It is the first mild day of March: Each minute sweeter than before, The Red-breast sings from the tall Larch There is a blessing in the air, Which seems a sense of joy to yield To the bare trees, and mountains bare, WORDSWORTH. ALL abiding and spiritual knowledge, infused into a grateful and affectionate fellow-Christian, is as the child of the mind that infuses it. The delight which he gives he receives; and in that bright and liberal hour, the gladdened preacher can scarce gather the ripe produce of to-day, without discovering and looking forward to the green fruits and embryons, the heritage and reversionary wealth of the days to come, till he bursts forth in prayer and thanksgiving. The harvest truly is plenteous, but the laborers are few. Join with me, reader, in the fervent prayer, that we may seek within us, what we can never find elsewhere, that we may find within us what no words can put there, that one only true religion, which elevateth knowledge into Being, which is at once the Science of Being, and the Being and the Life of all genuine Science. COLERIDGE. Appendix to the Statesman's Manual. AMID the quiet of this green recess, But to a higher mark than song can reach, A consciousness remained that it had left Deposited upon the silent shore Of memory, images and precious thoughts, An instinctive taste teaches men to build their churches in flat countries with spire-steeples, which, as they cannot be referred to any other object, point as with silent finger to the sky and stars, and sometimes, when they reflect the brazen light of a rich though rainy sunset, appear like a pyramid of flame burning heavenward. Satyrane's Letters-COLERIDGE. How suddenly that straight and glittering shaft Be called my chamber PEACE, when ends the day, PART II. VOICES OF THE SPRING. CHAPTER VII. Voices of the Spring-Beginning of the Moral Teaching of NatureMightiness of the Change from Winter to Spring-The Time of Seeds, and the Texts taken from it-Responsibilities arising from the Light of Nature. Ir is the first mild day of March, each minute sweeter than before! Such is the carol of an English Poet, descriptive of the opening of Spring, in an Island where the season steals upon the senses with a serenity and beauty, that in our New England climate are much later and slower in their development, though perhaps not less lovely when they come. The salutation of our native Poets breaks forth like an Anthem of the tempest; "The stormy March is come at last!" Neverthe |