That scene which men cannot conceive, That ocean boundless and sublime, Will in its vast abyss receive The shadow of departed Time. And from its depths is heard to speak To last when Time shall be no more. So will they shine when we are dead, For brief the time, and small the space, Ere they conclude their various race But the pure soul from dust shall rise, By our great Saviour's aid When the last trump shall rend the skies, N. O. AN ACROSTIC. Inter cuncta micans Expellit tenebras Igniti sidera Cœl I, E loco Phœbus et orb E; Sic cæcas removet JESVS caliginis umbra S, Sese probat esse beati S. (Translations in verse are requested.) THE YOUTH'S MAGAZINE. FEBRUARY, 1841. THE VETERAN SOLDIER. A PERSON of a reflective mind will never want a subject to muse upon. He will Find tongues in trees, books in the running stream, Sermons in stones, and good in every thing. The prospect now before me was such as seemed enough to create the faculty of thought, for it seemed impossible for any person to look around him without enjoying an intellectual repast, a feast of nectar'd sweets. It would be tedious to describe minutely the several beauties that in succession presented themselves to my eyes, and it would be injustice to the place itself to pass them over in total silence. Besides, people resident in towns may be pleased with that in description, which they cannot enjoy in reality; and others, resident in the country, may find it profitable to be thus led to mark the distinguishing beauties of their several places of abode, and to bless the Being whose wisdom, power, and goodness they so strikingly display. It may be thought, that as I have already described the form and appearance of the valley,* little else can be said on the subject; but this is erroneous, for I have not yet said a word of the woods that here and there stretched themselves from the foot to the very summit of the hills; * In the volume whence this account is taken, 118 S. S. & Y. Lib. the checkered fields of stubble, and meadows of pasturage; the brook that rippled its crystal waters along the tortuous channel at the bottom of the vale; the murmuring hum of wheels at the mill upon the stream; the spiral smoke of two or three distant cottages; the rising spires of faintly discerned churches; the jocund sound from a few rustic swains loading the last wagon with the fruits of a plenteous harvest-all gilded by a fine evening sun: but I can only thus glance at them, and say that I could wish every one of my readers to be placed in the same spot, there to adore the bountiful Author of creative beauty and redeeming grace. Perhaps there was some danger of my forming an inordinate attachment to the things of this world, but so it was; the monitor within seemed to whisper, "Arise, for this is not thy rest." A tarnish, too, was cast upon the glory of the spot, by the recollection that all the beauty we can now behold is but the remains of primitive perfection, of perfection violated and forfeited by the transgression of our fallible progenitors. The thought struck me, What must Eden have been before the fall! A dimness appeared to shroud the prospect before me. I rose from my turfy seat, blessing the Father of mercies that there is "an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for them who are kept by the power of God through faith unto salvation." I rambled some distance along the sloping side of the hill, when on turning the corner of a little mount, I discovered a cottage half hid in a cluster of trees. On approaching it yet nearer, I observed an aged figure seated upon a bench at the door, leaning forward upon a staff which seemed to have been the companion of many years. His eye appeared fixed upon a little kitten that was frisking about at his feet, so that I had lifted the latch of the garden wicket before I was perceived by him. |