It is most needed in this vale of tears: Yes, make the widow's heart to sing for joy; The stranger to discern th' Almighty's shield Held o'er his friendless head; the orphan child Feel, 'mid his tears, I have a father still! 'Tis done. But hark that infant querulous voice Plaint not discordant to a parent's ear;
And see the father raise the white-robed babe In solemn dedication to the Lord:
The holy man sprinkles with forth-stretch'd hand The face of innocence; then earnest turns, And prays a blessing in the name of Him Who said, Let little children come to me; Forbid them not: the infant is replaced Among the happy band: they, smilingly, In gay attire, hie to the house of mirth, The poor man's festival, a jubilee day, Remember'd long.
Nor would I leave unsung The lofty ritual of our sister land : In vestment white, the minister of God Opens the book, and reverentially
The stated portion reads. A pause ensues. The organ breathes its distant thunder-notes, Then swells into a diapason full:
The people rising, sing, With harp, with harp, And voice of psalms; harmoniously attuned The various voices blend; the long drawn aisles, At every close, the lingering strain prolong. And now the tubes a mellow'd stop controls, In softer harmony the people join, While liquid whispers from yon orphan band Recall the soul from adoration's trance, And fill the eye with pity's gentle tears. Again the organ-peal, loud-rolling, meets The hallelujahs of the choir: Sublime, A thousand notes symphoniously ascend, As if the whole were one, suspended high In air, soaring heavenward: afar they float, Wafting glad tidings to the sick man's couch: Raised on his arm, he lists the cadence close, Yet thinks he hears it still his heart is cheer'd; He smiles on death; but, ah! a wish will rise,- "Would I were now beneath that echoing roof! No lukewarm accents from my lips should flow; My heart would sing; and many a Sabbath-day My steps should thither turn; or, wandering far In solitary paths, where wild flowers blow, There would I bless his name, who led me forth From death's dark vale, to walk amid those sweets, Who gives the bloom of health once more to glow Upon this cheek, and lights this languid eye."
It is not only in the sacred fane
That homage should be paid to the Most High; There is a temple, one not made with hands- The vaulted firmament: Far in the woods,
*"And they brought young children to him that he should touch them; and his disciples rebuked those that brought them. But when Jesus saw it, he was much dis. pleased, and said unto them, Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not; for of such is the kingdom of God. Verily, I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall not enter therein. And he took them up in his arms, put his hands upon them, and blessed them." Mark x. 13-16.
Almost beyond the sound of city chime, At intervals heard through the breezeless air; When not the limberest leaf is seen to move, Save where the linnet lights upon the spray; When not a floweret bends its little stalk, Save where the bee alights upon the bloom;- There, rapt in gratitude, in joy, and love, The man of God will pass the Sabbath noon; Silence his praise; his disembodied thoughts, Loosed from the load of words, will high ascend Beyond the empyrean.-
Nor yet less pleasing at the heavenly throne, The Sabbath-service of the shepherd-boy. In some lone glen, where every sound is lull'd To slumber, save the tinkling of the rill, Or bleat of lamb, or hovering falcon's cry, Stretch'd on the sward, he reads of Jesse's son ; Or sheds a tear o'er him to Egypt sold, And wonders why he weeps; the volume closed, With thyme-sprig laid between the leaves, he sings The sacred lays, his weekly lesson, conn'd With meikle care beneath the lowly roof, Where humble lore is learnt, where humble worth Pines unrewarded by a thankless state. Thus reading, hymning, all alone, unseen, The shepherd-boy the Sabbath holy keeps, Till on the heights he marks the straggling bands Returning homeward from the house of prayer. In peace they home resort. O blissful days! When all men worship God as conscience wills Far other times our fathers' grandsires knew, A virtuous race, to godliness devote.
