, child of glory, At thy cradle thus we bow; Poor and sad thy earthly story, Yet the King of glory thou: By all heaven and earth adored, David’s Son and David’s Lord.

Light of life, thou liest yonder, Shining in thy heavenly love; Naught from thee our souls shall sunder, Naught from us shall thee remove: Take these hearts and let them be Throne and cradle both to thee! HORATIUS BONAR.

CHRISTMAS HYMN.

O North, with all thy vales of green! O South, with all thy palms! From peopled towns, and fields between, Uplift thy voice of psalms. Raise, ancient East, the anthem high, And let the youthful West reply.

Lo, in the clouds of heaven appears God’s well-beloved Son; He brings a train of brighter years, His kingdom is begun. He comes a guilty world to bless, With mercy, truth, and righteousness.

Oh Father, haste the promised hour, When at his feet shall lie All rule, authority, and power, Beneath the ample sky; When he shall reign, from pole to pole, The Lord of every human soul;

When all shall heed the words he said, Amid their daily cares, And by the loving life he led, Shall strive to pattern theirs; And he who conquer’d death shall win The mightier conquest over sin.

ON CHRISTMAS EVE.

By the firelight’s quivering crimson, While the winter sun sinks low, Let us watch till the first vague star, wife, Has dawned o’er the glooming snow; For if ever our lost ones may wander from the realms of their rest, I believe That they seek us as visiting angels in the dusk of the Christmas Eve.

And our lonelier anguish of longing, Our thrills of in tenser despair, Are born—who may tell?—of a viewless embrace Or a shadowy hand on our hair! O, the darlings are near us to-night, wife, as we watch the soft hearth-glimmer weave Strange pictures on ceiling and curtain in the dusk of the Christmas Eve!

And pitiful memory’s enchantment Has mingled the gloom round us cast, With a glow as from ashes of embers That crumble on hearths of the past! And a note of boy-laughter, long vanish’d, or the gold of a ringlet, each leaves An echo—a gleam—that forever must haunt the dusk of our Christmas Eves!

And the children draw near once again, wife, And, marveling, hark to the quaint Immemorial holiday legend Of the beautiful reindeer-drawn saint. Let us murmur it now, till the shadows of the desolate chamber believe That they fall, as of old, round the dear ones in the dusk of the Christmas Eve!

Let us murmur it softly; who knows, wife, But a whisper will float, in reply, Clear and sweet through the compassing dimness As proof that our darlings are nigh? For if ever their footsteps may wander from the heavenly home, I believe They will seek us as visitant angels in the dusk of the Christmas Eve! EDGAR FAWCETT.

[_December 31._]

GOD MAGNIFIED IN HIS WORKS.[C]

By G. CHAPLIN CHILD, M. D.

In an outlying province of the Turkish empire, where sultan and firman are often superseded by the lawless will of sheik or pacha, two famous rivers—Tigris and Euphrates—gradually converge, and, after mingling their waters together, glide gently onward to the Persian Gulf. In the fork thus formed between them stretches a vast plain, made known to us in early Scripture history as Shinar, Chaldæa, and Babylon, as well as by other less familiar names, but to which the term Mesopotamia has been more usually applied, as it aptly designates a district “lying between rivers.” The general aspect of this plain is one of desolation. Fertile strips here and there border the Euphrates’ banks, and willows are still seen flourishing where the sorrowing Israelites once hung up their harps; but away from those green fringes the eye wanders over wild, dreary wastes from which the last traces of cultivation are slowly dying out. Vast tracts lie soaked in permanent swamps, while much of the remaining land is, at one period of the year, flooded by the unheeded inundations of the neighboring rivers, and, at another, baked into an arid desert by the burning rays of the sun. It need scarcely be said that population has almost disappeared from those melancholy plains; for the wandering Arab is little tempted to pitch his tent or to pasture his flocks on so sterile a soil. The doom that was so clearly foretold by the prophets has fallen upon it, and Babylon now “lies desolate in the sight of all that pass by.” It has become the “habitation of the beasts of the desert.” As the traveler plods onward over its unfrequented tracts, the startled wild-fowl rises with quick splash from the reedy pool, or a few scared gazelles may perhaps be descried bounding over the distant plain. The “owl” and the “bittern,” the jackal and the hyena add their testimony to the exactness with which the words of Scripture have been fulfilled. More rarely a solitary lion may be seen skulking among the strange, mysterious mounds and “heaps” of stones that loom here and there above the plain.

