ebbs and flows perpetually, while principle has the same strong, noiseless current, morning, noon, and night. Feeling is the sea-flower, now floating on the crested waves, now drooping because the tide is gone; now torn rudely off, and tossed away to perish by some sterner blast; while principle is the firm old rock, over which the waves dash without dislodging it from its bed, or disturbing its deep repose.

Feeling is a delightful friend and flatterer, an excellent helper, but a dangerous master; [while principle is a counsellor, sure as the sun, like that, brightening towards the perfect day as we follow its rays. Feeling, mere feeling, betrays us to danger and surrounds us with difficulty; it bids us walk the sea, plunge needlessly into the midst of enemies, promise what we have no strength to perform; while principle will bear us through even the trial it would have taught us to avoid, and deliver from untold peril by the wholesome sense of our own weakness and the wise distrust of our untried strength.

These times of outward prosperity are thought to be times more especially requiring an awakened state of religious feeling, rather than the confirmation of religious principle, or the extension of relig

ious charity, or the elevation of religious trust and hope.

But, I confess to an entirely different view. So many have made shipwreck, notwithstanding fervor of affection and glowing love to the Saviour, under trials they were not prepared to meet, and burdens they were not expecting to bear-so many have found a piety of emotion die out in the darkness of despair, beneath overwhelming temptations; and have denied Jesus, as it were in his presence, while the eyes of a larger company than that of Pilate's hall turned inquiringly upon them, that we are warned to seek something more than the kindled heart.

There is an anchor of the soul, sure and steadfast, which the swift eddies of life require for the vessel that would make her port at last; there is a consecrated will, which is stronger than worlds; a manly allegiance to duty, which is sure to win at last the confidence of men; a fixed purpose of soul, which society reposes upon with immovable trust. And this it is which wins respect more than talent, which finds honor far beyond any wealth; and which reaps the richest reward in a sublime serenity, shared with angels of the presence, a peace which passeth un

derstanding, a trust undisturbed by the wreck of worlds, a joy such as only martyr-heroes and glorified apostles have known. And this I find not in Peter the disciple, but Peter the missionary preacher not in the timid, shrinking spirit of Pilate's hall, but the fearless and world-overcoming herald of the cross at Rome.

THE CONTRAST OF OFFERINGS.

BY ANSON G. CHESTER, ESQ.

I STOOD within a temple's walls,

Amid a restless crowd,

No pleading eye was turn'd to Heaven,
No suppliant knee was bowed;

They had gold and spice and glowing gems,

Bright silver like the moon;

And the singers chanted ancient songs,
And the organ played its tune.

They brought the frankincense and myrrh,
With the stores of sunny climes,
As the humble shepherds (how unlike!)

In earth's young troublous times;

They seemed to forget that God was there,

The Mighty One of old;

And methought they made their sacrifice

To a deity of gold!

Near yonder softly talking stream
An aged cottage stands,
And mocks in its simplicity

The skill that art commands ;
The fragile woodbine creepeth o'er
Its roof so old and grey,

And birds, companions of the lone,
Sing there the livelong day.

I passed me by its opened door
At evening's holy hour,

When silvery lines were on the sky
And dews on every flower;

An old man humbly kneeled beside
A rude and rustic chair;

A murmur played upon his lip,-
It was the voice of prayer.

The God of Heaven delighteth not

In the gorgeous sacrifice,

But he loves the words of grateful lips And the glance of tearful eyes;