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diate dealing with his rational and responsible creatures, is so filled with the true melody of language, as to harmonize with all our most tender, refined, and elevated thoughts. With our established ideas of beauty, and grace, and pathos, and sub

of conscience, it echoes beneath the vaulted dome of the cathedral and shakes the trembling multitude. The last companion of the dying and the destitute, it seals the bridal vow, and crowns the majesty of kings. Closed in the heedless grasp of the luxurious and the slothful, it unfolds its awful re-limity, either concentrated in the minutest cord over the yawning grave. Sweet, and gentle, and consoling to the pure in heart, it thunders and threatens against the unawakened mind. Bright and joyous as the morning star to the benighted traveller, it rolls like the waters of the deluge over the path of him who wilfully mistakes his way. And, finally, adapting itself to every shade of human character, and to every grade of moral feeling, it instructs the ignorant, woos the gentle, consoles the afflicted, encourages the desponding, rouses the negligent, threatens the rebellious, strikes home to the reprobate, and condemns the guilty.

point, or extended to the widest range, we can derive from the Scriptures a fund of gratification not to be found in any other memorial of past or present time. From the worm that grovels in the dust beneath our feet, to the track of the leviathan in the foaming deep-from the moth that corrupts the secret treasure, to the eagle that soars above his eyry in the clouds-from the wild ass of the desert, to the lamb within the shepherd's fold-from the consuming locust, to the cattle upon a thousand hills--from the rose of Sharon to the cedar of Lebanonfrom the crystal stream gushing forth out of the flinty rock, to the wide waters of the deluge-from the barren waste to the fruitful vineyard, and the land flowing with milk and honey-from the lonely path of the wanderer, to the gathering of a mighty multitude-from the tear that falls in secret, to the din of battle, and the shout of a triumphant host-from the solitary in the wilder

It may be observed, that all this might have been effected without the instrumentality of the principle of poetry; and so unquestionably it might, had the Creator of the human heart seen meet to adapt it to different means of instruction; but as that heart is constituted, the delicate touches of feeling to be found in every part of the Holy Scriptures accord peculiarly with its sensi-ness, to the satrap on his throne-from the bilities; the graceful ornaments which adorn the language of the Bible correspond to the impressions it has received, the ideas which have consequently been formed of the principles of taste and beauty; and by no other medium that we are capable of conceiving, could the human heart have been more forcibly assured of the truths to which belong eternal life.

Had the Bible been without its poetical character, we should have wanted the voice of an angel to recommend it to the acceptance of mankind. Prone as we are to neglect this banquet upon which the most exalted mind may freely and fully feast, we should then have regarded it with tenfold disdain. But such is the unlimited goodness of him who knew from the beginning what was in the heart of man, that not only the wide creation is so designed as to accord with our views of what is magnificent and beautiful, and thus to remind us of his glory; but even the record of his imme

mourner clad in sackcloth, to the prince in purple robes-from the gnawings of the worm that dieth not, to the seraphic visions of the blest-from the still small voice, to the thunders of Omnipotence-from the depths of hell, to the regions of eternal glory, there is no degree of beauty or deformity, no tendency to good or evil, no shade of darkness or gleam of light, which does not come within the cognizance of the Holy Scriptures; and therefore there is no impression or conception of the mind that may not find a corresponding picture, no thirst for excellence that may not meet with its full supply, and no condition of humanity necessarily excluded from the unlimited scope of adaptation and of sympathy comprehended in the language and the spirit of the Bible.

How gracious then-how wonderful, and harmonious, is that majestic plan by which one ethereal principle, like an electric chain of light and life, extends through the very

elements of our existence, giving music to language, elevation to thought, vitality to feeling, and intensity, and power, and beauty, and happiness, to the exercise of every faculty of the human soul!

THE POETRY OF RELIGION.

NOR are the Holy Scriptures the utmost bound of the sphere through which poetry extends. With that religion which is the essence of the Bible, it may also be associated. The power of human intellect has never yet worked out from the principles of thought and feeling, a subject more sublime than that of an omnipotent Being presiding over a universe of his own creating. There have been adventurous spirits who have dared to sing the wonders of a world without a God, but as a proof how much they felt the want of this higher range of poetical interest, they have referred the creation and government of the external world to an ideal spirit of nature-a mysterious intelligence, single or multiplied, smiling in the sunshine, and frowning in the storm, with the mock majesty of omnipotence.

