The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1842-06-18
From the N. Y. Sunday Mercury.
SHORT PATENT SERMON.
BY DOW, IR.

b1 boN in.
The following stanzas by II. T. Tuckerman
will compose my text for this occasion.
Give me the boon of love,
Fame's trumpet strains Separt;
But loves sweet lutte brcathes melody
That fingers in the heart;
And the scroll Of fame sill burn,
When sea and earth consume,
But the rose OF love IN happier sphere,
VIII live in GeathlCss bloom!
My Learers-pare love, love without licen-
tiousneSs or sclsuality, is manufactured by the
angels in heaven cXpressl for TINS terrestrial mar
kct. 1t is glorious thing Tor US that friend
ly intercourse is still maintained in relation to
this Indispensable commodity; for without love,
we should be as morose and miserable as an old
maid without. 1t keeps the heart moist with the
genial dews Of NEUTRALITY-SUSPICIOUS. soft and plia-
bic the putty otpity and calls up spirits OF COLI
passion from the vasty deep ofhuman seltishness.
| know there are some, who pcr!er fame to
love-who had rather plunge headIong into per-
dition with the worlds applause than push for
paradise alone and unnoticcd But, my friends,
why should they make fever in the brain
and set their blood boiling for the sake Of gain
ing wreath whose green leaves shall but deco
rate wlthcted brow, & wave above bosom
barren in peace and comfort; Give me the
boon Of loyo had much rather LAY OIL and
bask in the warm sunshine Of affection, than be
led by crazy ambition to the top of the mountain,
where cold winds rave and everlasting SHOWS en-
compass. Oh, had rather lean upon breast
that beats responsive to mine, and least upon
kisses, than SIT pavillioned upon kingly throne
and be pricked by the pins OF care, an object Of
Tear and favor, but not Of love.
My irends--renown is but hollow sound
that echoes through the silent halls of death,
where 1t dies away, and is heard no more. The
path Of ialhe is dreary one-now leading
through a gloomy vale of disappointment, and
now bordering upon precpces and dangerous
chusIls down which one may tumble ere he is
aware Of it, and break himself into so many pie
ces, that while one eye was hunting after his
nose the other could 60 to sleep for an hour and
wake up in time to see it properly adjusted.
One single wild flower plucked from the path of
love--no matter how lowly or humble il may be
looks prettier and smells sweeter than the
brightest blossoms that ambition may Gull from
the hot houses of tame-There is as much di-
ference between the two as there is between a
toad stool and the handsomest hOllyhocks that
grow spontaneous upon the outskirts of heaven.
., then give me the boon of love! The wl-o
wisp of fame shines at distance with cold,
phosphorescent glow, amid the togs of doubt and
uncertainty; but the light If love is near and
cheering. 1t gradually warns person all over
lngs of tenderness that have lain CONCEALED in a
long winter ofmisantlropy , every now and
then diops new spark upon the finder OF his at
fectons One tender glance from the bright eye
of beauty, in cold day, will throw calorc c.
nough into the soul TO keep the body warm for a
week; and our thermometers of Joy and pleasure
will stand upon an average at fever heat. But
the fame Of glory, my friends, burns ftiully &
scorchingly for few moments upon the funeral
pyre of mans happiness, and then leaves him
surrounded by the midnight darkness of the tomb.
My dear friends,-give me but the boon OF
love and will ask no other. There is 10 more
music in the wild, harsh, trumpet-strains of fame,
than there is in a womans whstling. They re-
sound for awhile over mountain and plain, rou-
sing toads, lizards and oafers to peep from their
holes in wonder and astonishment-and then
they depart forever: but the soft, sweet lutte Of
love breathes heaven-born melody, that fingers
in the bosom when herctt of all other enjoyment,
and causes the heart strings to vibrate with Joy
even at the door of the tomb. When the SHOWS
of age shall settle upon us, and lfes landscape
looks sad and dreary-when the Songs OF mrth
and jolity have ceased to please-the recoec-
ton Of loves early music will awaken such
pleas echoes in our bosoms us shall oft CAUSE
us to forget that we are old and are not able TO
properly appreciate what we so lavishly admire.
Though the winter of our existence shall have
set in upon u, and The trees of our youth shall
have been stripped of their verdure, the leaves of
love will start forth anew in the warm sun OF
fresh and fair as though they were not soon, soon
to be destroyed by the frosts of iorgetluncss.
Mr. hearers-seek not for fame. Its scroll