McGuffey's Fifth Eclectic Reader Part 46

12. And hushed is the roar of the bitter north Before the might of the spring, And up the frozen slope of the world Climbs summer, triumphing.

XCIII. RELIGION THE ONLY BASIS OF SOCIETY.

William Ellery Channing (b. 1780, d. 1842), an eminent divine and orator, was born at Newport, R.I. He graduated from Harvard with the highest honors in 1798, and, in 1803, he was made pastor of the Federal Street Church, Boston, with which he maintained his connection until his death.

Towards the close of his life, being much enfeebled, he withdrew almost entirely from his pastoral duties, and devoted himself to literature. Dr.

Channing's writings are published in six volumes, and are mainly devoted to theology.

1. Religion is a social concern; for it operates powerfully on society, contributing in various ways to its stability and prosperity. Religion is not merely a private affair; the community is deeply interested in its diffusion; for it is the best support of the virtues and principles, on which the social order rests. Pure and undefiled religion is to do good; and it follows, very plainly, that if G.o.d be the Author and Friend of society, then, the recognition of him must enforce all social duty, and enlightened piety must give its whole strength to public order.

2. Few men suspect, perhaps no man comprehends, the extent of the support given by religion to every virtue. No man, perhaps, is aware how much our moral and social sentiments are fed from this fountain; how powerless conscience would become without the belief of a G.o.d; how palsied would be human benevolence, were there not the sense of a higher benevolence to quicken and sustain it; how suddenly the whole social fabric would quake, and with what a fearful crash it would sink into hopeless ruin, were the ideas of a Supreme Being, of accountableness and of a future life to be utterly erased from every mind.

3. And, let men thoroughly believe that they are the work and sport of chance; that no superior intelligence concerns itself with human affairs; that all their improvements perish forever at death; that the weak have no guardian, and the injured no avenger; that there is no recompense for sacrifices to uprightness and the public good; that an oath is unheard in heaven; that secret crimes have no witness but the perpetrator; that human existence has no purpose, and human virtue no unfailing friend; that this brief life is everything to us, and death is total, everlasting extinction; once let them thoroughly abandon religion, and who can conceive or describe the extent of the desolation which would follow?

4. We hope, perhaps, that human laws and natural sympathy would hold society together. As reasonably might we believe that were the sun quenched in the heavens, our torches would illuminate, and our fires quicken and fertilize the creation. What is there in human nature to awaken respect and tenderness, if man is the unprotected insect of a day?

And what is he more, if atheism be true?

5. Erase all thought and fear of G.o.d from a community, and selfishness and sensuality would absorb the whole man. Appet.i.te, knowing no restraint, and suffering, having no solace or hope, would trample in scorn on the restraints of human laws. Virtue, duty, principle, would be mocked and spurned as unmeaning sounds. A sordid self-interest would supplant every feeling; and man would become, in fact, what the theory in atheism declares him to be,--a companion for brutes.

DEFINITIONS.--1. Com-mu'ni-ty, society at large, the public. Dif-fu'sion, extension, spread. En-light'ened, elevated by knowledge and religion. 2.

Fab'ric, any system composed of connected parts. Erased', blotted out. 3.

Per'pe-tra-tor, one who commits a crime. Ex-tinc'tion, a putting an end to. 4. Fer'ti-lize, to make fruitful. A'the-ism, disbelief in G.o.d.

Sen-su-al'i-ty, indulgence in animal pleasure.

XCIV. ROCK ME TO SLEEP.

Elizabeth Akers Allen (b. 1832,--) was born at Strong, Maine, and pa.s.sed her childhood amidst the picturesque scenery of that neighborhood. She lost her mother when very young, but inherited her grace and delicacy of thought. Shortly after her mother's death, her father removed to Farmington, Maine, a town noted for its literary people. Mrs. Allen's early pieces appeared over the pseudonym of "Florence Percy." Her first verses appeared when she was twelve years old; and her first volume, ent.i.tled "Forest Buds from the Woods of Maine," was Published in 1856. For some years she was a.s.sistant editor of the "Portland Transcript." The following selection was claimed by five different persons, who attempted to steal the honor of its composition.

1. Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight, Make me a child again, just for to-night!

Mother, come back from the echoless sh.o.r.e, Take me again to your heart as of yore; Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care, Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair; Over my slumbers your loving watch keep;-- Rock me to sleep, mother,--rock me to sleep!

2. Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years!

I am so weary of toil and of tears; Toil without recompense, tears all in vain; Take them, and give me my childhood again!

I have grown weary of dust and decay,-- Weary of flinging my soul wealth away; Weary of sowing for others to reap;-- Rock me to sleep, mother,--rock me to sleep!

3. Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue, Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you!

Many a summer the gra.s.s has grown green, Blossomed and faded, our faces between: Yet with strong yearning and pa.s.sionate pain, Long I to-night for your presence again.

Come from the silence so long and so deep;-- Rock me to sleep, mother,--rock me to sleep!

4. Over my heart in the days that are flown, No love like mother love ever has shone; No other wors.h.i.+p abides and endures, Faithful, unselfish, and patient like yours: None like a mother can charm away pain From the sick soul, and the world-weary brain.

Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy lids creep;-- Rock me to sleep, mother,--rock me to sleep!

5. Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold, Fall on your shoulders again, as of old; Let it drop over my forehead to-night, Shading my faint eyes away from the light; For with its sunny-edged shadows once more, Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore; Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep;-- Rock me to sleep, mother,--rock me to sleep!

