Page:Blackwood's Magazine volume 046.djvu/157

1839.] That is, in good truth, Sacred Poetry—call it Scripture—for it is Bible-born.

And now we hear the strain of another great Christian Poet—humbler perhaps at first—yet winning its way into the depths of the heart, "with amplest power to soften and subdue"—and finally uplifting us heavenward to an assured home. How simple—how strong—how beautiful those few lines of Cowper on Life!

And for its woes what remedy? One, he says,

He tells us—in words that lie somewhat confused but intelligible in our memory—that the Creator condescends to write in inextinguishable characters—

In them may be read all his gracious attributes; and now again the Natural Theology of the bard distinctly rearranges itself in our mind, and we rejoice to recite to ourselves—and, Christian brother or sister, to thee—the elevating words—

These surely are noble lines and the world-wearied heart rests beneath their shadow, as of a rock.

"!" Shall the Poet be inspired to speak, of her power as gloriously as of her birth? Judge.

Lines and half lines of profound significance—and some of them in their beauty most pathetic—rise up and pass away, leaving a blessing behind them, and often to re-appear! Thus—Hope! let the wretch who has once been conscious of thy joy, declare that all which this earth contains

Or, when the Poet speaks of the joy that

Who of all our poets bad the most delighted sense of the imaged beautiful?—Spenser—and then Collins. As Fear, Anger, and Despair, while Madness rules the hour, in succession sweep the springs of music's shell—we see and hear each Passion. But who succeeds Despair, obliterating in a moment the memory of his very being from the earth?

"Thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair, What was thy delighted measure? Still it whisper'd promised pleasure,