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My soul, in humble hope unscared,
Forget not thou to pray,

That this thy want may be prepared
To meet the Judgment day.



159. WATER.

Wine, wine, thy power and praise
Have ever been echo'd in minstrel lays;
But, Water, I deem, hath a mightier claim,
To fill up a niche in the temple of fame.
Ye who are bred in Anacreon's school
May sneer at my strain, as the song of a fool.
Ye are wise, no doubt, but have yet to learn
How the tongue can cleave, and the veins can burn.

Should ye ever be one of a fainting band,
With your brow to the sun and your feet to the sand;
I would wager the thing I am most loath to spare,
That your Bacchanal chorus would never ring there.
Traverse the desert, and then ye can tell
What treasures exist in the cold, deep well;
Sink in despair on the red parch'd earth,
And then ye may reckon what Water is worth.

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Let Heaven this one rich gift withhold,

How soon we find it is better than gold.


I have ever found from my own knowledge and custom, as well as from the custom and observation of others, that those who drink nothing but water, or make it their principal drink, are but little affected by the climate, and can undergo the greatest fatigue without inconvenience.* -DR. MOSELY.

From The Use and Abuse of Liquors, by W. B. Carpenter.

Care should be taken not to drink water from wells in which leaves or other decaying matter have fallen. If necessitated to use such water, it should first be boiled and then filtered. It has been stated that water may hold malaria in solution, and that the poison may thus be introduced into the system.*

* From A Manual of Family Medicine and Hygiene or India, by Sir William Moore.


When the black-lettered list to the Gods was presented,
(The list of what Fate for each mortal intends),
At the long string of ills a kind goddess relented,
And slipped in three blessings-wife, children, and

In vain surly Plato maintained he was cheated,
For justice divine could not compass its ends;
The scheme of man's penance he swore was defeated,
For earth becomes heaven with wife, children, and

If the stock of our bliss is in stranger hand vested,
The fund ill secured oft in bankruptcy ends;
But the heart issues bills which are never protested,
When drawn on the firm of wife, children, and friends.

Though valour still glows in his life's dying embers,
The death-wounded tar, who his colours defends,
Drops a tear of regret as he, dying, remembers,
How blest was his home with wife, children and

The soldier whose deeds live immortal in story,
Whom duty to far distant latitude sends,
With transport would barter whole ages of glory
For one happy day with wife, children and friends.

Though spice-breathing gales on his caravan hover,
Though for him Arabia's fragrance ascends,

The merchant still thinks of the wood-bines that cover The bower where he sat with wife, children and friends.

The day-spring of youth still unclouded by sorrow, Alone on itself for enjoyment depends,

But drear is the twilight of age if it borrow

No warmth from the smile of wife, children and friends.

Let the breath of renown ever freshen and nourish The laurel which o'er the dead favourite bends; O'er me wave the willow, and long may it flourish, Bedewed with the tears of wife, children and friends.

Let us drink, for my song, growing graver and


To subjects too solemn insensibly tends;

Let us drink-pledge me high; Love and Virtue shall flavour

The glass which I fill to wife, children and friends. -HON. WILLIAM ROBERT SPENCER.

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