6. Mother, dear mother, the years have been long Since I last listened your lullaby song; Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem Womanhood's years have been only a dream!

Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace, With your light lashes just sweeping my face, Never hereafter to wake or to weep:-- Rock me to sleep, mother,--rock me to sleep!

XCV. MAN AND THE INFERIOR ANIMALS.

1. The chief difference between man and the other animals consists in this, that the former has reason, whereas the latter have only instinct; but, in order to understand what we mean by the terms reason and instinct, it will be necessary to mention three things in which the difference very distinctly appears.

2. Let us first, to bring the parties as nearly on a level as possible, consider man in a savage state, wholly occupied, like the beasts of the field, in providing for the wants of his animal nature; and here the first distinction that appears between them is the use of implements. When the savage provides himself with a hut or a wigwam for shelter, or that he may store up his provisions, he does no more than is done by the rabbit, the beaver, the bee, and birds of every species.

3. But the man can not make any progress in this work without tools; he must provide himself with an ax even before he can cut down a tree for its timber; whereas these animals form their burrows, their cells, or their nests, with no other tools than those with which nature has provided them.

In cultivating the ground, also, man can do nothing without a spade or a plow; nor can he reap what he has sown till he has shaped an implement with which to cut clown his harvest. But the inferior animals provide for themselves and their young without any of these things.

4. Now for the second distinction. Man, in all his operations, makes mistakes; animals make none. Did you ever hear of such a thing as a bird sitting on a twig lamenting over her half-finished nest and puzzling her little head to know how to complete it? Or did you ever see the cells of a beehive in clumsy, irregular shapes, or observe anything like a discussion in the little community, as if there were a difference of opinion among the architects?

5. The lower animals are even better physicians than we are; for when they are ill, they will, many of them, seek out some particular herb, which they do not, use as food, and which possesses a medicinal quality exactly suited to the complaint; whereas, the whole college of physicians will dispute for a century about the virtues of a single drug.

6. Man undertakes nothing in which he is not more or less puzzled; and must try numberless experiments before he can bring his undertakings to anything like perfection; even the simplest operations of domestic life are not well performed without some experience; and the term of man's life is half wasted before he has done with his mistakes and begins to profit by his lessons.

7. The third distinction is that animals make no improvements; while the knowledge, and skill, and the success of man are perpetually on the increase. Animals, in all their operations, follow the first impulse of nature or that instinct which G.o.d has implanted in them. In all they do undertake, therefore, their works are more perfect and regular than those of man.

8. But man, having been endowed with the faculty of thinking or reasoning about what he does, is enabled by patience and industry to correct the mistakes into which he at first falls, and to go on constantly improving.

A bird's nest is, indeed, a perfect structure; yet the nest of a swallow of the nineteenth century is not at all more commodious or elegant than those that were built amid the rafters of Noah's ark. But if we compare the wigwam of the savage with the temples and palaces of ancient Greece and Rome, we then shall see to what man's mistakes, rectified and improved upon, conduct him.

9. "When the vast sun shall veil his golden light Deep in the gloom of everlasting night; When wild, destructive flames shall wrap the skies, When ruin triumphs, and when nature dies; Man shall alone the wreck of worlds survive; 'Mid falling spheres, immortal man shall live."

--Jane Taylor.

DEFINITIONS.--2. Dis-tinc'tion, a point of difference. Im'ple-ments, utensils, tools. Wigwam, an Indian hut. 3. Bur'rows, holes in the earth where animals lodge. 4. Dis-cus'sion, the act of arguing a point, debate.

5. Me-dic'i-nal, healing. 8. En-dowed', furnished with any gift, quality, etc. Fac'ul-ty, ability to act or perform. Rec'ti-fied, corrected.

XCVI. THE BLIND MEN AND THE ELEPHANT.

John G.o.dfrey Saxe (b. 1816, d.1887), an American humorist, lawyer, and journalist, was born at Highgate, Vt. He graduated at Middlebury College in 1839; was admitted to the bar in 1843; and practiced law until 1850, when he became editor of the "Burlington Sentinel." In 1851, he was elected State's attorney. "Progress, a Satire, and Other Poems," his first volume, was published in 1849, and several other volumes of great merit attest his originality. For genial humor and good-natured satire, Saxe's writings rank among the best of their kind, and are very popular.

1. It was six men of Indostan, To learning much inclined, Who went to see the elephant, (Though all of them were blind,) That each by observation Might satisfy his mind.

2. The first approached the elephant, And, happening to fall Against his broad and st.u.r.dy side, At once began to bawl: "G.o.d bless me! but the elephant Is very like a wall!"

3. The second, feeling of the tusk, Cried: "Ha! what have we here, So very round, and smooth, and sharp?

To me 't is very clear, This wonder of an elephant Is very like a spear!"

4. The third approached the animal, And, happening to take The squirming trunk within his hands, Thus boldly up he spake: "I see," quoth he, "the elephant Is very like a snake!"

5. The fourth reached out his eager hand, And fell about the knee: "What most this wondrous beast is like, Is very plain," quoth he; " 'T is clear enough the elephant Is very like a tree!"

6. The fifth, who chanced to touch the ear, Said: "E'en the blindest man Can tell what this resembles most: Deny the fact who can, This marvel of an elephant Is very like a fan!"