Again, the propensities of our nature-the low grovelling hopes and fears that agitate the human heart, when centred solely in what is material, without connection with, or reference to eternal mind, as subjects for the genius of the poet, are robbed of half their interest, and all their refinement; but when the feelings which form the sum of our experience are regarded as the impress of the hand of our Creator, when the motives which lead us on to action are considered as deriving their stimulus and strength from almighty power, and when the great chain of circumstances and events which influence our lives are linked in with the designs of a superintending Providence, they assume a character at once poetical and sacred, a colouring which blends the light of heaven with the shades of earth, and an importance which raises them from what is ordinary and familiar, to what is astonishing and sublime.

ing in no way essential to our spiritual progress. Upon precisely the same principles it might be argued, that beauty does not necessarily form any part of utility, and that happiness is not essential to the moral constitution of man. The same answer will apply in both cases; and it is one which ought to be sufficient for creatures of limited perceptions like ourselves. It has seemed meet to the Author of our existence so to construct our mental and bodily functions, that we shall derive pleasure from the principle of beauty diffused throughout the external world, and that we shall be lured on by a perpetual thirst for enjoyment to that which is our only true and lasting happiness; as well as so to constitute our perceptions and feelings that poetry shall be one of our chief sources of intellectual gratification, at the same time that it is intimately blended with the highest objects of our desire; so that in the pursuit of ultimate and eternal good, we have no need to resign the society of this unwearying friend, whose companionship is a constant refreshment and delight.

I would humbly refer both these subjects to the unlimited goodness of a gracious God. If the beauty and magnificence of the visible creation is not essential to practical utility, let us look upon it as a free gift, liberally offered for the promotion of our happiness; and if poetry does not appear to our finite views to be in reality a part of religion, let us consider how they are associated, and gratefully acknowledge their connexion, rather than presumptuously attempt to separate what the principles of our nature teach us to unite.

We will first speak of the poetry of religion as it is exhibited to the world, in some of the various modes of worship which mark the civil and religious history of man.

Under the terrific rule of tyranny and superstition, religion has ever been the first to suffer and the last to yield; and whether we contemplate the martyr at the stake, singing his triumphant hymns amongst the circling flames; or pursue the silent devotee to the secret recesses of the mountain, The most serious objection ever advanced or the wilderness, where the bond of Chrisagainst poetry, is that of its not necessarily tian brotherhood is strengthened and conconstituting any part of our religion, and be- | firmed by the horrors of an impending fate

heard above the crackling embers, and the shouts of brutal acclamation, hymning to heaven the pure melodious strains of a seraphic joy. Fresh from the fount of do

which threatens to leave that bond alone unbroken, of all that have sweetened and supported life, we see and feel, that the might of mortal suffering, gives even to the most humble victims of cruelty and oppres-mestic peace, young, innocent bosoms have sion, a dignity which entitles them to the highest place in the scale of poetical inte

rest.*

So far as poetry is connected with the exercise of fortitude, resignation, and ardent zeal, it is exhibited by the martyr in its holiest character. Suffering even to death, and such a death! yet suffering triumphantly, that the glory of God may shine with additional brightness before the eyes of men, and that unbelievers may behold the majesty and the power of the faith for which he dies. Nor has it been always the man of iron mould, of unshaken nerve, and inflexible resolve, who has died triumphant at the stake. Creatures of delicate and gentle form have been led forth from the hall and the bower, and they too have raised the cry of exultation that they were deemed worthy to set the seal of suffering to the cause they loved. Eyes that have never dwelt save on the fairest page of human life have gleamed out from amidst the lurid flames, and looked up in calmness and in confidence to the mercy that lies hid beyond the skies; hands whose gentle office had been the constant ministration of tenderness and charity, have been clasped in fervent prayer, until they mingled with the ashes of the sinking pile; brows around which the cherub locks of youth were woven, have borne the fatal ordeal, and betrayed no sign of shrinking from the fiery blast; and voices whose sweet tones were once the natural minstrelsy of happiness and love, have been

In justice to herself, the writer must here observe, in speaking of the poetry of religion, how forcibly she is struck with what some would call the puerility of the task she has undertaken; because this subject necessarily brings under serious observation the all important truths for which we ought to be willing either to live or die as duty may require: and before which all intellectual considerations, even that of poetry itself, vanish into comparative nothingness. She would however hope that her task may be pursued without irreverence, and that she may point out the poetry of religion with a distinct feeling of its weightier and more essential attri butes, in the same way that a beholder may expatiate upon the architecture of a cathedral, without reference to the purpose for which the building was originally deeigned and to which it is still appropriated.

