Gallipolis journal. [volume] (Gallipolis, Ohio) 1837-1919, 1852-01-08
4 short Patent sermon.

December 8, 1851.
A short Patent Sermon.
NEW sERIEs-BY DOW JR.
These are the words that compose
my text:
Sing. oh sing. ye sons of sorrow!
You're made to sing IS well as sigh.
Ny HEARERs:-The heart ought
to be always in tune-constantly
filled with songs Of gladness--as
overfowing as a mill dam in March.
Mans soul is music, and his bosom
is a harp; and if he allows neither
the fingers Of Fancy nor OF Nature
to sweep harmoniously over its
strings, he is unworthy even OF the
paltry space he occupies among his
fellow beings. The world is a grand
and beautiful song, written by the
Creator Of all things, to be sung by
everything here below to all manner
of tunes, from sold Hundred" or
"Days Of Absences" up to "Fisher's
Hornpipe," or "Dandy Jim OF Caro-
line"
Nv friends-man was made TO
sing, instead of being made to mourn;
as has been asserted by one who died
singing like a swan. You should
sing to tighten your big burdens OF
sorrow; to entice memory away
from mourning for the sad relics ol
the past: 20 make the leaden winged
hours Of the present speed sYilter
and lighter; and to prevent .fancilul
fear from straying after samples ol
misery in the dark and distant future.
You should sing ever and anon, like
a juvenile daughter Of delight while
engaged in dressing her doll. All
nature sings, and why not youl
The summer birds---these little
demiterrestrial children Of beauty
and admiration--are stantly
filling the woods and groves with
vocal melody. The lark, as she rises
from her dew-spangled nest to meet
the morning sun, seems to exhale
her whole soul in the sweetness of
song, as though she could no more
help it than salt pork can prevent
sissing while undergoing the process
of frying. The busy bee huns a
merry tune while industriously
gathering honey for the hive-the
grasshopper soothes itself with solo
in the shade, when the scorchiug sun
has withered the grass, and cut short
its allowance-the cricket sings its
nocturnal song TO while away the
dull evening hours, and every insect
is as fully inflated with music as an
ACCORDION in the hands of prof.
cient.
NV dear hearers-not only the
animate but the inanimate portion OF
the AImighty's works sing hymns o!
praise and songs Of gladness. The
sparkling rills and blossom bordered
brooks 60 dancing down from their
mountain homes 10 fowerv wales,
with tuneful tongues. The cascade
sings in a wild but sweet strain as it
drops its silvery sheet from rock to
rock; and the mighty cataract is for
ever sounding, in deep sublime. aw-
ful and yet musical tones, the praises
of the Most High. Old Ocean sings
bass as well as bull frog, every rip
pie that plays upon its bosom is a
quaver, and each wave that breaks
and dies upon the shore is a semi
breve. With my friend, Barry
Cornwall, love TO wander by the
oceans side, marking the sunlight at
the evening hour, and listen to the
music its waters make, for they sing
of ETERNITY, Eternity, and Power!"
The winds are wandering minstrels,
that delight 10 sing in solitude and
sylvan retreats. With unseen fin
gers they touch their golden harps
in every woodland, grove and bower,
or chaunt requienm for the dead
among the willows of the charnel
yard. Aye, my friends, there is ST.
lent music in the heavens. Ever
since the morning stars sang to-
gether, to the tune Of 80, it's nv
delight oil shiny night" the planets
and suns belonging TO each system,
have kept up the chorus OF alt will
never do to give itup so, Mr.. Brown"
Perhaps | might more properly say,
my hearers, that each Of these stars
sing a solo-so low (as my respected
friend John Gossin would say, that
you can't hear it. Yet if you would