and thrilling anxiety with which the mother watches the sleeping infant, and her distracted wildness when its toppling footsteps carry it beyond her sight; yet the actions of the mother under these circumstances make an impression on the infant mind never to be erased, by time, or change, or circumstances; and by an association of ideas, too mysterious to be explained, but too palpable to be denied, the moral lessons inculcated under these circumstances can never be forgotten; and many a heartless rake has been reformed, and many a reckless renegade reclaimed, by the recollection of a mother's precepts, after she had gone to her grave. This powerful influence is happily illustrated in one of those speeehes of John Randolph, in which that eccentric orator was wont to wander over the whole universe. In denouncing a certain quality of atheists for the mischief they had done, "Once," said he, "they had well nigh robbed me of my religion; but when the last spark was nearly extinguished, I remembered that when a child, my good old mother called me to her side, and taught me to say, 'Our Father who art in heaven.'"

If then the mother is to be instructor of her children, and if the precepts of the mother are of such lasting consequence, how important is it that she herself should be well educated-that her head, and her heart, and her hands should be educated, so that her example may teach where her precept fails, and that her life may stand a monumental preacher to her offspring, pointing its hand to the domestic duties of life, and lifting its eye to "the recompense of reward" in another world!

Is there any other consideration which can add to the importance of female education? Yes, there is one other consideration-the most important of all-the influence which it is to have on her future existence. Were she, according to the religion of Mohammed, a soulless creature of the dust, doomed to fret out a few short years on the stage of existence, alternately the toy and the slave of man, and then lie down like a log, in the hopeless slumber of the grave-why should anything else employ her thoughts but meat, drink, and the butterfly decorations of the body? But Revelation steps in and proclaims her immortality, and lifts her thoughts to enjoyments beyond the reach of mutability and decay.

How vain and empty, then, are all her accomplishments which do not tend to enlighten and elevate the soul, and fit it for a higher destiny! The ancients represent Time by the figure of an angel flying with outspread wings, and carrying in his hand an enormous scythe, with which he cuts down all before him. But not so he creeps upon us with a stealthy step; he performs his work with smaller and more malignant weapons. He marks

that form of beauty before the glass, and while she polishes her shining ivory, knocks out a tooth-while she curls a sunny, ringlet turns it into grey-while she revives the rose on her cheek, ploughs a wrinkle there-while she triumphs in the conquest of her eye, quenches a beam of light from its orbit-while she warbles a song of love, mars its music with the husky notes of age-and anon, like her damask sisters of the spring, her beauty withers and is scattered by the wind. But the mental and moral culture of the mind and the heart impart a charm which neither the malignity of time, nor the ghastliness of age, nor the worms of the grave can destroy. Death may hush the music of the material organ; but the deathless minstrel that was wont to touch its peevish chords shall wake in a higher sphere, with her fingers on the golden wires of a celestial harp, to weave the sweet, and long, and lofty strains of immortality.

[Ladies Repository.]

THE SEA OF GALILEE.

BY MISS MARGARET ROBINSON OF NEW YORK.

A Prize Composition in the Albany Female Academy, for which a gold medal was awarded.

Bow down, my spirit, and adore, while thus I gaze on thee,
Thou favored spot of all the earth, thrice hallowed Galilee;
Bow down, my spirit, and adore, as in the courts above;
Behold the place the Saviour trod, in sorrow and in love.

Throughout thy valleys rang his words, thy hill-tops heard his voice,
And Hermon from its dewy height called on them to rejoice!

Thy verdant banks his pillow formed, his footsteps pressed thy sod.
And oft thy waters mirrored back the image of a God.

There is no sound along thy shore, no murmur of thy wave,
But tells of him who left the skies, and life eternal gave:
Methinks among those stirring leaves his accents linger yet,
And fancy sees each glittering shrub with tears of pity wet.

