beauty." There are on earth many appearances and expressions of beauty; but we may now consider our subject more closely. Most truly one of the temples of the Great Spirit is the physical fashion of man, from which, though much desecrated by passions and the festivities of the man of sin, the impress of Deity and the light of the lamp of heaven have not been wholly removed: the holy is ever holy. Amidst these ruins still remain the lines of the life of beauty. The chill of fear has passed through the trellis of the windows of the castle, and many a fair ornament has been thrown aside. The gallant pennon of divinity has been exposed to many a storm, and the warder's gate has been thrown into the fosse, the fair ladie of this manse has been frighted from her bowrie, and sorrow seems sitting on the high tower. Yet there is a voice, as from one travelling in his strength, with dyed garments from Bozrah; and it whispers, "I am here." Yes! still remains beauty to mantle our being, to excite to noble and grand engagements, to rescue our minds from ignoble conceptions, to etherealize our spirits. But, say some, how shall we discern it, and what is its portraiture? Let him, who is of a pure and meek spirit, reply; let him, who loves his neighbour, reply; let the child and disciple of love and charity reply; let the faithful, who can see heaven's towers, reply; let the learned and lover of truth reply; let the imaginative and feeling heart reply. And the trumpets and shawms of angels will echo through endless space—God is beauty; all his works are beauty; his voice, his words, his providence, his presence (even as he appears in our fallen nature) is beauty; the very presence of holiness. Hark to His servants,—the north, the south, the east, the west,—how grand and beautiful is their voice. Look upon his mountains and vallies. But thou unslumbering sea, why bay my soul? Before thy shrine