What though the skeptic's scorn hath dared to soil The record of their fame! what though the men Of worldly minds have dared to stigmatize The sister-cause, religion and the law, With superstition's name! yet, yet their deeds, Their constancy in torture and in death,- These on tradition's tongue still live; these shall On history's honest page be pictured bright To latest times. Perhaps some bard, whose muse Disdains the servile strain of fashion's quire, May celebrate their unambitious names. With them each day was holy, every hour They stood prepared to die, a people doom'd To death;-old men, and youths, and simple maids. With them each day was holy; but that morn On which the angel said, See where the Lord Was laid, joyous arose; to die that day Was bliss. Long ere the dawn, by devious ways, O'er hills, through woods, o'er dreary wastes, they
The upland muirs, where rivers, there but brooks, Dispart to different seas: Fast by such brooks A little glen is sometimes scoop'd, a plat With green sward gay, and flowers that strangers
Amid the heathery wild, that all around Fatigues the eye; in solitudes like these, Thy persecuted children, Scotia, foil'd A tyrant's and a bigot's bloody laws: There, leaning on his spear, (one of the array, Whose gleam, in former days, had scathed the rose On England's banner, and had powerless struck The infatuate monarch and his wavering host,) The lyart veteran heard the word of God
By Cameron thunder'd, or by Renwick pour'd In gentle stream; then rose the song, the loud Acclaim of praise. The wheeling plover ceased Her plaint; the solitary place was glad, And on the distant cairns the watcher's ear* Caught doubtfully at times the breeze-borne note, But years more gloomy follow'd; and no more Th' assembled people dared, in face of day, To worship God, or even at the dead
Of night, save when the wintry storm raved fierce, And thunder-peals compell'd the men of blood To couch within their dens: then dauntlessly The scatter'd few would meet, in some deep dell By rocks o'er-canopied, to hear the voice, Their faithful pastor's voice: He by the gleam Of sheeted lightning oped the sacred book, And words of comfort spake: Over their souls His accents soothing came,-as to her young The heathfowl's plumes, when, at the close of eve, She gathers in, mournful, her brood dispersed By murderous sport, and o'er the remnant spreads Fondly her wings; close nestling 'neath her breast, They, cherish'd, cower amid the purple blooms.
But wood and wild, the mountain and the dale, The house of prayer itself,-no place inspires Emotions more accordant with the day, Than does the field of graves, the land of rest:- Oft at the close of evening prayer, the toll, The solemn funeral toll, pausing, proclaims The service of the tomb: the homeward crowds Divide on either hand; the pomp draws near: The choir to meet the dead go forth, and sing, I am the resurrection and the life.
Ah me! these youthful bearers robed in white, They tell a mournful tale; some blooming friend Is gone, dead in her prime of years :-"Twas she, The poor man's friend, who, when she could not give,
With angel tongue pleaded to those who could; With angel tongue and mild beseeching eye, That ne'er besought in vain, save when she pray'd For longer life, with heart resign'd to die,- Rejoiced to die; for happy visions bless'd Her voyage's last days,† and hovering round, Alighted on her soul, giving presage That heaven was nigh:
Of rapture from her lips! what tears of joy
With melancholy ornaments-(the name, The record of her blossoming age)-appears Unveil'd, and on it dust to dust is thrown, The final rite. O! hark that sullen sound! Upon the lower'd bier the shovell'd clay Falls fast, and fills the void.
But who is he That stands aloof, with haggard, wistful eye, As if he coveted the closing grave? And he does covet it-his wish is death: The dread resolve is fix'd; his own right-hand Is sworn to do the deed: The day of rest No peace, no comfort brings his wo-worn spirit: Self-cursed, the hallow'd dome he dreads to enter; He dares not pray; he dares not sigh a hope; Annihilation is his only heaven. Loathsome the converse of his friends: he shuns The human face; in every careless eye Suspicion of his purpose seems to lurk. Deep piny shades he loves, where no sweet note Is warbled, where the rook unceasing caws: Or far in moors, remote from house or hut, Where animated nature seems extinct. Where e'en the hum of wandering bee ne'er breaks The quiet slumber of the level waste; Where vegetation's traces almost fail, Save where the leafless cannachs wave their tufts Of silky white, or massy oaken trunks Half buried lie, and tell where greenwoods grew,There on the heathless moss outstretch'd he broods O'er all his ever-changing plans of death: The time, place, means, sweep like a stormy rack, In fleet succession, o'er his clouded soul;The poniard, and the opium draught, that brings Death by degrees, but leaves an awful chasm Between the act and consequence,-the flash Sulphureous, fraught with instantaneous death;The ruin'd tower perch'd on some jutting rock, So high that, 'tween the leap and dash below, The breath might take its flight in midway air,This pleases for a while; but on the brink, Back from the toppling edge his fancy shrinks In horror: sleep at last his breast becalms,He dreams 'tis done; but starting wild awakes, Resigning to despair his dream of joy. Then hope, faint hope, revives-hope, that despair May to his aid let loose the demon frenzy,
Her heavenward eyes suffused! Those eyes are To lead scared conscience blindfold o'er the brink
But all her loveliness is not yet flown:
She smiled in death, and still her cold, pale face Retains that smile; as when a waveless lake, In which the wintry stars all bright appear, Is sheeted by a nightly frost with ice, Still it reflects the face of heaven unchanged, Unruffled by the breeze or sweeping blast. Again that knell! The slow procession stops: The pall withdrawn, death's altar, thick emboss'd
Of self-destruction's cataract of blood. Most miserable, most incongruous wretch! Darest thou to spurn thy life, the boon of God, Yet dreadest to approach his holy place? O dare to enter in! maybe some word, Or sweetly chanted strain, will in thy heart Awake a chord in unison with life. What are thy fancied woes to his, whose fate Is (sentence dire ) incurable disease,- The outcast of a lazar house, homeless, Or with a home where eyes do scowl on him!
