word of the Lord to his chosen people ;-"Thou shalt rise up before the hoary head, and honor the face of the old man, and fear thy God." Remember the terrible judgment visited upon those, who jeered at the "bald head." Be not impious mockers, but reverent helpers, of the aged. Delight to be a staff to their failing limbs, an enlivener of their solitary hours, a comforter of their sorrows. Help them to forget, not to remember, their deprivations and weaknesses. And if you are permitted to watch those weaknesses as they grow with the weight of years, to witness the decay of noble powers and the apparent withering of warm affection, if you see the inlets of knowledge and sources of common enjoyment one after another closing, if it be your privilege to walk by the aged step by step as they descend the vale-rejoice, that you can be both disciples and teachers of their waning wisdom; that you can be eyes to the blind, ears to the deaf, feet to the lame, ministers to the darkened but still eager mind, and messengers of life to the dying. * *

Powerful indeed is the appeal which comes in the broken voice of age, turning as it leaves the world to rebuke or animate those from whom it is parting forever. Most responsible the influence thus possessed, beautiful the religious use of it, melan

choly beyond expression its thoughtless or corrupt

abuse.

But what, (my friends of every age,) though this influence be all perverted, and the warning lost ?— What though all lips were still and all lives voiceless? Is there not a tongue in every form that flits before us, in every change that is witnessed, in every breeze that ruffles the surface, and every storm that tosses the billows, of life's ocean? Has not life itself always a tongue, when it comes in tremulous breathings, when it passes swifter than a post, when it vanisheth away like vapor? Do not days speak, though their possessors be dumb? And the multitude of years, shall it not of itself teach wisdom? Look upon the agedconsider what they have been, and bear in mind, that if your most flattering hopes are granted, the change that has come upon them will come upon you, if a more fearful change come not first. A change you will experience, not in your bodies only, but in your minds, your views of life, your thoughts of death, your pursuits, passions, aspirations. Doubt not this, though you may strive to doubt all things else. The decree is fixed. The change is inevitable. Nature whom you may worship, has written it in every frame. History, which you trust, has told it

in the swelling voice of six thousand years. Philosophy and science, in which you glory, have covered the earth with monuments to its truth. Time is already tracing it, though now perhaps with playful fingers, in your changing form and features. Every planet that flies its round, every leaf that drops, every pulse that beats at your wrist, every hair that falls from your head, tells of its coming, sure fulfilment. And before to-morrow's light lingers on the western hills, Death may inscribe it with his cold hand upon your senseless clay. "Dust thou art, and to dust thou shalt return."

AN EXCURSION DOWN NARRAGANSET BAY.

BY THE REV. JAMES D. KNOWLES.

THE morning shines in all the pride of May,
The smiling Heavens unsullied by a cloud;
All nature hath assumed her bright array,

And wake her living choir their concert loud.
While on the deck now throng the busy crowd,
The smile of pleasure brightening every brow;
The sails on all unfurled, the streamers proud

Sport in the breeze, and gay as childhood, now We skim the silver wave, which sparkles round our prow.

Majestic Narraganset, o'er whose breast

Our barque is lightly wafted by the breeze, Fondly encircled, on thy bosom rest

Thy nursling isles :

Afar the strained eye sees,

Along thy distant banks, amid the trees

The peasant's dwelling, where unwandering eyes, And faithful hearts, if earth indeed have these,

Might find that gem which fate or pride denies To those oft envied ones, the noble and the wise.

Though never hallowed by the voice of song,

Yet e'en here quickening recollections crowd, Here the fierce sons of Nature held, along

These hills and valleys, ere the forests bow'd Beneath the white man's stroke, dominion proud:

Wild as the cataract-whom their mother gave, The fierce and untamed spirit which ne'er cowed

To man, and scorning fate: But o'er the wave The white man came-and they are slumbering in the grave!

Ye hapless and deluded victims-when
Far Europe's helpless fugitives, exiled,
Fled from the presence of their fellow men,
To seek securer refuge in the wild ;
In honest singleness of heart, ye smiled

Upon them, and free Nature's welcome spoke,
In the heart's language, warm and undefiled:
But soon the gathering tempest burst and broke
O'er your defenceless heads, the scathing thunderstroke.

And Philip, thou, whose name is deemed a blot

On History's page all black with human crime; Though thou for country, freedom, life hast fought, With spirit worthy those of ancient time: Though wild and savage, yet thy soul sublime Swelled high with every feeling, which could wring The patriot's breast, who saw intruders climb

His eagle nest, and to the tempest fling

The remnant of his race, and clip his mounting wing.

Mount Hope is towering proudly as before,
The same bright smile, the fields and valleys wear,
But thou, their pride, their terror, art no more,
And thy bold followers are slumbering there :
Or haply if the battle chanced to spare

A few, more wretched, to the trackless West
They fled, to seek a refuge from despair.

Alas! the earth vouchsafes no place of rest, Their sons are hated still, wrong'd, hunted and oppressed.

Newport! thou wast indeed a lovely spot,

Smiling in wealth and beauty o'er the bay, Ere War despoiled thee, yet his hand could not Sweep all thine early loveliness away. Though Time hath written every where decay,

Still are thy hills green, and thy daughters fair; The last rich hues of the departing day,

Full glowing on thy roofs and tall spires, there, And fading slowly off, thy fittest emblem are.