titude are, now, in every quarter of the land; the human strength and firmness of the Church: and, to them, we venture to ascribe the eulogy of Israel's wisest king, "many daughters have done virtuously;" but ye excel them all. But, our corner stones, we would have polished. In David's phrase, "the polished corners of the Temple." Not the polish, which rubs off. Not the polish, which conceals a base material. Not the polish, which eats into, and corrodes, the substance. That, only, can receive a polish, which, itself, is real. We burnish gold; not lead. We polish marble; and not sand stone. What, but the diamond, is the most solid of all substances! What, but the Ko-hi-noor, that could light up a darkened room! Therefore, we teach the children, solidly. We strengthen and compact the texture of their minds. We teach them history. We teach them grammar. We teach them languages. We teach them mathematics. More than all, we teach them the truth of God; and train them, in the order, and the service, of His Church. Upon these live realities, the polish, surely, takes. It does but bring out, what they are. It does but tell the truth, that lies within. It will make them gracious, as well as graceful. It will be their armour, as well as, their ornament. Its clear shining will dispel the darkness, and its works. Its clear shining will drive off the devil, and all devilish men. Its clear shining will win Angels, to them; for their succour. Its clear shining, will be bright, forever; in the mediatorial crown of Him, Who bought them with His blood. Neighbours and friends, such is the simple story of our efforts, and our hopes. And, these-we say, with humble thankfulness to God-these are such fruits of them, as over-pay them all. For such as these, we live. For such as these, we toil. For such as these, we watch. For such as these, we pray. Be these, and such as these, our latest memories, in death. Be these, and such as these, the sharers, with us, of the bliss of heaven. We ask it, for His sake, Whose precious lambs they are. We ask it, for His sake, Who loved us, and washed us with His blood. Beloved daughters of my house and heart, this is our parting day: and it is no "sweet sorrow." It is a parting, that wrings hearts. It is a parting, that brings tears. Thank God, that, through our tears, we can look up, to Heaven; and, by faith, behold that happy home, where, if we follow faithfully, the Lamb, we shall all meet, at last, to part no more. Beloved daughters, as you stand, before me, my heart supplies the forms of four, like you, who hoped to have stood, with you. Alice Van Valkenburgh, Mary Nolen, Catharine Barkalow, and Amelia Clarke, are with the silent dead. Our hearts will twine some cypress, with the laurel. Our tears shall green the sod, that wraps their graves. Dear children! They "were pleasant and lovely, in their lives." In their deaths, they were not long divided. Beloved daughters, there are graves prepared, for you. One and another will open, for you, on your way of life. One and another of you will lie down, in them; to be seen here, no more. Let the thought chastise the overweening eagerness of youth. Let it mingle its mementoes, with the songs of joy, that cheer the day. Let it rise up, in hours, which tempt you, with too much of this world's cheating charms; to tell you of another and a better. Cling to that Cross, which you have all embraced. Nestle yourselves, ever, beneath the brooding wings of that celestial Dove; Which, once, descended on your heads. Feed, in true penitential faith, upon that "Bread, which cometh down from heaven; Which is the life of the world." And you strive, through grace, till shall win, through mercy, the crown of everlasting life. Only the Cross could purchase it. Only the Dove can make you fit for it. XVI. THE SIXTEENTH ADDRESS *TO THE GRADUATING CLASS AT ST. MARY'S HALL. THE SWARM. AGAIN, the old hive swarms. There is a flush of life, upon the grass. There is a scent of spring, upon the air. The birds are twittering, back, to their old nests. The maple flings its crimson banner, to the sky. The willow blushes, into green. The life pulse can be stilled, no longer. The life-glow can, no longer, be repressed. There is a restless heaving of the mass. There is a hum. There is a flutter. There is a start. The old hive swarms, again. And, they are off. Off, to the Northern hills. Off, to the Western prairies. Off, to the sweet savannas of the South. Off, to sip sweetness, from the flowers. Off, to hoard sweetness, for their homes. Off, to return no more!-It is the two and twentieth annual swarm. And I stand here: to follow them, while eye can reach; to fold their precious memories, in my heart of love; to pursue them, with my blessing; and to shield them, with my prayers. Wherever, they may wing their wandering way, God *March, A. D. 1859. guide them; keep them; comfort them! Poor things! They need it, all! That were a strange map, which traced, with individual lines, these annual swarms, of two and twenty years. To China. To South America. To Great Britain. To the islands of the sea. To every state and territory of our own vast empire. To the forests of Maine. To the rice-fields of Georgia. To the sugarplantations of Mississippi. To so many happy homes. To so many peaceful Parsonages. To so many hearths of contentment. To so many hearts of love. Alas, that I must add, to so many early graves; just greening, with the Spring! And that were a still stranger map, which sketched, as God looks down, upon them all, the pathways of that inner life; which each is travelling on, toward that unseen world, which hangs about us, like the sky; which, in one moment, may close in upon our souls; whose issues are unchanging and eternal; as the God, who orders them, in justice and in mercy. "Beyond this vale of tears, There is a life above; Unmeasured, by the flight of years: "There is a death, whose pang Outlasts the fleeting breath: "Lord God of truth and grace, Teach us that death to shun; |