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Reconciler,' and 'Peacemaker;' who is also said from on high to have visited us, 'to give light to them that sit in darkness, and in the shadow of death; and to guide our feet in the ways of peace.' That, lastly, no devotion is pleasing, no oblation acceptable to God, conjoined with hatred, or proceeding from an unreconciled mind: For, 'if thou bring thy gift to the altar, and there rememberest that thy brother hath aught against thee; leave there thy gift before the altar, and go thy way; first be reconciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thy gift' to our Saviour.
I close up all with this corollary, that if we must live lovingly and peaceably with all men, then much more are we obliged to do so with all Christians; to whom by nearer and firmer bands of holy alliance we are related; by more precious communions in faith and devotion we are endeared; by more peculiar and powerful obligations of divine commands, sacramental vows, and formal professions, we are engaged; our spiritual brethren, members of the same mystical body, temples of the same Holy Spirit, servants of the same Lord, subjects of the same Prince, professors of the same truth, partakers of the same hope, heirs of the same promise, and candidates of the same everlasting happiness.
TWILIGHT AND AUTUMN.
HENRY WARE, JR.
MARK how the earth, as the months are declining,
In crimson and gold, groves and mountains are shining,
Calmly waiting to surrender
Honors that freshly in spring shall bloom.
Low in the west day's king is descending,
Wrapt in his mantle of beauty and light;
The clouds, as they change, on their monarch attending,
Light, that man and nature cheering,
Shall call the gay morn from its deep repose.
Oh, when the day of thy life is over,
In brightness like this mayst thou sink to thy rest; While the last dark clouds that around thee hover
Beam with light from the realms of the blest.
Thus may thy pure and ripened spirit
Glow in life's autumnal ray;
Calmly waiting to inherit
Heaven's joyous springtime that fades not away.
H. KIRKE WHITE.
THROUGH Sorrow's night, and danger's path,
We soldiers of an injured king
There, when the turmoil is no more,
Our labors done, securely laid
These ashes poor, this little dust,
Then love's soft dew, o'er every eye
And the long silent dust shall burst,