And if within your breast,

Hallowed to nature's touch, one chord remain,
If aught save worldly honors find you blest,
Or hope of sordid gain—

A strange delight shall thrill,
A quiet joy brood o'er you like a dove ;
Earth's placid beauty shall your bosom fill,
Stirring its depths with love.

O, in the calm, still hours,

The holy Sabbath hours, when sleeps the air,
And heaven, and earth, decked with her beauteous flowers,
Lie hushed in breathless prayer;

Pass ye the proud fane by,

The vaulted aisles, by flaunting folly trod,
And, 'neath the temple of the uplifted sky,
Go forth and worship Goo!

AND IS THERE CARE IN HEAVEN?

"And is there care in heaven? and is there love
In heavenly spirits to these creatures base ?"

SPENSER.

(On, that this palled but hungry soul, could find
That bread of life which stays the fainting mind,
Drink of that living spring whose waters flow,
At once to cleanse the heart and heal its wo;
Or catch some kindly voice, whose cheering sway
Might wake this palsied will to soar away,
Trusting no more its refuges of lies,
Touched by a power descending from the skies,]
In showers as gentle as the summer dew
That dropt on Hermon, and as copious too.

Oh! to launch forth from earth' perplexing dream;
Oh! for a draught of that immortal stream,
Which, redolent of heaven transports us there,
And on its crystal wave makes haste to bear
The sympathies of angels back to men,
And raise the spirit from the dust again!

Are they not ministers who day and night

Stand round the throne in robes of spotless white?
And all the care these bending myriads know,

Lives it not only for this world below?

And thrills there not even in this widowed breast,
A chord in tune with those which never rest,
Cold though it be, and impotent to raise
Its voiceless breathings in the Father's praise !

Yes there are cares and sympathies above;
And earth, the wedded of those realms of love,
Partakes the glory, and reflects the bliss,
When that world's fulness overflows on this.)

THE CONFLICTS OF MIND.

A VALEDICTORY ADDRESS DELIVERED AT THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR OF THE NORWALK SEMINARY.

ACADEMICAL

BY REV. EDWARD THOMSON, PRINCIPAL OF THE SEMINARY.

MY YOUNG FRIENDS,-Many of you are about to leave this institution, and enter upon the arduous duties of life. It is proper that, on bidding you farewell, I should offer you a few words of counsel.

Although there are many things which I desire to say, yet as my remarks must be confined within narrow limits, I will restrict myself to one important and appropriate truth.

You will scarce have placed your feet upon the threshold of this busy world, before a troop of difficulties will encompass you. Enter upon any pursuit whatever, you may expect enemies, and competitors, and misfortunes; and as many of you will go forth without wealth, or friends, or experience, your first efforts may be failures. Judging by the light of experience, we are induced to fear that some of you will abandon your pursuits, and take refuge in the hut of obscurity, the works of fancy or the haunts of dissipation. With a view to guard you against such a course, I invite your attention to the following proposition, viz.:

Difficulties do not justify us in surceasing from the prosecution of a rational, benevolent, and feasible undertaking.

1. We cannot escape difficulty. The air is tainted, the soil churlish, the ocean tempest-tossed. Whether we are in the field or in the wilderness, on Persian plains or Alpine heights, amid equatorial heats, or temperate climes, or polar solitudes, we are met by a thousand obstacles. Earth is cursed, and everywhere she puts forth her thorn in obedience to her Maker's withering word. True, the curse is tempered with the mercy which yields unnumbered blessings to the hand of toil; nevertheless, it cleaves to all earth's surface, and turns the key upon her hidden treasures. We read of cloudless skies, and sunny climes, and fields which need nought but the sickle, but who finds them? Paradise is always ahead of the emigrant.

2. Difficulties invigorate the soul. I do not mean the difficulties of indolence and disobedience-these are withering, blasting curses-but the difficulties of industry, of obedience.

They are conditions essential to strength. What gives power to the arm of the smith? The weight of his hammer. What

gives swiftness to the Indian foot? The fleetness of his game. Thus it is with the senses. What confers exquisite sensibility upon the blind man's ear? The curtain which, by hiding the visible universe from his sight, compels him to give intense regard to the most delicate vibrations that play upon his tympanum. Thus it is with the intellect. Who is the greatest reasoner? He who habitually struggles with the worst difficulties that can be mastered by reason. Do you complain of a feeble intellect? It may be your misfortune, but it is more likely to be your fault. Before you charge the Almighty with an unequal distribution of gifts, try your mind upon some appropriate difficulties. Bear it into the field of mathematics, or metaphysics, or logic. Bid it struggle, and faint, if necessary, and struggle again. If disposed to retreat, urge it, goad it. Let it rest when weary, bid it walk when it cannot run, but teach it that it must conquer. If, after this discipline, your mind be feeble, you may call your weakness an infirmity, and not a fault. Some men have fruitless imaginations, but who are they? Those who have never led their fancies out. The towering oak planted in a dismal cellar, shut out from the light and air of heaven, would not grow up and lift its branches to the skies. Plant your imagination in the heavens, and let it be subject to the high and holy influences of its pure ether, and its silent lights, and it shall manifest vitality, and vigor and upward aspirations.

tion.