While heartless man denied a home, thy trees a shelter made;
Thy smiles of beauty cheered his soul when faithless friends betrayed:
Forsaken, scorned, his mission spurned, no angry wish he knew,
But freely fell his love on all, as falls the gentle dew

How great that love, thy silver waves the tale can well attest,
As from a simple seaman's boat, that floated on thy breast,
The God who reared those lofty hills, and gave the seas their birth,
There deigned to teach the outcast poor, the ignorant of earth.

Or, when opprest by multitudes, he turned him from his way,
And standing on the mountain top, he taught them "how to pray,"
When streams of truth and mercy flowed among the list'ning crowd,
And the stout heart with holy fear, like oaks of Bashan bowed.

That list'ning crowd have passed away; their very names forgot,
While the heavenly world is echoing yet from earth's remotest spot;
And, like thy waves, that gospel sound shall still keep flowing on,
Unchanged by time, unspent by age, till all the earth be won.`

"Thy conscious waters knew their God," and yielded to his will,
As moved along the troubled deep, the gentle words, "Be still;"
Or when beneath the starless sky, upon the stormy wave,
He went in mercy's fairest guise, to succor and to save.

When faithless Peter asked a sign, and not a sign was given,

He learned that faith should ever trust, though clouds obscure the heaven;
For faith is like the summer flower, that opes its portals wide,
If the warm sunshine be bestowed, or if it be denied.

Lonely and sad, throughout thy midst, the holy Jordan flows,
Nor ripples with thy curling breeze, nor mingling current knows;
So passed the Saviour through this world, mingling, but yet apart,
With human passions in his frame, the Godhead at his heart.

And meeting with thy western sky, Mount Tabor rears its head,
At whose broad base the Saviour once his famished followers fed,
And on whose summit as he stood, his face with glory shone,
While from the cloud the Father spake, and hailed him as his own.

Capernaum, where the Chosen One his purest lessons taught;
Chorazin and Bethsaida too, where healing oft was wrought;
Low in the dust their fallen towers in shapeless ruin lie,
Who in the fulness of their pride a Saviour dared deny.

Yes, tower and ruin, hill and plain, but most, thou beauteous sea,
Does every varying look of thine some image bring to me;
For though it is with spirit eyes I've looked along thy shore,
With spirit-step have trod the path the Saviour trod before;

I feel the impress on my soul the holy shepherds felt,
When first before the manger rude, adoringly they knelt;
And fain I'd pass away in peace, as though mine eyes had seen
The Saviour in his glory bright, nor worldly mist between.

What though thy shores no sightless bard with classic beauty sang,
Nor clang of spear, nor battle-shout, along thy margin rang;
A deeper charm is resting there than mortal lyre can sound,
For there the star of Bethlehem shone, and lo! 'tis holy ground.

Thou art the holy spot of earth, by prophets long foretold,
Where the righteous of the world should come, as to a shepherd's fold;
Thou art the "Mecca of the mind," where man his homage turns,
Thy shores the altars where the heart its purest incense burns.

Thou shalt remain when battling spear to ploughshare shall be turned.
And peace and goodness fill the heart where fearful passions burned
Thou shalt remain in all thy pride, till nature sinks to rest,
And unborn millions pass away, like foam from off thy breast.

THE SONG OF THE HEAVENLY HOSTS.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF KLOPSTOCK BY ELIHU BURRITT.

O THOU heavenly Muse! companion of angels! prophetess of God! thou who listenest to high, and immortal strains! rehearse to me the song, then sung by the angels.

