Herald of the times. [volume] (Newport, R.I.) 1830-1846, 1830-04-14
THE MORALIST.
"The only amaranthine flower on earth
Is virtue tn only lasting treasure, truth"

RELIGIoN.-What is it that is bread
to the hunger-eyes to the blind-ieet
TO the lame-libery to the captive-and
joy to the world What gives woman,
the partner of our joys, the soother of our
sorrows, that rank and standing in So
ciety, to which she was originally de-
signed by the Creator-it is religion-
pure and undefilcd religion-which has
its origin in the bosom of benevolence,
and which has been fostered and cher
ished by the loving kindness of the Al
mighty. And is there to be found a fe-
male in the wide world, so lost to every
thing that ennobles human kind, as that
she can despise an attempt to destroy
that which is her all Such instances
are rare they stand out in bold relief
like monsters in creation.
HOME. A Fragment. Twas Sum
day evening The last rays of the set
ting sun had tinged the horizon with gold
the blue vault of heaven was cloud
less, calm, and serene. Mingled sounds
of the pearly rivulet, and the bird oisong,
came stealing upon the soul, sweet as
the visions of youth-sott murmurs broke
in upon the Silly silence, like music on
the hours of repose. The Lake unruf-
fled by single breeze, seemed to smile
in it's quiet rest, as if storm and tempest
were a thing unknown--its boundless
depths were glowing brightly as the pol
ished mirror, with unnumbered trees and
blossoms impressed upon its bosom. The
gentle zephyr so lightly breathed upon
the dewy bowers that even the aspen leaf
would have forgotten its trembling. The
glad earth, which | had seen but q
few short months before clad in wintry
garment of feecy snow, was now cloth
ed in cheerfulness and smiles, declaring
that blight and frost had passed away.
Mingled recollections came crowding
thick and fast upon the soul, when on
turning the angle in the road, the village
of B., now my home, burst upon my
view in all its peerless beauty the much
loved friends had left but a few months
ago, blooming in health and happines;
might now be slumbering in their narrow
house of solitude and silence, and the
bright blossoms of May might now be
blooming over their resting place.
Twas the hour of prayer. With coun
tenance beaming with health and hope
with hearts beating high with gratitude
to the Author of all good, the children o.
the Most High came up to the feast o
the tabernacles. There before the alta
there, in the temple of the Eternal wa'
raised the anthem and the song to Hin
who made the world. Not to appeast
his vengeance did his children bow before
him, but to thank him for that kindness
and the care which knows no bound
AT this hour so beautiful and bright-th'
type of that glorious world where tear
and signs are never known-when tn
soul is filled with Joy and gladness-'ti
there in that soft hour of peace, whe1
communing with Him who is invisible
that we have a foretaste of those un
speakable Joys that flow at Gods righ
hand-'tis there we look forward to tina
bright period, when purged from ever
impurity and earthly irailty, we sha
wing our way to home of glory, wher
our praises will be without trembling an
our thanksgivings unmingled with tears