*Sentinels were placed on the surrounding hills to Yet he, e'en he, with feeble steps draws near,
give warning of the approach of the military.
Towards the end of Columbus's voyage to the new world, when he was already near, but not in sight of land, the drooping hopes of his mariners (for his own confidence seems to have remained unmoved) were revived by the appearance of birds, at first hovering round the ship, and then alighting on the rigging.
With trembling voice joins in the song of praise. Patient he waits the hour of his release; He knows he has a home beyond the grave.
Or turn thee to that house with studded doors, And iron-visor'd windows; even there
The Sabbath sheds a beam of bliss, though faint;
The debtor's friends (for still he has some friends) Have time to visit him; the blossoming pea, That climbs the rust-worn bars, seems fresher tinged; And on the little turf, this day renew'd,
The lark, his prison mate, quivers the wing With more than wonted joy. See, through the bars That pallid face retreating from the view,
That glittering eye following, with hopeless look, The friends of former years, now passing by In peaceful fellowship to worship God:
With them, in days of youthful years, he roam'd O'er hill and dale, o'er broomy knowe; and wist As little as the blithest of the band
Of this his lot; condemn'd, condemn'd unheard, The party for his judge;-among the throng, The Pharisaical hard-hearted man
He sees pass on, to join the heaven-taught prayer, Forgive our debts as we forgive our debtors: From unforgiving lips most impious prayer! O happier far the victim than the hand That deals the legal stab! The injured man Enjoys internal, settled calm; to him
The Sabbath bell sounds peace; he loves to meet His fellow sufferers to pray and praise:
And many a prayer, as pure as e'er was breathed In holy fanes, is sigh'd in prison halls.
Ah me! that clank of chains, as kneel and rise The death-doom'd row. But see, a smile illumes The face of some; perhaps they're guiltless: O! And must high-minded honesty endure The ignominy of a felon's fate!
No, 'tis not ignominious to be wrong'd: No; conscious exultation swells their hearts To think the day draws nigh, when in the view Of angels, and of just men perfect made, The mark which rashness branded on their names Shall be effaced;-when wafted on life's storm, Their souls shall reach the Sabbath of the skies ;- As birds from bleak Norwegia's wintry coast Blown out to sea, strive to regain the shore, But, vainly striving, yield them to the blast.- Swept o'er the deep to Albion's genial isle, Amazed they light amid the bloomy sprays Of some green vale, there to enjoy new loves, And join in harmony unheard before.
The land is groaning 'neath the guilt of blood Spilt wantonly: for every death-doom'd man, Who, in his boyhood, has been left untaught That wisdom's ways are ways of pleasantness, And all her paths are peace, unjustly dies. But, ah! how many are thus left untaught,- How many would be left, but for the band United to keep holy to the Lord
His child shall still receive instruction's boon. But hark, a noise,-a cry,-a gleam of swords!- Resistance is in vain,—he's borne away, Nor is allow'd to clasp his weeping child.