Hail, thou sacred land of the revelation of God! Here we behold him, as he is, as he has been, as he shall be;-here see the Blessed without veil, without the intervening shadow of distant worlds. Thee we behold in the congregation of thy redeemed, on whom thou deignest to look with gracious eye. O thou art Infinite Perfection! Truly art thou, and shalt be called in Heaven, the Unutterable Jehovah! Our songs, living by the power of inspiration, in vain attempt thy likeness; even directed by thy revelation, we can hardly express our conceptions of thy divinity. Eternal, thou art alone in thy perfect greatness! Every conception of thy glorious being is more sublime and holy than the contemplation of all created things. Yet thou didst resolve to see other beings than thee, and let thy en-souling breath descend on them. Heaven didst thou first create, then us, heaven's inhabitants. Far wert thou then from thy birth, thou young, terrestrial globe; thou sun, and thou moon, the blessed associates of the earth; First-born of the creation, what was thy appearance, when, after an inconceivable eternity, God descended, and prepared thee for the sacred mansion of his glory? Thy immense circle, called into existence, assumed its form. The creating voice went forth with the first tumult of the crystal seas; their listening. banks arose like worlds. Then didst thou, Creator, sit solitary on thy throne in deep contemplation of thyself. O Hail the reflecting Deity, with shouts of joy! Then, aye then, were ye created, ye seraphim, ye spiritual beings, full of intellect, full of mighty powers, and perceptions of the Creator!-ye whom he created of himself for his worship. Hallelujah, a joyful hallelujah be by us unceasing sung to thee, O First of Blessings! To Solitude thou saidst: Be thou no more! and to the beings; Awake Hallelujah!

'Till now Jehovah had fixed his eye upon the earth; for thence, from the fullness of his soul, the Son was still holding with the Father discourse of fate-concealing import,-fearful, glorious and holy, full of the retributions of life and death, obscure to the immortals themselves; discourse of things, which the approaching redemption of God should publish to all created beings. But

now the Eternal's eye filled heaven anew; all met in waiting silence the divine look. All now awaited the voice of the Lord. The celestial cedars no longer waved, the ocean kept silence within its lofty shores. God's breathing winds tarried motionless, between the brazen mountains, awaiting the descent of the Almighty voice, with outstretched wings. Thunders from the holy of holies rolled down upon the listening ears of the expectant beings. But God spoke not yet. The sacred thunders were only heralds of the approaching divine answer. When they ceased, the throne was unveiled at the gracious look of God revealing his sanctuary, the long desired throne prepared for the lofty thoughts of the Eternal. Then full of earnestness the cherub Urim, the trusty angel of the everlasting spirit, turned, full of divine contemplation, to high Eloa, and spoke: "What seest thou, Eloa?" The seraph Eloa arose, went slowly forward and said:

"There on these golden pillars, are labyrinthian tables full of prescience; there the Book of Life, opening by the breath of mighty winds, reveals the names of future Christians, new awarded names, of heaven's immortality. How the book of the universal judgment opens, dreadful, like the waving banners of battling seraphs. A fatal sight for those degraded souls, that rebel against God! O how the Almighty unveils himself! Ah, Urim, in holy stillness the candlesticks glimmer through a silver cloud; by thousands of thousands they are glimmering,-types of churches reconciled to God! Count, Urim, the sacred number. "The worlds, Eloa," replied he,-"the deeds of crowned angels, and their joys are numerable to us; but not the effects of the great redemption of God's compassion." Then spoke Eloa: "I see his judgment seat! Fearful art thou, O Messiah, Judge of the world! Fearful is the sight of the lofty throne. Glowing with ready vengeance, he thunders from afar! Almighty tempest bears him aloft into the thundering clouds! Soon, O Messiah, soon, Judge of the world, shalt thou appear armed with eternal death!"

Thus discoursed Eloa and Urm between themselves. Seven times the thunder had torn away the veil, when, soft stealing down, came the Eternal's voice:

"God is love. That was ere the existence of my creatures; when I formed the worlds, then, too, was I love; and now, in the completion of my most mysterious, most exalted work, am I the same. But, through the death of the Son, the Judge of the world, shall ye fully know me, and offer new worship to the Fearful One. Did not my extended arm sustain you, ye finite beings, ye would sink at the spectacle of great death."

The Eternal paused. In deep admiration they folded holy