CHRISTIAN CALMNESS DISTURBED.
By Caroline Fry
We walked beside a tranquil stream
The sun had tinged with its parting beam;
The water was still, and so crystal clear
That every spray had its image there. And every reed that o'er it bowed,
And the crimson streak, and the silvery cloud,
And all that was bright, and all that was fair,
And all that was gay, was reflected there, And they said it was like the chastened breast
That religion soothes to a holy rest,
When sorrow has tamed the impassioned eye,
And the bosom reflects its expected sky. But I took a stone that lay beside,
And cast it far on the glassy tide,
And gone was the charm of the pictured scene,
And the sky so bright, and the landscape green. And I bade them mark how an idle word,
Too lightly said, and too deeply heard,
Or a harsh reproof, or a look unkind,
May spoil the peace of the heavenly mind. Though sweet be the peace, and holy the calm,
And the heavenly beam be bright and warm,
The heart that it gilds is all as weak
As the wave that reflects the crimson streak. You cannot impede the celestial ray,
That lights the dawn of eternal day;
But so may you trouble the bosom it cheers,
'Twill cease to be true to the image it bears.
—Caroline Fry.