26 "There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech, 27 "Hard by yon wood, now smiling, as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove; Now drooping, woful, wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love. 28 "One morn I missed him on the accustomed hill, Along the heath, and near his favorite tree: Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he: 29 "The next, with dirges due, and sad array, Slow through the churchway path we saw him borne Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." The Epitaph. 30 Here rests his head upon the lap of earth- 31 Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere: Heaven did a recompense as largely send :He gave to misery all he had-a tear; He gained from Heaven-'twas all he wished—a friend. 32 No farther seek his merits to disclose, Nor draw his frailties from their dread abode,(There they, alike, in trembling hope, repose,) The bosom of his Father and his God. LESSON LXXIX. The Prodigal Son.-BIBLE 1 AND he said, A certain man had two sons: and the younger of them said to his father, Father, give me the por tion of goods that falleth to me. And he divided unto them his living. And not many days after, the younger son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far coun try, and there wasted his substance with riotous living And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine in that land; and he began to be in want. And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that country; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. And he would fain have 2 filled himself with the husks that the swine did eat; and no man gave unto him. And when he came to himself, he said, How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough and to spare, and I perish with hunger! I will arise and go to my father, and will say unto him, Father, I have sinned against Heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called thy son: make me as one of thy hired servants. And he arose, and came to his father. But when he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. 3 And the son said unto him, Father, I have sinned against Heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be called thy son. But the father said to his servants, Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet and bring hither the fatted calf, and kill it; and let us eat, and be merry for this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost and is found And they began to be merry. Now his elder son was in the field; and as he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard music and dancing. And he called one of the ser4 vants and asked what these things meant. And he said unto him, Thy brother is come; and thy father hath killed the fatted calf, because he hath received him safe and sound And he was angry, and would not go therefore came his father out, and entreated him. And he answering, said to his father, Lo, these many years do I serve thee, neither transgressed I at any time thy commandment; and yet thou never gavest me a kid, that I might make merry with my friends but as soon as this thy son was come, which in; 5 hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast killed for him the fatted calf. And he said unto him, Son, thou art ever with me; and all that I have is thine. 1 It was meet that we should make merry, and be glad for this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found. And one of the Pharisees desired him that he would eat with him. And he went into the Pharisee's house, and sat down to meat. And behold, a woman in the city, which was a sinner, when she knew that Jesus sat at meat in the Pharisee's house, brought an alabaster box of ointment, and stood at his feet behind him weeping, and began to wash his feet with tears, and did wipe them with the hairs of her head, and kissed his feet, and anointed them with the ointment. Now, when the Pharisee which had bidden him, saw it, he spake within himself, saying, This man, if 2 he were a prophet, would have known who, and what manner of woman this is that toucheth him: for she is a sinner. And Jesus answering, said unto him, Simon, I have somewhat to say unto thee. And he saith, Master, say on. There was a certain creditor, which had two debtors; the one owed five hundred pence, and the other fifty. And when they had nothing to pay, he frankly forgave them both. Tell me, therefore, which of them will love him most? Simon answered and said, I suppose that he, to whom he forgave most. And he said unto him, Thou hast 8 rightly judged. And he turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, Seest thou this woman? I entered into thy house, thou gavest me no water for my feet: but she hath washed my feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head. Thou gavest me no kiss: but this woman since the time I came in, hath not ceased to kiss my feet. My head with oil thou didst not anoint: but this woman hath anointed my feet with ointment. Wherefore, I say unto thee, Her sins, which are many, are forgiven; for she loved much but to whom little is forgiven, the same loveth 4 little. And he said unto her, Thy sins are forgiven. And they that sat at meat with him, began to say within themselves, who is this that forgiveth sins also? And he said to the woman, Thy faith hath saved thee; go in peace. 1 LESSON LXXX. Altamont.-YOUNG. THE sad evening before the death of the noble youth, whose last hours suggested the most solemn and awful reflections, I was with him. No one was present, but his physician, and an intimate whom he loved, and whom he had ruined. At my coming in, he said, "You and the physician are come too late. I have neither life nor hope. You both aim at miracles.-You would raise the dead!" "Heaven," I said, was merciful"-" Or," exclaimed he,— "I could not have been thus guilty. What has it not done to bless and to save me! I have been too strong for Omnip2 otence! I have plucked down ruin!" I said, "The blessed Redeemer"-" Hold! hold! you wound me! That is the rock on which I split: I denied his name!" 66 Refusing to hear any thing from me, or take any thing from the physician, he lay silent, as far as sudden darts of pain would permit, till the clock struck then, with vehemence he exclaimed, Oh time! time! it is fit thou shouldst thus strike thy murderer to the heart! How art thou fled for ever!-a month! oh for a single week! I ask not for years, though an age were too little for the much I 3 have to do!" On my saying we could not do too much. that heaven was a blessed place," So much the worse 'Tis lost! 'tis lost! Heaven is to me the severest part of hell!" Soon after, I proposed prayer:-" Pray you that can; I never prayed. I can not pray-nor need I. Is not Heaven on my side already? It closes with my conscience Its severest strokes but second my own." 66 Observing that his friend was much touched at this, even to tears-(who could forbear? I could not)—with a most affectionate look, he said, Keep those tears for thyself. 1 4 have undone thee! Dost thou weep for me? That is cruel. What can pain me more?" Here his friend, too much affected, would have left him: "No, stay-thou still mayst hope; therefore hear me. How madly have I talked! how madly hast thou listened and believed! but look on my present state, as a full answer to thee, and to myself. This body is all weakness and pain; but my soul, as if stung up by torment to greater strength and spirit, is full powerful to reason-full mighty to suffer. And that which thus triumphs within the jaws of immortality, is, doubtless, im5 mortal. And as for a Deity, nothing less than an Almighty could inflict what I feel." I was about to congratulate this passive, involuntary confessor, on his asserting the two prime articles of his creed, extorted by the rack of nature, when he thus very passionately exclaimed:-" No, no! let me speak on; I have not long to speak. My much-injured friend! my soul, as my body, lies in ruins--in scattered fragments of broken thought! Remorse for the past, throws my thought on the future. Worse dread of the future strikes it back on the 6 past. I turn, and turn, and find no ray. Didst thou feel half the mountain that is on me, thou wouldst struggle with the martyr for his stake, and bless Heaven for the flames! -that is not an everlasting flame; that is not an unquenchable fire." How were we struck! yet soon after, still more. With what an eye of distraction, what a face of despair, he cried out, "My principles have poisoned my friend; my extravagance has beggared my boy! my unkindness has murdered my wife ! And is there another hell? Oh! thou blasphemed, yet indulgent Lord God! hell itself is a ref7 uge, if it hide me from thy frown!" Soon after his understanding failed. His terrified imagination uttered horrors not to be repeated, or ever forgotten; and ere the sun (which, I hope, has seen few like him) arose, -the gay, young, noble, ingenious, accomplished, and most wretched Altamont expired! If this is a man of pleasure, what is a man of pain? How quick, how total, is the transit of such persons! In what a dismal gloom they set for ever! How short, alas! the day of their rejoicing! For a momer.t they glitter-they 8 dazzle! In a moment where are they? Oblivion covers their memories. Ah, would it did! Infamy snatches them from oblivion. In the long living annals of infamy their triumphs are recorded. Thy sufferings, poor Altamont! still bleed in the bosom of the heart-stricken friend-for Altamont had a friend. He might have had many. His transient morning might have been the dawn of an immortal day; his name might have been gloriously enrolled in the records of eternity; his memory might have left a sweet fragrance behind it, grateful to the surviving friend, salutary to the succeeding gen |