O Time! O Life! ye were not made For languid dreaming in the shade, Nor sinful hearts to moor all day By lily-isle, or grassy bay, Nor drink at noontide’s balmy hours Sweet opiates from the meadow-flowers. O give me grace, dear Lord! to win Thy _pardon_ for my youthful sin, For all the days, in woods embowered, When currents of sweet thought o’erpowered With pleasant force the sense of duty, And gentle nature’s harmless beauty, Too much adored, gave birth to throngs Of joys effeminate, and songs Which sprung from earth, and, like a breeze, Died wantonly among the trees, Without a moral or a mirth Above the passing bliss of earth! _Frederic W. Faber._ PARENTS. Children, obey your _parents_ in all things: for this is well pleasing unto the Lord.--Colossians, iii. 20. Honour thy _parents_ to prolong thine end; With them, though for a truth, do not contend; Whoever makes his father’s heart to bleed, Shall have a son that will avenge the deed. _Thomas Randolph._ Not those alone are _parents_, to whose cares The opening buds of human life are given; Truth, Beauty, Love, have each unnumbered heirs, And Earth itself is but the child of Heaven. Nature repeats herself; and human thought Mirrored in deeds, becomes more truly real: Thus only on the web of life are wrought The glowing pictures of the world ideal. The labourer who embowers his cottage round With tasteful gifts--his honest hand the donor, Makes of that little spot of cultured ground, A pleasing transcript of its joyful owner. The matron, toiling with unselfish aim To bless her little band of cherished creatures, But mounts the picture, from whose shining frame For ever beam her dear, benignant features. Thought is the favoured child of thoughtful ones, As heaven is mirrored in the quiet waters; The statesman’s high achievements are his sons, And the sweet poet’s lays his tuneful daughters. The sculptor, bending o’er his marble child, Models himself in fixed, enduring beauty; The painter’s soul hath from the canvass smiled, Breathing deep tones of passion or of duty. None shall die childless; and the frailest one Of all the living crowds around us pressing, May, like the Eternal Father, give his son To be humanity’s perpetual blessing. _Mrs. F. H. Cooke._ PASSIONS. We also are men of like _passions_ with you, and preach unto you that ye should turn from those vanities unto the living God.--Acts, xiv. 15.