Mournful and dreary though this land now be, it is and ever will remain one of the most interesting spots on earth. It was not always “desolate.” No other place, perhaps, claims with a better title to be regarded as the scene where our first parents walked together in paradise. Such, at least, has been the common tradition; and in a well-known edition of the Bible, published in 1599, may be found a map of the Garden of Eden, of which the site of Babylon forms the center. But, be that as it may, there can be no doubt of its former greatness and fertility, for the record is plainly written all over the soil. Everywhere it is furrowed by ruined canals, of which some tell us of departed commerce and wealth, others of skillful irrigation and abundant crops. Heaps of rubbish are to be met with in which lie hidden fragments of pottery which bear witness to the former presence of a highly cultivated people; and uncouth mounds rise strangely above the plain, in which the last relics of palaces and cities are buried together. For centuries history appeared to have lost her hold upon the great places of the past, and it is only within the last few years that some of them have been rescued from the oblivion that was slowly creeping over them. Questioned by the light of modern knowledge those mysterious stones of the plains open up to us the first page in the history of nations—transport us back almost to the dawn where antiquity begins, and bring within our sight those to whom the deluge was a recent event. They impart a substance to scenes we have often tried in vain to realize. In imagination we see Nimrod the Mighty Hunter, busy with the foundations of the city of Babel on the neighboring Euphrates’ banks, and piling up the “tower that was to reach Heaven.” Then it was that the patriarchal dignity of early Bible records expanded into royalty, and Babylon became the starting point in the long pedigree of kingdoms.

Babylon touched the zenith of its grandeur two thousand four hundred and fifty years ago, when Nebuchadnezzar sat upon the throne. He was the great warrior of that age. After overrunning Egypt he had returned to his capital laden with its spoil; he had chastised his rebellious subjects and treacherous allies, and he had utterly crushed the power of the Kings of Judah. The wicked and faithless Jehoiakim, blind to the warnings he received, had brought a terrible doom upon his country; for Nebuchadnezzar, not content with plundering the treasuries of the temple at Jerusalem, carried the king himself a prisoner to Babylon. Among the captives on this occasion were included Daniel the Prophet and his three friends,—Ananias, Azarias, and Misael, who in the land of their exile received the Chaldæan names of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego.

Nebuchadnezzar was no less great in the arts of peace than in those of war. He, therefore, encouraged learned men to make his capital their resort, and he also promoted the national prosperity by favoring agriculture and commerce. He dug canals in all directions to fertilize the land by irrigation. His merchants traded along the rich shores of the Mediterranean, and penetrated even to remote China. He provided for the security of Babylon by building or strengthening its walls, and he made it beautiful by adorning it with palaces. Its “hanging-gardens” were acknowledged throughout ancient times to be one of the wonders of the world, and their fame has endured up to this very hour.

At the court of such a monarch, Daniel’s learning was sure to procure for him distinction, and he soon became a member of the college of Magi or wise men. His subsequent success in interpreting Nebuchadnezzar’s dream, after all others had failed, raised him to the first rank in the tyrant’s favor, and we are told that “he sat in the gate of the king.” Nor in his prosperity did he forget his three Jewish friends,—Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego,—who through his influence were promoted to be governors in the province of Babylon.

The history of Nebuchadnezzar and the burning, fiery furnace—so illustrative on the one hand of perfect trust in God, and, on the other, of God’s power to deliver his servants from the assaults of their enemies—is endeared to all as one of the interesting Scripture narratives by which those who watched over us in the days of childhood endeavored to attract us onward to the knowledge of our Bible. In the book of Daniel it is related how Nebuchadnezzar, after having been brought by the miraculous interpretation of his dream to acknowledge the “God of Gods and Lord of Kings,” subsequently relapsed into idolatry through the corrupting influence of worldly prosperity. In the full swell of his pride he set up a golden image, and commanded that all his subjects should fall down and worship it. The Babylonian nobles were jealous of the favor shown to the three captives; and they, therefore, encouraged this wicked fancy of the king, because it seemed to open out the means of effecting their ruin. They rightly calculated that the Hebrew Governors would never forsake the God of their Fathers, nor worship the image which the king had set up. And we know that when the hour of trial did come, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego remained true to their faith; and were forthwith bound and cast into the burning, fiery furnace, as a punishment for their disobedience to the tyrant’s will.

