To such sermons, and to such reminders of duty, we owe, if I mistake not, much of the little good we do possess.

The field of American literature presents no one more successful in this style of poetry, than the author of the so justly named "Household Poems." And, perhaps, his volumes afford no specimen more admirable, or more widely known, than that rare gem of Longfellow, the "Psalm of Life." Where else can be found, in the same space, thought so earnest and profound, so clearly and so earnestly expressed? And what sermon of so practical an application?

It begins with a denial of the statement,--

"Life is but an empty dream,"

and goes on to show why and wherein the assertion is false. The very argument that skeptics use to prove the utter emptiness of life, namely its shortness, is here employed to show life's deep and grand significance.

Since the Past is at best fleeting and shadowy, and the Future is yet more intangible, we are urged to make the most of the Present moment--not to waste our All.

"Art is long, and Time is fleeting,

And our hearts, tho' stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums are beating
Funeral marches to the grave."

And then :

"Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!

Act-act in the living Present!

Heart within and God o'erhead!"

Action, not apathy, is the philosophy of the "Psalm of Life." One more incitation is given to live worthily our little life, for the sake of our successors; and then we have the closing verse, at once the conclusion and the condensation of the whole :

"Let us then be up and doing,

With a heart for any fate:
Still achieving, still pursuing,

Learn to Labor and to Wait."

It is hard to find any more fitting comment on this last line, than the lines and verses which precede. Step by step, and verse by verse, the Poet rises to this elevation of sentiment, until, as it were, from the very pinnacle, he fulminates this glowing thought.

And how comprehensive is the thought! Of what infinite compass! In a single line we have the great problem of our being, suggested by the experience of ages, by the life of the world :-the lesson, to learn which men are born, and live, and die. Alas, that so many pass away with the lesson all unlearned!

This precept, like the whole piece, is eminently practical in its bearing. Although it includes questions of the widest importance in the world's economy, it also omits none of the least. It may apply to the human race at large, to the "whole creation," that "groaneth and travaileth in pain together," but it applies with equal force to the lowest slave that toils all day for a scanty meal and a place to sleep at night. Work and suffering! Industry and patience! Who is there whose life is exempt from the one; who does not have occasion to practice the other?

There is sound doctrine, too, in the terse line,—

"Learn to labor and to Wait."

Our first estate of happiness and perfection, once lost through sin, can only be regained by means of a period of probation. Like the Israelites of old, before we come to the "land flowing with milk and honey," we must wander our forty years in the wilderness; sometimes crossing our track, sometimes going backwards, often arriving at the original starting point. And, after all, we can never see the promised land, unless we manfully do our work and patiently suffer.

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This rule is designed not only for the regulation of our present life; it points, with cheering assurance, to a 'better country, that is an heavenly." Nor is this a stern rule, after all. Ours is a beautiful world, and we have varied capacities for its enjoyment. Yet pleasure is not the legitimate end of life; and whoever tries to make it such cannot be happy, in the highest sense.

That way is not the shortest, easiest or safest, which stops at every shady grove, and turns aside to pick each tempting flower. Happiness, in life's journey, is incidental and attendant on a faithful adherence to the straight path of duty. He who has learned to Labor and to Wait, is at the highest point of human felecity.

"Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destined end or way;

But to live that each To-morrow

Find us farther than to-day.

And finally, our text may be divided, on natural distinctions, into two heads,-Learn to Labor; Learn to Wait. And not the least of

these is the latter. Did you ever think how irrevocable is life? Without our consent or previous consultation, we are placed in this world to live. Live we must, and for the manner of our living we must render an account.

No power, human or divine, can take away this necessity, or relieve us from our accountability. God alone can create a soul, and God alone can annihilate. But He cannot obliterate the fact of a man's having lived. There are times in the experience of every one,-and they are neither "angel's visits," nor "few and far between,"-when the great responsibilities of life so press upon one's soul, that he well may wish he had never been born. It is a mournful thing to think that we all must die: but it is fearful to realize that we cannot but live.

Blessed is the man, whether old or young, that can patiently Wait, neither shunning death, nor weighed down with the burden of life. As we read the passage, "Learn to Labor and to Wait," we recall those words of him who so nobly did both. "They also serve, who only stand and WAIT."

In Pleasant Days."

I.

In pleasant days I think of thee.
Of the sweet eyes which see so well
Rare sights for th' eloquent lips to tell.
All delicate tints in sky and sea;

II.

The splendor of the westering sun;
The dainty violet in the grass;

Rare, common sights, which most would pass,
Which thou, dear heart, deem'st cheaply won,

III.

By earnest glance, and loving heed,

O dearest heart, akin with Him

Who loves His flaming cherubim,

Who loves, behold, this humble weed,

IV.

Which sprang but yester' from the mire,

And puts its leaflets bravely out.

He hears its tiny, rustled shout

Through all the chanting of His choir.

The College Course.

A College Course, if well spent, can never cease to be to us a source of improvement and enjoyment; if ill spent, we must ever look back upon it with vain regrets. As one advances towards the end, he looks back over his course, with a power to see things more in their true light, and is, perhaps, competent to give advice to those who have not advanced so far, as to the best way in which they may employ

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their time here. Whether these remarks do any good or not is uncertain, for I think, as a rule, men will prefer to go on in their own way, and find out these things for themselves; but many, at the end, are compelled to look, with regret, upon time wasted and opportunities neglected, or to acknowledge that they have taken a radically wrong view of the design of the course itself. Now, of the general advantages of a College Course, it is needless for me to speak. No one can go through College without feeling himself much stronger than when he entered, and this additional strength is not merely the result of additional years, but the direct result of the studies he has here pursued. But there are some particular ways of employing one's time here, which give their pursuers considerable celebrity and influence, but which I think are founded upon a wrong idea of the course. I think one of the leading, and at the same time one of the most deceptive mistakes, is the taking what is commonly called a literary course, through College. The attractions of such a course are great, the work spent shows more directly, and the greater influence which a literary man commonly has and the greater favor shown him by the students, are things not likely to be despised. But let us remember that our literary reputation here is but transient; that its growth is a hot-bed growth; and that literary attainments must rest upon a firm foundation to be lasting. I have never seen a man who spent his time in College purely in literary pursuits, to the neglect of the other branches, that did not afterwards regret his choice, and feel that he was not so strong as he might have been. The injury done in this way is not merely for the present; the habits formed here accompany us after our exit, and the literary habits here formed are, for the most part, superficial, and tend to disqualify us for taking a firm and earnest hold upon the duties of life. The basis of a lasting literary reputation must be laid in the most careful study. The foundation of our work, that to which everything else should be made subordinate, should be the studies of the course. They constitute the trunk, which gives strength to the whole structure; the rest, the branches, which give grace and symmetry. By this means, we will gain a power of application, and a discipline of mind, which will be invaluable to us. The most common pretence for neglecting them is, the unpractical nature of many of them. One complains that too much attention is given to the classics; another, that the mathematics have too prominent a position. But let them reflect that our course of study has been formed by men who have experience in these matters, and that our arguments against them should, to gain credence, be something