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subjects are improper for the bard: but ONE mightier than they has promulgated much of His revelation in poetry, and has declared religion to be the only object worthy of man's serious consideration."

"Let the poet draw nature; but let him do it with an eye to nature's God. Let him represent creation as it actually is, a handmaid to revelation. Whenever he gives a portraiture of any landscape, he will show its beauties beaming glory to the DEITY; lifting the thought to him. who made. He will find from the stream, from the grove; from the rock, from the mount; from the forest, from the field, a voice constantly issuing, directing man to adore the author of all bounty."

"How awful is the responsibility of the true poet! In his hands are the keys of the passions; and he may unlock their powers, and give a tendency to their operations, cen. turies after his body has tenanted the sepulchre. Besides, he is accountable for use, as well as abuse; and neglect of doing as much good as he might, is punishable, as well as being efficient in the service of evil."

"Poetry is a most important gift. Its influence is almost unbounded. How many hearts are roused by its fire; melted by its pathos; delighted by its imagery !" "Compare the influence of Shakspeare and Newton, and, as more are guided by passion than by reason, we cannot hesitate in deciding whose is most mighty in power, or sure in effect. Newton has illumined the empire of science, but Shakspeare has usurped the empire of the heart. The influence of Newton has to find its way to the heart, through the cold region of the understanding, while that of Shakspeare "When pours its whole power directly upon the feelings." we reflect on the total departure of Shakspeare from evangelical principle, how painful is it to think of the tremendous mass of evil caused by his writings!"

"Shall poetry be for ever degraded to the vilest subjects?" "Songs of true joy are heard in Heaven: Why will not the poet attempt to imitate them? Crowned with an exuberance of infinite lustre, Redemption awaits his gaze; why will he persist in neglecting it?"

"The end of poetry is said to be, to please: What so pleasing to mortality, as the news of resurrection? What to pain, as the view of Heaven? What to ennui, as celestial employ? What to grief, as the balm of Gilead?"

"Where is such a boundless excellence open to poesy as in the Gospel? Surely no where. In that, every source of pleasure is refined and blessed."

"It is grateful to reflect, that, amid the general licentiousness of poetry, we may discover such chrystal purity as beams from the writings of Young, Cowper, and Watts. Watts, especially, was deeply imbued with the evangelical temper his numbers breathe the sweetness of the skies. I had rather have the death-bed thoughts of Watts, than all the fame of all the heroes that ever descended from Adam. How many millions of infant minds have been imbued with the pure spirit of Heaven, through the medium of his verses? How many, that, in mature age, have found them still in their recollection, a guide and a comfort! How many that have breathed their spirit into eternity with a portion of them in their voice!”

"Let my writings, like those of Watts, be but grateful to the humble Christian in his retired cottage, and I shall esteem it nobler praise than if they were hung in letters of gold in every senate-house in the universe."

With a reference to usefulness, I have given a large extract from this preface. The work thus commences—

"Sweet Poesy! fair child of pure delight!
Born and matur'd in realms with glory bright:

By Seraphim and Cherubim belov'd;

Thy rich, melodious song by God approv'd :—
How art thou lost in an ignoble aim,
Folly to please, and Vice to guard from shame!"

"When bold in grandeur, at Supreme command,
Creation rose beneath its Maker's hand,
Sounding sublime from glowing minstrelsy,
Thy allelujahs fill'd the spreading sky."

"In ancient days, when prophecy alone,
With clouded light, on mental vision shone,
The sons of men from Seraphs caught thy glow,
And with its blissful nuinbers sooth'd their wo."

"And when Jehovah-Jesus came to save
Rebellious man from ruin and the grave;
When He who is the source of endless day
His glory shrouded in a veil of clay;

The angel-choir a gratulation sung,

While Heaven, responsive with the anthem rung."

"But now thy high-born powers their grandeur waste, To please a sickly, a degraded taste:

Lascivious song to grateful strains succeeds-
Celestial flowers give place to earthly weeds."

His grateful soul thus breaks forth in a song of praise to the blessed Redeemer

'Jesus, delightful theme! demands the song
Which seraph harps in harmony prolong.
To Him we owe the fruitful earth, the skies,
With all the hopes that in our prospect rise:
He spreads the carpet of yon fertile field;
He bids the various vale its beauties yield;
By his command the sun dispenses day,
And the mild moon, her gentler, softer ray:
He pour'd the stars throughout yon vast abyss;
His are the several worlds of wo and bliss:
He, boundless goodness! never can the praise
Which the pure songs of ransom'd myriads raise;


Which angel-millions celebrate with lyres,
Wak'd by the fervour of devotion's fires;
Though, through eternity its numbers swell,
The breadth, the height of this deep mercy tell-
Open'd the fountain of the FATHER's grace,
And bade it flow to bless our rebel race;
Came down to earth-His glory laid aside—
And to effect our great salvation-died!
His arm unbinds the sin-oppressed soul-
Glories immortal o'er her vision roll;
To everlasting Heav'n, He bids her soar,
And thro' eternity, her God adore."

In the following lines, he refers to the circumstances of the death of our uncle Mann, who, as before mentioned, (see page 28) was drowned in crossing the Hudson River.

"Oh, that thy billows, so serenely clear,

Should once to excellence have prov'd a bier!
But from that bier the spirit took its flight,
To dwell in mansions of eternal light :-

While Christian worth is on thy shores approv'd,
The memory of MANN, will be belov'd."

He would continually lead us to look through nature up to nature's God.

"View'd in itself, a blade of grass is small:

View'd as the work of Him who governs all,

It opes a world of vision on the soul;

It makes eternity before her roll.
Thus he who gazes with a careless mind,
On the bright beauties in a landscape joined,
Sees not their excellence, feels not their worth,
His stupor binds his vision to the earth;
While the rapt soul who looks with joy abroad,
And marks in all, the glory of his God,
Tastes the pure happiness to angels giv'n—
Anticipates the blessedness of Heav'n."

The noon-day splendour of the Gospel also excites his


"And see! the morn of the millennial day
Already gilds the mountains with its ray!
Dark India's border brightens in its beam;
The isles grow radiant in its golden stream;
Afric revives; her sable sons rejoice;
Glad allelujahs warble in their voice."

"Soon shall we hear a shout of praise arise,
Whose deep'ning thunder shall ascend the skies:
Asia's loud voice with Afric's will combine,
And they with Europe and Columbia join,
Swelling the song of glory to the Lamb-
The glad hosanna to the true I AM.
Then will the Heav'ns rejoice, the angels sing,
And all creation allelujahs bring:
Judgment will slumber in JEHOVAH's hand,
And boundless blessings flow to every land:
No more will pestilence with angry glare,
Scatter the seeds of death along the air:
Ocean, from whelming desolation free,
A path of peace and happiness shall be:
From pole to pole a paradise, the earth
Will give to nought but bloom and blessing birth!"

“When the glad morn of the millennial day,
Already gilds the mountains with its ray,
When Heav'n prepares to sound in deepest tone
The praise of Him who comes in judgment down;
Say! does the poet want for glowing themes?
Need he descend to feeble, fabled dreams,
Of wild distemper'd fancy? Let his lyre
Strike to the notes which bless the angel-choir!
Let him Redemption sing! and let his soul
Bathe in the glories which around her roll!"

"When David held the soul-consoling lyre
With heart enkindled by celestial fire,

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