From the torments and dangers of this ordeal the three Hebrews were miraculously preserved. Daniel tells us that Nebuchadnezzar himself saw them “loose and walking in the midst of the fire.” “Not a hair of their heads was singed, neither were their coats changed, nor had the smell of fire passed on them.” Elsewhere, in the Song of the Three Children, we are told that “they walked in the midst of the fire, praising God, and blessing the Lord.” After so signal a deliverance, it is easy to conceive the fervor with which their hymn of gratitude was poured forth. The deepest consciousness of the merciful power of God welled up in their hearts and burst from their lips, and the whole universe was ransacked for illustrations to typify and express it. In whatever direction they turned, they beheld Nature crowded with emblems of his greatness and mercy, and they eagerly seized upon them as aids to bring their thoughts up to the fervor of their adoration. Shall not we also do wisely to profit by their example? Our daily obligations to God may not be so miraculous, in the ordinary meaning of the term, but they are, nevertheless, great and countless beyond our power to conceive. Let us then, in humble consciousness of the poverty and imperfection of our thanksgivings, gladly make this suggestive hymn our own; and let us on this, as on all occasions, accept with joy every aid that helps us to “bless, praise, and magnify the Lord.”

“BENEDICITE, OMNIA OPERA.”

O all ye Works of the Lord, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O ye Angels of the Lord, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O ye Heavens, bless ye the Lord: praise him and magnify him forever.

O ye Waters that be above the Firmament, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O all ye Powers of the Lord, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O ye Sun and Moon, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O ye Stars of Heaven, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O ye Showers and Dew, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O ye Winds of God, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O ye Fire and Heat, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O ye Winter and Summer, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O ye Dews and Frosts, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O ye Frost and Cold, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O ye Ice and Snow, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O ye Nights and Days, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O ye Light and Darkness, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O ye Lightnings and Clouds, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O let the Earth bless the Lord: yea, let it praise him, and magnify him forever.

O ye Mountains and Hills, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O all ye Green Things upon the Earth, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O ye Wells, bless ye the Lord: praise him and magnify him forever.

O ye Seas and Floods, bless ye the Lord: praise him and magnify him forever.

O ye Whales, and all that move in the Waters, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O all ye Fowls of the Air, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O all ye Beasts and Cattle, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O ye Children of Men, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O let Israel bless the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O ye Priests of the Lord, bless ye the Lord: praise him and magnify him forever.

O ye Servants of the Lord, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O ye Spirits and Souls of the Righteous, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O ye holy and humble Men of heart, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

O Ananias, Azarias, and Misael, bless ye the Lord: praise him, and magnify him forever.

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost.

As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be: world without end. Amen.

[_End of Required Reading for December._]

FOOTNOTE:

[C] Babylon—the glory of kingdoms, the beauty of the Chaldees’ excellency!—Isaiah xiii: 19.

Her cities are a desolation, a dry land, and a wilderness, a land wherein no man dwelleth.—Jeremiah li: 43.

ATHEISTIC SCIENTISTS.

By JOHN STUART BLACKIE.

There is a sort of men whose faith is all In their five fingers, and what fingering brings, With all beyond of wondrous great and small, Unnamed, uncounted in their tale of things; A race of blinkards, who peruse the case And shell of life, but feel no soul behind, And in the marshaled world can find a place For all things, only not the marshaling Mind. ’Tis strange, ’tis sad; and yet why blame the mole For channelling earth?—such earthy things are they; E’en let them muster forth in blank array, Frames with no pictures, pictures with no soul. I, while this dædal dome o’erspans the sod, Will own the builder’s hand, and worship God.

* * * * *

“My friend, whoever has experienced misfortunes knows that when a mountain-wave of ills comes upon mortals, they are wont to fear all things; but when the gale of fortune blows smoothly, they are confident that the same deity will constantly propel their bark with a favorable breeze.”—_Æschylus._

POISON IN COMMON THINGS.

By PROF. P. A. SIMPSON, M. A., M. D.

POISON IN THE AIR WE BREATHE.