My innocent, so helpless, yet so gay! How could I bear to be thus rudely torn From thee;-to see thee lift thy little arm, And impotently strike the ruffian man,— To hear thee bid him chidingly—begone!
O ye who live at home, and kiss each eve Your sleeping infants ere you go to rest, And, waken'd by their call, lift up your eyes Upon their morning smile,-think, think of those, Who, torn away without one farewell word To wife or children, sigh the day of life
In banishment from all that's dear to man ;- O raise your voices in one general peal Remonstrant, for th' oppress'd. And ye, who sit Month after month devising impost laws, Give some small portion of your midnight vigils To mitigate, if not remove, the wrong.
Relentless justice! with fate-furrow'd brow; Wherefore to various crimes of various guilt, One penalty, the most severe, allot? Why, pall'd in state, and mitred with a wreath Of nightshade, dost thou sit portentously, Beneath a cloudy canopy of sighs,
Of fears, of trembling hopes, of boding doubts; Death's dart thy mace !-Why are the laws of God, Statutes promulged in characters of fire,* Despised in deep concerns, where heavenly guidance Is most required? The murderer-let him die, And him who lifts his arm against his parent, His country, or his voice against his God. Let crimes less heinous dooms less dreadful meet Than loss of life! so said the law divine: That law beneficent, which mildly stretch'd, To men forgotten and forlorn, the hand Of restitution: Yes, the trumpet's voice The Sabbath of the jubileet announced: The freedom-freighted blast, through all the land At once, in every city, echoing rings, From Lebanon to Carmel's woody cliffs, So loud, that far within the desert's verge The couching lion starts, and glares around. Free is the bondman now, each one returns To his inheritance: The man, grown old In servitude far from his native fields, Hastes joyous on his way; no hills are steep, Smooth is each rugged path; his little ones
"And it came to pass, on the third day in the morning, that there were thunders and lightnings, and a thick cloud upon the mount, and the voice of the trumpet exWhom Jesus loved with forth-stretch'd hand to ceeding loud; so that all the people that was in the camp
A portion of his day, by teaching those
Behold yon motley train, by two and two, Each with a Bible 'neath its little arm, Approach well pleased, as if they went to play, The dome where simple lore is learnt unbought: And mark the father 'mid the sideway throng; Well do I know him by his glistening eye, That follows steadfastly one of the line, A dark seafaring man he looks to be; And much it glads his boding heart to think, That when once more he sails the valley'd deep,
trembled." Exod. xix. 16.
"And thou shalt number seven Sabbaths of years unto thee, seven times seven years; and the space of the seven Sabbaths of years shall be unto thee forty and nine years. Then shalt thou cause the trumpet of the jubilee to sound on the tenth day of the seventh month; in the day of atonement shall ye make the trumpet sound throughout all your land. And ye shall hallow the fiftieth year, and proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof: it shall be a jubilee unto you; and ye shall return every man unto his possession, and ye shall return every man unto his family." Lev. xxv. 8-10.
Sport as they go, while oft the mother chides
The lingering step, lured by the way-side flowers: At length the hill, from which a farewell look, And still another parting look, he cast On his paternal vale, appears in view: The summit gain'd, throbs hard his heart with joy And sorrow blent, to see that vale once more; Instant his eager eye darts to the roof Where first he saw the light; his youngest born He lifts, and, pointing to the much-loved spot, Says" There thy fathers lived, and there they sleep."
Onward he wends; near and more near he draws: How sweet the tinkle of the palm-bower'd brook! The sunbeam slanting through the cedar grove How lovely, and how mild! But lovelier still The welcome in the eye of ancient friends, Scarce known at first! and dear the fig-tree shade "Neath which on Sabbath eve his father told*. Of Israel from the house of bondage freed, Led through the desert to the promised land;- With eager arms the aged stem he clasps, And with his tears the furrow'd bark bedews: And still, at midnight hour, he thinks he hears The blissful sound that brake the bondman's chains, The glorious peal of freedom and of joy!
