Be dashed with bitter curse aside,

Your prayers burlesqued, your tears defied.

Go, weep as I have wept

O'er a loved father's fall;

See every promised blessing swept;

Youth's sweetness turned to gall;

Life's fading flowers strewed all the way,
That brought me up to woman's day.

Go, see what I have seen;

Behold the strange man bow,

With gnashing teeth, lips bathed in blood,
And cold and livid brow;

Go, catch his writhing glance, and see
There mirrored, his soul's misery.

Go to thy mother's side,

And her crushed bosom cheer;

Thine own deep anguish hide;

Wipe from her cheek the bitter tear; Mark her worn frame and withered brow; The that streaks her dark hair now; gray With fading frame and trembling limb; And trace the ruin back to him

Whose plighted faith, in early youth,
Promised eternal love and truth,
But who, forsworn, hath yielded up
That promise to the curs-ed cup;

And led her down, through love and light,
And all that made her prospects bright;
And chained her there, mid want and strife,
That lowly thing, a drunkard's wife;
And stamped on childhood's brow so mild,
That withering blight, the drunkard's child!

Go, hear, and feel, and sec, and know,
All that my soul hath felt and known;
Then look upon the wine-cup's glow,
See if its beauty can atone;
Think if its flavor you will try;

When all proclaim 'tis drink and die.
Tell me I hate the bowl!

Hate is a feeble word:

I loathe, abhor, my very soul
With strong disgust is stirred,
Whene'er I see, or hear, or tell,
Of the dark beverage of hell.

CCXCVI.-THERE IS A GOD.

EVERY thing in nature proclaims the existence of a God. It is written upon the painted pebble and the variegated shell, upon every blade of grass and every leaf of the forest. It is written upon every star whose glittering sheen lights up the blue depths of the illimitable expanse, and upon every grain of sand that rests on old earth's bosom.

It is equally proclaimed by the rattling thunder, and by that "still small voice," the volcano's flash and the lightning's glare, by the cataract's roar and the gentle purling of the brook, by the rushing whirlwind and the gentle zephyr. It is proclaimed by the raging storm, prostrating and devastating every thing before it, and by the gently dropping summer shower, bringing joy and healing. on its wings; by the groaning of the forest and the rustling of the corn-fields; by the angry tumult of the ocean's giant waves, and the beautiful rippling of "Leman's placid lake."

It is written on every page of nature's volume, and proclaimed by every voice that issues from her laboratory. We see throughout nature an evident unity of purpose and design, a beautiful and harmonious system of laws, so arranged, that in the universe, as illimitable as God himself, there is not the slightest clash or confusion. Millions on millions of worlds roll on in their orbits throughout space, continually passing and repassing each other, and treading their intricate mazes and devious labyrinths without ever mistaking their course, or interfering with each other. United to this is a nice adaptation of means to the end, and which point to their author as God, essential, uncre

ated, eternal, whom to deny is the greatest folly of which man can be guilty, and whom to confess and adore is an act of his highest wisdom.

Ah! well do I remember those

Whose names these records bear,
Who round the hearth-stone used to close,
After the evening prayer;

And speak of what these pages said,

In tones my heart would thrill!
Though they are with the silent dead,
Here are they living still.

My father read this holy book
To brothers, sisters, dear;

How calm was my dear mother's look,
Who loved God's word to hear.

Her a-ged face, I see it yet,

As thronging memories come!

Again that little group is met
Within the halls of home!

Thou truest friend man ever knew,

Thy constancy I've tried;

When all were false I found thee true,

My counselor and guide.

The mines of earth no treasure give

That could this volume buy:

In teaching me the way to live,

It taught me how to die.

CCXCVIII-SURVIVORS OF BUNKER HILL.-No. I.

THIS and the succeeding exercise are from Webster's speech on laying the corner stone of Bunker Hill Monument. He addresses the survivors present. The "great first martyr" apostrophized at the close, is General Warren, one of the most distinguished American patriots, and who was killed in the battle.

VENERABLE men! you have come down to us from a former generation. Heaven has bounteously lengthened out your lives, that you might behold this joyous day. You are now where you stood fifty years ago, this very hour, with your brothers and your neighbors, shoulder to shoulder, in the strife of your country. Behold, how altered! The same heavens are indeed over your heads; the same ocean rolls at your feet; but all else how changed!

You hear now no roar of hostile cannon, you see no mixed volumes of smoke and flame rising from burning Charlestown. The ground strowed with the dead and the dying; the impetuous charge; the steady and successful repulse; the loud call to repeated assault; the summoning of all that is manly to repeated resistance; a thousand bosoms freely and fearlessly bared in an instant to whatever of terror there may be in war and death; all these you have witnessed, but you witness them no more. All is peace.

The hights of yonder metropolis, its towers and roofs, which you then saw filled with wives, and children, and countrymen in distress and terror, and looking with unutterable emotions for the issue of the combat, have presented you to-day with the sight of its whole happy population, come out to welcome and greet you with a universal jubilee. Yonder proud ships, by a felicity of position appropriately lying at the foot of this mount, and seeming fondly to cling around it, are not means of annoyance to you, but your country's own means of distinction and defense.

All is peace; and God has granted you this sight of your country's happiness, ere you slumber forever in the grave. He has allowed you to behold and to partake the reward of your patriotic toils; and he has allowed us, your

sons and countrymen, to meet you here, and in the name of the present generation, in the name of your country, in the name of liberty, to thank you!

But, alas! you are not all here! Time and the sword have thinned your ranks. Prescott, Putnam, Stark, Brooks, Read, Pomeroy, Bridge! our eyes seek for you in vain amid this broken band. You are gathered to your fathers, and live only to your country in her grateful remembrance and your own bright example. But you lived to see your country's independence established, and to sheathe your swords from war. On the light of liberty you saw arise

the light of peace, like

"Another morn risen on mid-noon;"

and the sky on which you closed your eyes was cloudless. But ah! Thou! the first great martyr in this great cause! Thou! the premature victim of thine own self-devoting heart! Thou! the head of our civil councils, and the destined leader of our military bands, whom nothing brought hither but the unquenchable fire of thine own spirit! Thou! cut off by Providence in the hour of overwhelming anxiety and thick gloom; falling ere thou sawest the star of thy country rise; pouring out thy generous blood like water, before thou knewest whether it would fertilize a land of freedom or of bondage!—how shall I struggle with the emotions that stifle the utterance of thy name!

Our poor work may perish; but thine shall endure! This monument may molder away; the solid ground it rests upon may sink down to a level with the sea; but thy memory shall not fail! Wherever among men a heart shall be found that beats to the transports of patriotism and liberty, its aspirations shall be, to claim kindred with thy spirit!

FROM WEBSTER.