been torn to bleed and writhe in the centre of the torturing fire, and trembling with the last throbs of mortal agony, have borne their unflinching testimony to the fervour of their faith. The cry of an agonized parent bursting from the surrounding throng, may have reached the sufferer in the flames, the eye that was once the beacon of his hopes may have glanced upon him through the dense and thickening smoke, and thoughts dear as the memory of early love, may have rushed upon his soul even there, bathing it in the tenderness of childhood, and melting down his high resolve, which, but for that sustaining and unquenchable zeal, would yet have sent him forth a worthless wreck upon the troubled ocean of life after the promised haven had been in sight, the pilot near, and the anchor of eternal hope ready to be cast for ever into the foundation which no storms can shake. even here his faith remains immoveable, and he shakes off the lingering weakness of humanity, his joyful spirit already anticipating the unbounded fruition of its promised felicity.

Yet

Let us contemplate the awful scene one moment longer. The excitement has subsided; the cry of the merciless spectators is heard no more; the smoking pile becomes one universal ruin; and the living form so lately quivering with the intensity of quickened and agonized sensation, is mingled with the silent dust. Are there not footsteps lingering near that fatal spot? Are there not looks too wild for tears, still fixed upon the white ashes with which the idle breezes are at play? Are there not hearts whose inmost depths are filled with bitterness, and thoughts of vengeance, and dreams of impious daring, and fierce, bold scrutiny of the ways of Providence, and presumptuous questioning if these are the tender mercies of the Most High? Yes; such has ever been the effect of persecution upon the human mind, and never is the infidel so firmly fortified against conviction, as when he contemplates the wrongs and the wretch

edness which man, infuriated with a blind and superstitious zeal inflicts upon his brother.

We turn from this scene of horrors to the aspect presented by religion under a milder form of persecution, or rather under one whose influence is more remote, and we follow a little company of faithful worshippers to their tabernacle in the mountains, where their canopy is the starry sky, and their altar the rude rocks of the wilderness. Upon the summit of a beetling precipice, a sentinel keeps watch, and while he looks to the sombre woods, the hollow caves, or the dim and distant heights, if haply he may discern the movements of an insiduous enemy, hymns of praise and adoration are heard from the congregation in the valley, as, echoing from crag to crag, the deep full anthem of devotion rises on the evening breeze. Then the devout and heartfelt prayer is offered up, that the true Shepherd will vouchsafe to look down upon and visit the scattered remnant of his flock, that his voice may yet call them into safe pastures, and that he will pour out the waters of eternal life, for the support of the feeble, the refreshment of the weary, and the consolation of the "sore distressed."

It is in such scenes and circumstances, that the followers of a persecuted faith become indeed brethren in the fellowship of Christ. Suffering in a common cause, apprehending the same danger, and led on by one purpose, the vital bond of the society extends and lives through all its members. Discord enters not into their communion, for the world is against them, and they can stand under its cruelty and oppression by no other compact than that of Christian love; jealousy pours not its rankling venom into their hearts, for they are hoping to attain a felicity in which all are blest; ambition sows not the seeds of selfishness amongst them, for their reward is one that admits of no monopoly of which all may partake, without diminishing the portion of any: and after this pure and simple worship, how sacred, how fervent is the farewell of the brethren on separating for their distant home. Some have to trace the dubious sands of the sea-beaten shore, some the lonely sheep-track on the mountains, and

some the hollow bed of the wintry torrent, whose thundering waters have worked out for themselves a rugged pathway down the hills; but all are accompanied by the same deep sense of outward danger, and internal peace-all have the same bright stars to light them on their silent way, and the same spiritual help to support their weary steps. They know not but the homes they are seeking may have become a heap of ruins; but they have learned to look for an everlasting habitation where the spoiler may not come. They know not but the sword of persecution may have severed the chain of their domestic happiness; but they feel that every link of that chain can be reunited in a world of peace. They know not but the shadow of destruction may have fallen upon all that beautified and cheered their earthly path; but they are pilgrims to a better land, and they have only to press onward in the simplicity of humble Christians, and the gates of the celestial city will soon be won.