Did ever law of man a power like this Display power marvellous as merciful, Which, though in other ordinances still Most plainly seen, is yet but little mark'd For what it truly is,—a miracle! Stupendous, ever new, perform'd at once In every region,-yea, on every sea Which Europe's navies plough;—yes, in all lands From pole to pole, or civilized to rude, People there are, to whom the Sabbath morn Dawns, shedding dews into their drooping hearts: Yes, far beyond the high-heaved western wave, Amid Columbia's wildernesses vast,
The words which God in thunder from the mount Of Sinai spake, are heard, and are obey'd. Thy children, Scotia, in the desert land, Driven from their homes by fell monopoly, Keep holy to the Lord the seventh day. Assembled under loftiest canopy
Of trees primeval, soon to be laid low They sing, By Babel's streams we sat and wept. What strong mysterious links enchain the heart To regions where the morn of life is spent! In foreign lands, though happier be the clime, Though round our board smile all the friends we love,
The face of nature wears a stranger's look. Yea, though the valley which we loved be swept Of its inhabitants, none left behind,
Not e'en the poor blind man who sought his bread From door to door, still, still there is a want; Yes, even he, round whom a night that knows
"And these words which I command thee this day shall be in thine heart: And thou shalt teach them diligently unto thy children, and shalt talk of them when thou sittest in thy house, and when thou walkest by the way, and when thou liest down, and when thou risest up. Thou shalt say unto thy son, We were Pharaoh's bondmen in Egypt; and the Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand." Deut. vi. 6,7. 21.
No dawn is ever spread, whose native vale Presented to his closed eyes a blank, Deplores its distance now. There well he knew Each object, though unseen; there could he wend His way, guideless, through wilds and mazy woods; Each aged tree, spared when the forest fell, Was his familiar friend, from the smooth birch, With rind of silken touch, to the rough elm: The three gray stones that mark'd where heroes lay Mourn'd by the harp, mourn'd by the melting voice Of Cona, oft his resting-place had been; Oft had they told him that his home was near: The tinkle of the rill, the murmuring So gentle of the brook, the torrent's rush, The cataract's din, the ocean's distant roar, The echo's answer to his foot or voice,- All spoke a language which he understood, All warn'd him of his way. But most he feels, Upon the hallow'd morn, the saddening change: No more he hears the gladsome village bell Ring the bless'd summons to the house of God: And for the voice of psalms, loud, solemn, grand, That cheer'd his darkling path, as with slow step And feeble, he toil'd up the spire-topt hill,- A few faint notes ascend among the trees.
What though the cluster'd vine there hardly
The traveller's hand; though birds of dazzling plume Perch on the loaded boughs;-"Give me thy woods, (Exclaims the banish'd man,) thy barren woods, Poor Scotland! Sweeter there the reddening haw, The sloe, or rowan's bitter bunch, than here The purple grape; dearer the redbreast's note, That mourns the fading year in Scotia's vales, Than Philomel's, where spring ever new; More dear to me the redbreast's sober suit, So like a wither'd leaflet, than the glare Of gaudy wings, that make the iris dim." Nor is regret exclusive to the old :
The boy, whose birth was midway o'er the main, A ship his cradle, by the billows rock'd,- "The nursling of the storm,"-although he claims No native land, yet does he wistful hear Of some far distant country still call'd home, Where lambs of whitest fleece sport on the hills; Where gold-speck'd fishes wanton in the streams: Where little birds, when snow-flakes dim the air, Light on the floor, and peck the table crumbs, And with their singing cheer the winter day. But what the loss of country to the woes Of banishment and solitude combined! O! my heart bleeds to think there now may live One hapless man, the remnant of a wreck, Cast on some desert island of that main Immense, which stretches from the Cochin shore To Acapulco. Motionless he sits,
As is the rock his seat, gazing whole days, With wandering eye, o'er all the watery waste; Now striving to believe the albatross A sail appearing on the horizon's verge; Now vowing ne'er to cherish other hope Than hope of death. Thus pass his weary hours, Till welcome evening warn him that 'tis time Upon the shell-notch'd calendar to mark