3. Difficulties develop resources. To prove this it is only necessary to cite the aphorism-Necessity is the mother of invenShe levels forests; she rears cities; she builds bridges; she prostrates mountains; she lays her iron pathway from river to river, and from sea to sea; she baffles the raging elements, and extends her dominion from earth to air and ocean; she ascends the heavens, and with fearless foot treads round the zodiac.

Transport the savage from his woods to yon island in the sea show him her crowded harbors and her metropolis of thousand spires; point him to her proud trophies, and her glorious triumphs in earth and sky; bid him mark how she brings the fruits of all the earth to her table, and weaves the chains of her authority over every latitude. Then, would you describe the secret of all that his eye beholds, and his ear hears, tell him that Britain resolved to meet the difficulties that lay in her path from barbarism to civilisation and refinement. This simple resolution sprung her arms and her arts; her science and her song.

I have said that difficulties call forth resources. How multiplied might be the illustrations. The revolution created the continental army and the continental Congress, and made dissevered, discordant, and dependent States a united and powerful Republic. An inventive nation, unless she plan important enterprises, will

find her arts and powers of but little use. Why does China exert so feeble an influence among the nations? Not because her population is small-it is one-third the population of the globe; not because they are idle-no men are more industrious; not because she has no arts-her manufactures are unsurpassed; not because she is infertile in expedients-she walls her territory to shut out invaders-she unites her rivers with artificial channels-she raises cities upon her waters-she divides her rocks into terraces, and makes them smile from base to summit with fairest fruits and flowers-she bridges her valleys with chains, and, as if disdaining the aid of nature, she rears her temples on mountains of her own construction. Is the answer found in providence? Nay. Is learning neglected? Not a nation in which it is so much encouraged. Yet should an earthquake sink her beneath the waves, what ocean would miss her sails? what land her treasures? what science her contributions? The great instruments to which we usually attribute the march of civilisation, viz., gunpowder, the mariner's compass, and the art of printing, have all been known to China from remote ages. Although she flashed powder from her "fire-pan in the face of Genghis Khan and Tamerlane, yet, never plotting extensive conquests, she made no important use of the terrific instrument of war. Content with navigating along her coasts and inland waters, she kept her compass upon the land, and never daring to impress the world's mind, she confined her types to the stamping of almanacs."

As with the nation so with the individual. The fierce armies of Gaul and Britain gave Cæsar his martial skill. The snow-clad Alps made Hannibal fertile in expedients, resistless in command. Would you be illustrious? Plunge into difficulty, cross the Rubicon, bind your soul with stong cords of obligation, put on band after band,-the greater the difficulties, provided they do not paralyze, the greater the man.

4. There is scarce any difficulty that cannot be overcome by perseverance. Trace any great mind to its culmination, and you will find that its ascent was slow and by natural laws, and that its difficulties were such as only ordinary minds can surmount. Great results, whether physical or moral, are not often the offspring of giant powers. Genius is more frequently a curse than a blessing. Its possessor, relying on his extraordinary gifts, generally falls into habits of indolence, and fails to collect the materials which are requisite to useful and magnificent effort. But there is a something which is sure of success; it is the determination which, having entered upon a career with full conviction that it is right, pursues it in calm defiance of all opposition. With such a feeling a man cannot help but be mighty. Toil does not weary, pain does not

arrest him. Carrying a compass in his heart which always points to one bright star, he allows no footstep to be taken which does not tend in that direction. Neither the heaving earthquake, nor the yawning gulf, nor the burning mountain can terrify him from his course; and if the heavens should fall, the shattered ruins would strike him on his way to his object. Show me the man who has this principle, and I care not to measure his blood, nor brains. I ask not his name nor his nation; I pronounce that his hand will be felt upon his generation, and his mind enstamped upon succeeding ages. This attribute is God-like. It may be traced throughout the universe. It has descended from the skies; it is the great charm of angelic natures. It is hardly to be contemplated, even in the demon, without admiration. It is this which gives to the warrior his crown, and encircles his brow with a halo that, in the estimation of a misjudging world, neither darkness, nor lust, nor blasphemy, nor blood can obscure. The bard of Mantua, to whose tomb genius in all ages makes its willing pilgrimage, never presents his hero in a more attractive light, than when he represents him, "tot volvere casus"-rolling his misfortunes forward, as a river bearing all opposition before it.

I am well satisfied that it is a sure passport to mental excellence. Science has no summit too lofty for its ascent; literature has no gate too strong for its entrance. The graces collect around it, and the laurel comes at its bidding. Talk not of circumstances. Repudiate for ever that doctrine so paralyzing, so degrading, and yet so general, "Man is the creature of circumstances." Rather adopt that other sentiment, more inspiring to yourselves, more honorable to your nature, more consonant with truth, Man the architect of his own fortune. I grant that circumstances have their influence, and that often this is not small; but there are impulses within to which things external are as lava to the volcano. Circumstances are as tools to the artist. Zeuxis would have been a painter without canvass; Michael Angelo would have been a sculptor without marble; Herschell would have been a philosopher without a telescope, and Newton would have ascended the skies though no apple had ever descended upon his head. One of the most distinguished surgeons of modern times performed nearly all the operations of surgery with a razor. West commenced painting in a garret, and plundered the family cat for bristles to make his brushes. When Paganini once rose to amuse a crowded auditory with his music, he found that his violin had been removed, and a coarse instrument had been substituted for it. Explaining the trick, he said to the audience, "Now I will show that the music is not in my violin, but in me." Then drawing his bow, he sent forth sounds sweet