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Love, Hope, and Patience, in Education.

If this belief from Heaven be sent,

If such be Nature's holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament

What Man has made of Man !

W. Wordsworth.

CLXXXVII.

LOVE, HOPE, AND PATIENCE IN
EDUCATION.

ER wayward childhood would'st thou hold firm rule,
And sun thee in the light of happy faces;

Love, Hope, and Patience, these must be thy graces,
And in thine own heart let them first keep school.
For as old Atlas on his broad neck places
Heaven's starry globe, and there sustains it,—so
Do these upbear the little world below
Of Education,—Patience, Love, and Hope.
Methinks, I see them grouped, in seemly show,
The straightened arms upraised, the palms aslope,
And robes that, touching as adown they flow,
Distinctly blend, like snow embossed in snow.
O part them never! If Hope prostrate lie,

Love too will sink and die.

But Love is subtle, and doth proof derive
From her own life that Hope is yet alive ;
And bending o’er with soul-transfusing eyes,

And the soft murmurs of the mother dove,

Woos back the fleeting spirit and half supplies ;-
Thus Love repays to Hope what Hope first gave to Love.
Yet haply there will come a weary day,

When overtasked at length
Both Love and Hope beneath the load give way.
Then with a statue's smile, a statue's strength,
Stands the mute sister, Patience, nothing loth,
And both supporting does the work of both.

S. T. Coleridge.

CLXXXVIII.

REST FOR THE WEARY.

H weary in the morning,

When soft the dew-drops fall, And weary at the noontide, When God's sun shines on all; And weary at the nightfall, When, each day's labour o'er, I count my mis-spent moments As lost for evermore.

Oh, weary of the turmoil,

The striving, and the care,

And weary of the burden

Which we of earth must bear ; Oh, weary of vain longings,

And weary with vain fears, And wearier with heart sorrows Than with the weight of years.

Yet, like a ray of sunlight,

The Word shines through the gloom,

And after Winter's darkness

Comes Spring in fresher bloom;

And after vainly searching,

We find a resting meet

For rest, and hope, and glory,
Are found at Jesus' feet.

God never sends a sorrow
Without the healing balm,
And bids us fight no battles,
But for the victor's palm.

Yet we, by earth's mist blinded,
Knew not His holy will,
Till, o'er the troubled waters,

His voice said, 'Peace, be still!'

We will go forth and conquer,
Depending on His grace;
The lowliest station near Him
Must be an honoured place :
And after battle, victory;

And after victory, rest—

Like the beloved Apostle,

Upon the Master's breast!

From 'Hymns for the Household of Faith.

CLXXXIX.

THE CORREGAN.

(A BALLAD OF BRITTANY.)

HEY were affianced a youthful pair ;
In youth, alas! they divided were.

Lovely twins she has brought to light,
A boy and a girl, both snowy white.

-'What shall now for thee be done,
Who hast brought me this longed-for son?
Shall I fetch the fowl from the sedgy mere?
Or strike in the greenwood the flying deer?'

-'Wild deer's flesh would please me best,
Yet wherefore go to the far forest?'

He snatched his spear, he mounted his steed ;
He to the greenwood is gone with speed.

When he there arrived, a milk-white hind Started before him as swift as wind.

He pursued it with foot so fleet,
On his forehead stood the heat,

And down his courser's flanks it ran;
-Evening now to close began ;

When he espied a stream that flowed
Near the Corregan's abode.

Smoothest turf encircled its brink;
Down from his steed he alit to drink.

By its margin was seated there
The Corregan, combing her golden hair,

Combing it with a comb of gold;
Richly clad, and bright to behold.

-"Thou art bolder than thou dost know, Daring to trouble my waters so.

Me shalt thou on the instant wed,
Or in three days shalt be dead.'

-'I will not wed on the instant thee,
Nor yet in three days dead will be.

When God pleases I will die,
And already wedded am I ;

And besides I had rather died

Than to make a fairy my bride.'

'Sick am I, mother, at heart; oh spread, If thou lovest me, my death-bed,

Me the fairy has looked to death:

In three days shall I yield my breath.

Yet though my body in earth they lay,
To her I love, oh, nothing say.'

-Three days after, 'O mother, tell,'
She exclaimed, 'why tolls the bell?

Why do the priests so mournfully go.
Clad in white, and chanting low?'

-'A beggar we lodged died yesternight;
They bury him with the morning light.'

-'O mother where is my husband gone?'
-"He from the town will return anon.'

-'O mother, I would to church repair;
Tell me what were meetest to wear :

Shall it be my robe of blue,

Or my vest of scarlet hue?'

'It is now the manner to wear

Garments of black, my daughter, there.'

When she came to the churchyard ground,
Her husband's grave was the first she found.

-'Death of kin I have not heard,
Yet this earth is newly stirred.'

—‘My daughter, the truth I needs must show ; 'Tis thy husband that lies below.'

Down she fell upon that floor;

Thence she rose not any more.

But the night next after the day,
When by his her body lay,

Two tall oaks, both stately and fair,
Marvel to see! arose in air;

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