healthful activity, which makes Christ a present Saviour, and heaven an immediate experience, is the only faith which is comfortable or safe, the only faith which will be found profitable for the life that now is or the life that is to come. All who have this faith are believers, in the largest sense of the word, and such should not judge one another.

We have intimated that dogmatism may taint the inculcation of duty as well as the exposition of faith. Perhaps its influence in the former connexion is not to be less deprecated than in the latter; for wherever it appears, it infuses bitterness into the waters of life, and substitutes for the gentleness of a Christian spirit the violence of a partisan temper. Men may differ widely respecting the best methods of cultivating or expressing the religious character, and yet be equally sincere followers of the Lord. Why should there be strife among brethren who have a common object in view, and are laboring, though in different ways, for the same end? Does it become those who are themselves weak and fallible to condemn or disparage the efforts of others " to fulfil all righteousness," because those efforts are not shaped after the same model with their own? Judgment is not man's office, but God's prerogative. Nothing can be more contrary to the law of love which Christ laid down and his Apostle expounded, than for us to insist upon our forms of religious activity as the only legitimate expressions of Christian zeal. For us they may be proper, and the best which we could adopt. But in others other exercises may betoken an equal strength of faith and liveliness of sensibility. Who shall say that Fenelon did not in his quiet meditations cherish as warm a love of God, of Christ and of man, as was shown by Francis Xavier, when he devoted himself to the preaching of the Gospel among the idolators of India? Or to come to our own times, who shall pronounce which was the better Christian, Buckminster or Tuckerman ? Yet how different their habits of life; how unlike their departments of influence. Instead of delighting in judgment, let us not judge one another any more; but let us rather "follow the things that make for peace, and things wherewith we may edify another." Mutual edification, not suspicion and recrimination, should distinguish those who bear the same name and press after the same inheritance of eternal life for themselves, and desire the same influ

ences of salvation for others. Sympathy and co-operation may give an effect to our labors in behalf of human well-being, which shall astonish hearts possessed by the most earnest faith; dogmatism can only chill sympathy and prevent co-operation. Mutual forbearance and confidence may clothe us with a triumphant strength; dogmatism can only dissever and ruin us.

E. S. G.

POETRY FOR THE COLLATION.

We wish to preserve on our pages the Song, Hymn, and Ode, written for the Collation on the anniversary week, May 30, 1843, both on account of their merit, and for the sake of the pleasant associations with which they must be connected in the mind of every one present at the occasion on which they were sung. The Song and Hymn were written by Rev. John Pierpont, and the Ode by Miss H. J. Woodman, of Boston.

SONG.

THE bloom of spring at last has come

O'er faces, hopes, and trees,

And town and country hear the hum

Of business and of bees;

And round the board, that friends have spread
For friends, we 've come once more;

And, now the outer man is fed,

We'll sing "Lang syne" encore.

From sunny slope, from sheltered vale,
Whose "brooks of water" flow
Between their grassy banks, whereon

Lambs bleat and cattle low,

We press around the festive board,

Where friend meets friend once more,

And, having talked of other days,

We'll sing "Lang syne” encore.

Ye sunny slopes, ye quiet vales,
So lately clothed in snow,

Ye windy hills, with temples crowned,
Where men for worship go,

Dear though ye are to all our hearts,
Forgive us if, once more,

We 're drawn to town" Election week,"
To sing "Lang syne" encore.

Lang syne, in academic shades,
Have we chalked out our lives,
And lang syne boasted of the maids,
That now sit here our wives;
And though we care not now to "set
The table in a roar,"

What better can we do, thus met,

Than sing "Lang syne" encore?

And when next spring comes round, and shows Her blooming apple trees;

And on her bosom wears a rose,

And brings bouquets like these;

Oh then, though bees and business hum,

And our sand is somewhat lower,

Around this table may we come,

And sing "Lang syne" encore.

HYMN.

THE dead! the reverend dead!

Let not oblivion spread,

Over their dust,

And their good deeds, her pall!

No, let us cherish all

Their names, and here recall

The sainted just.

Fresh, from their sepulchre,
The thought of what they were

Comes, like the breath

Of the young flowers, that grow
Around their graves, and throw
Their fragrance o'er the low,
Dark house of death.

The memory of the good,

Who at the altar stood
Faithful and true,

Is holier, in our eyes,
Than are the stars, that rise
To give us, from the skies,
Their light and dew.

Souls of our brethren blest,
Who 've entered on your rest,
Deign ye to know,

As round the THRONE ye rise
In "sweet societies,"

How by the good and wise
Ye 're loved below?

God of the rolling years,

Guide of the circling spheres-
Planets and suns!

Clothe us, like them, in light;
Lead us, like them, aright;
Keep us in courses bright,
Thy holy ones!

ODE.

SINCE he who bled on Calvary's height
Has blessed with prayer the festal rite,
We come, great God! a joyous throng,
And bless thy name with prayer and song.
Not strangers, but a kindred band,
Brothers in hope, in heart and hand;
Pilgrims in different paths we tread,
But one in Christ, our glorious head.

Let thought unfold her freest wing,
And joy attune her sweetest string;
And pleasant memories of the past
On this bright hour their halo cast.
Hope, pausing in her upward flight,
Reveals her face of beaming light,
Points to the shining path she treads,
On which our God his glory sheds.

We mourn one star, whose brilliant light
Has pierced the veil of mental night;
And orbs of pure, though lesser ray,
Have passed as silently away.
But faith the opening portal shows,
Through which celestial music flows;
The supper of the Lamb within
Is spread for all redeemed from sin.

There may we meet as welcome guests,
No aching brows, no bleeding breasts,
No wanderer mourned, no prayer unheard,
No weary thoughts of bliss deferred.
May love and light and peace be ours,
And wing the bright uncounted hours;
The Shepherd near-his flock secure
In pastures green, by fountains pure.

THE DIFFICULTY OF THE RELIGIOUS LIFE.

It is very difficult to direct our actions at the moment, when the time of action has arrived. We are under the necessity, then, of acting. We have no time for reflection, little time for choice, little opportunity to gather up our scattered affections and bring them to aid us in the path which duty points out. It is not always that we need to direct our actions. They direct themselves. Even in performing the best actions, we act often with little exertion ; we go on easily; we are almost unconscious that we have done well. We have at least acted so easily, that we are quite