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The language of reverence and awe, demands space for feeling and imagination, in every characteristic sound. A single devotional exclamation ought, sometimes, to convey the whole heart and soul of the speaker, in one element of sound.

"Slowest Movement."

Awe.

Immortality. Young.

“Thou! whose all-providential eye surveys,
Whose hand directs, whose spirit fills and warms
Creation, and holds empire far beyond!
Eternity's Inhabitant august!

Of two eternities amazing Lord!

One past, ere man's or angel's had begun;
Aid! while I rescue from the foe's assault
Thy glorious immortality in man:

A theme forever, and for all, of weight,
Of moment infinite!"

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"As yet 't is midnight deep. The weary clouds,
Slow-meeting, mingle into solid gloom.

Now, while the drowsy world lies lost in sleep,
Let me associate with the serious Night,
And Contemplation, her sedate compeer."

"Father of light and life, thou Good supreme!
Oh! teach me what is good! teach me Thyself!
Save me from folly, vanity, and vice,
From every low pursuit; and feed my soul

With knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue pure;
Sacred, substantial, never-fading bliss!"

Reverence and Awe.

Stanzas.-Needham.

V. 2.

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Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God. 3. Thou turnest man to destruction; and sayest, Return, ye children of men. 4. For a thousand years, in thy sight, are but as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in the night. 5. Thou carriest them away as with a flood; they are as a sleep; in the morning they are like grass which groweth up. 6. In the morning it flourisheth, and groweth up; in the evening it is cut down, and withereth.”

Pathos and Sublimity.

Address of the pastor La Roche.- M'Kenzie.

"You behold the mourner of his only child! the last earthly stay and blessing of his declining years! Such a child, too! — It becomes not me to speak of her virtues! yet it is but gratitude to mention them, because they were exerted towards myself! Not many days ago, you saw her young, beautiful, virtuous and happy! Ye who are parents will judge of my affliction now! But I look towards Him who struck me! I see the hand of a father,

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amidst the chastenings of my God! Oh! could I make you feel what it is to pour out the heart, when it is pressed down with many sorrows! to pour it out, with confidence, to Him in whose hands are life and death! on whose power awaits all that the former enjoys, and in contemplation of whom disappears all that the latter can inflict! - For we are not as those who die without hope! We know that our Redeemer liveth!

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Go, then mourn not for me! I have not lost my child! But a little while, and we shall meet again, never to be separated!"

Slow Movement.”

This style is exemplified in the ordinary forms of solemn and pathetic language, in description, narration, and sentiment. It pervades the elocution of the more impressive passages of Scripture, generally, of most hymns, and of all discourses adapted to the excitement of profound emotion.

The main object of practice in this mode of voice, is to preserve it from a lagging, drawling, formal, or heavy effect, on the one hand, and from a tone too dry and unimpressive, on the other.

Solemnity.

Extract from the Thanatopsis.-Bryant.

"All that tread

The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings

Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce,

Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound

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Save his own dashings; — yet—the dead are there; And millions in those solitudes, since first

The flight of years began, have laid them down

To their last sleep:- the dead reign there alone.

So shalt thou rest; - and what if thou withdraw
Unheeded by the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glides away, the sons of men,

The youth, in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The bowed with age, the infant, in the smiles
And beauty of its innocent age cut off,

Shall, one by one, be gathered to thy side

By those who, in their turn, shall follow them.

"So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, that moves

To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,

Thou go not, like the quarry slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,

Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams."

Solemnity and Sublimity.

Extract from the Hymn of the Seasons.— Thomson.

"Nature, attend! join, every living soul: Beneath the spacious temple of the sky,

In adoration join; and, ardent, raise

One general song! To Him, ye vocal gales,

Breathe soft; whose Spirit in your freshness breathes:

Oh! talk of Him in solitary glooms,

Where o'er the rock, the scarcely waving pine

Fills the brown shade with a religious awe.

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And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar,

Who shake the astonished world, lift high to heaven
The impetuous song, and say from whom you rage.
His praise, ye brooks, attunc, ye trembling rills;
And let me catch it, as I muse along.

Ye headlong torrents, rapid, and profound;
Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze
Along the vale; and thou, majestic main,
A secret world of wonders in thyself,

Sound His stupendous praise; whose greater voice
Or bids you roar, or bids your roarings fall.

Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers,
In mingled clouds to Him; whose sun exalts,
Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints.
Ye forests bend, ye harvests wave, to Him;
Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart,
As home he goes beneath the joyous moon.
Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep
Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams,
Ye constellations, while your angels strike,
Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre.
Great source of day! best image, here below,
Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide,

From world to world, the vital ocean round;
On nature write with every beam His praise.
The thunder rolls: be hushed the prostrate world;
While cloud to cloud repeats the solemn hymn."

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"One adequate support

For the calamities of mortal life

one only;

an assured belief

Exists,
That the procession of our fate, howe'er
Sad or disturbed, is ordered by a Being
Of infinite benevolence and
power,

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