Religion, stigmatized with the world's contempt, and hunted from the earth by the powerful emissaries of public authority, is ever the religion of the heart and the affec tions. Were it otherwise it could not stand its ground; but dignity and disgrace, temporal enjoyment and temporal suffering, even life and death, become as nothing in comparison with that righteous cause which men feel themselves called upon faithfully to uphold before a disbelieving people, for the glory of God and the benefit of their fellow creatures. If it be a test of the love which a man bears for his brother, that he will lay down his life for him, the test of suffering must also apply to his religion; and pure and devoted must be the love of him, who holds himself at all times in a state of readiness to lay down the last and dearest sacrifice upon the altar of his faith. Yes; that must be love indeed, which overweighs all earthly and natural affections, which separates the mother from her weeping child, the husband from his wife of yesterday, the friends who had been wont to take sweet counsel together, and last, but not least, which tears away the fond endearing thoughts of promised happiness from the heart around which they cling when it beats with the fer our of youth

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ful hope, and rejoices in the anticipated sunshine of bright days to come, in which the lovely and the loved may dwell together in peace and safety even upon earth. It is not a light or common love that can thus sever the strongest ties of human life, and fortify the soul not only to endure all that our nature shrinks from, but to resign all that our nature teaches us to hold dear.

From the worship of the heart, we turn to that of the sanctuary-from religion robbed of its external attributes, restrained, and persecuted, and driven inward to the centre of volition, and sealed up in the fountains of spiritual life; to that which powerful nations combine to support, before which suppliant monarchs bow, and which, supreme above the regal sceptre, sends forth its awful and imperious mandates through distant regions of the peopled world.

We enter the magnificent and stately edifice consecrated to the worship of a God no longer partially acknowledged, or reverenced at the risk of life, and we mark the pomp and the ceremonial designed to recommend that worship to the general acceptance of mankind. Through the richly variegated windows, bright beams of golden splendor are glancing on the marble floor, and lighting up the monumental tablets of departed worth. Deeds of heroic virtue, long since forgotten but for that faithful record, are dimly shadowed out upon the tombs, and the sculptured forms that bend in silent beauty over the unbroken slumbers of the dead, point with an awful warning to the inevitable doom of man. Above, around, and beneath us, are the storied pages on which human labour has inscribed the memorial of its power-the barriers raised by art against the encroachments of time-the landmarks graven upon stone, which denote the intellectual progress of past ages. We gaze upon the tessellated aisle, intersected with alternate light and shadow, where the stately columns, terminating in the solemn arch, rise like tall palm trees in the desert plain, whose graceful branches meet in stately grandeur above the head of the wayfaring traveller, while he pauses to bless their welcome shade, and thinks how lovely are the green spots of verdure in the wildernessthe fertile islands that beautify a waste and

troubled sea. We listen, and the measured tread of sober feet is the only sound that disturbs the silence of that sacred place—we, listen, till the beating of our own hearts becomes audible, and we almost fear that a "stir-a breath" should break the slumbers of the dead-we listen, and suddenly the tremendous peal of the deep-toned organ bursts upon our ear, and sweet young voices, like a symphony of pure spirits, join the heavenly anthem as it rises in a louder strain of harmony, and echoes though every arch of the resounding pile. The anthem ceases, and the sound of prayer ascends from a thousand hearts, as variously formed as the lips from whence that prayer proceeds, yet all uniting in the worship of one God-all reverentially acknowledging his right to reign and rule with undisputed sway.

Perhaps it is the hour of evening worship, and instead of the bright sunbeams glancing through the many-tinted windows, and penetrating into the distant recesses of the cathedral pile, artificial lights of inferior lustre gleam out here and there, like stars in the midnight sky, making the intervening darkness more palpable and profound. It is the hour when "every soft and solemn influence" is poured most profusely upon the prostrate soul, when the sordid and mercenary cares of the day are over, and religion, like an angel of peace, descends upon the troubled spirit that knows no other resting place than her sanctuary-no other shelter than her brooding wing. It is the hour when all our warmest, purest, and holiest affections gush forth like rills of sweetness and refreshment, watering the verdure of the path of life, and producing fresh loveliness, and renewed delight. It is the hour when prayer is the natural language of the devoted soul, and here the humble penitent is kneeling to implore the pardon promised to the broken and contrite heart-there the parent devoutly asks a blessing upon his family, and his household, upon the wife of his bosom, and the children of his lovehere the poor mendicant bares his pale brow before the eye of heaven, and stands without a blush in that presence to which wealth is no passport, and from which poverty affords no plea for rejection-there the rich arbitrer of magisterial law, humbly bends

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