Another day, another dreary day,— Changeless ;-for, in these regions of the sun, The wholesome law that dooms mankind to toil, Bestowing grateful interchange of rest And labour, is annull'd; for there the trees, Adorn'd at once with bud, and flower, and fruit, Drop, as the breezes blow, a shower of bread And blossoms on the ground. But yet by him, The hermit of the deep, not unobserved The Sabbath passes. "Tis his great delight. Each seventh eve he marks the farewell ray, And loves, and sighs to think,-that setting sun Is now impurpling Scotland's mountain tops, Or, higher risen, slants athwart her vales, Tinting with yellow light the quivering throat Of day-spring lark, while woodland birds below Chant in the dewy shade. Thus all night long He watches, while the rising moon describes The progress of the day in happier lands. And now he almost fancies that he hears The chiming from his native village church; And now he sings, and fondly hopes the strain May be the same that sweet ascends at home In congregation full,-where, not without a tear They are remember'd who in ships behold The wonders of the deep: he sees the hand, The widow'd hand, that veils the eye suffused; He sees his orphan'd boy look up, and strive The widow'd heart to soothe. His spirit leans On God. Nor does he leave his weekly vigil Though tempests ride o'er welkin-lashing waves On winds of cloudless wing;t though lightnings
So vivid, that the stars are hid and seen In awful alternation: Calm he views The far exploding firmament, and dares To hope-one bolt in mercy is reserved For his release: and yet he is resign'd To live; because full well he is assured, Thy hand does lead him, thy right hand upholds.‡ And thy right hand does lead him. Lo! at last, One sacred eve, he hears, faint from the deep, Music remote, swelling at intervals, As if th' imbodied spirit of such sounds Came slowly floating on the shoreward wave: The cadence well he knows,-a hymn of old, Where sweetly is rehearsed the lowly state Of Jesus, when his birth was first announced, In midnight music, by an angel choir,
To Bethlehem's shepherds,§ as they watch'd their flocks.
Breathless, the man forlorn listens, and thinks It is a dream. Fuller the voices swell. He looks, and starts to see, moving along, A fiery wave," (so seems it,) crescent form'd, Approaching to the land: straightway he sees A towering whiteness; 'tis the heaven-fill'd sails That waft the mission'd men, who have renounced Their homes, their country, nay, almost the world, Bearing glad tidings to the farthest isles Of ocean, that the dead shall rise again. Forward the gleam-girt castle coastwise glides; It seems as it would pass away. To cry The wretched man in vain attempts, in vain, Powerless his voice as in a fearful dream: Not so his hand: he strikes the flint, a blaze Mounts from the ready heap of wither'd leaves: The music ceases, accents harsh succeed, Harsh, but most grateful: downward drop the
Ingulf'd the anchor sinks; the boat is launch'd; But cautious lies aloof till morning dawn:
O then the transport of the man unused To other human voice besides his own,- His native tongue to hear! he breathes at home, Though earth's diameter is interposed.
Of perils of the sea he has no dread, Full well assured the mission'd bark is safe, Held in the hollow of th' Almighty's hand. (And signal thy deliverances have been Of these thy messengers of peace and joy.) From storms that loudly threaten to unfix Islands rock-rooted in the ocean's bed, Thou dost deliver them, and from the calm, More dreadful than the storm, when motionless Upon the purple deep the vessel lies
For days, for nights, illumed by phosphor lamps; When sea-birds seem in nests of flame to float When backward starts the boldest mariner To see, while o'er the side he leans, his face As if deep tinged with blood.-
Let worldly men The cause and combatants contemptuous scorn, And call fanatics them who hazard health And life in testifying of the truth, Who joy and glory in the cross of Christ! What were the Galilean fishermen But messengers, commission'd to announce The resurrection, and the life to come! They too, though clothed with power of mighty works
Miraculous, were oft received with scorn; Oft did their words fall powerless, though enforced "They that go down to the sea in ships, that do busi-By deeds that mark'd Omnipotence their friend: ness in great waters; these see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in the deep." Psal. cvii. +In the tropical regions, the sky during storms is often
"If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me." Psal. cxxxix. § "And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flocks by night. And lo! the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them, and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not, for, behold! I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David, a Saviour, who is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you, Ye shall find
But, when their efforts fail'd, unweariedly They onward went, rejoicing in their course.
the babe wrapped in swaddling-clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men." Luke ii. 8-14.
"In some seas, as particularly about the coast of Malabar, as a ship floats along, it seems during the night to be surrounded with fire, and to leave a long track of light behind it. Whenever the sea is gently agitated, it seems converted into little stars: every drop as it breaks emits light, like bodies electrified in the dark."-Darwin
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