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Cowper is eminently the David of English poetry, pouring forth, like the great Hebrew bard, his own deep and warm feelings in behalf of moral and religious truth. "His language," says Campbell, "has such a masculine, idiomatic strength, and his manner, whether he rises into grace or falls into negligence, has so much plain and familiar freedom, that we read no poetry with a deeper conviction of its sentiments having come from the author's heart; and of the enthusiasm, in whatever he describes, having been unfeigned and unexaggerated. He impresses us with the idea of a being, whose fine spirit had been long enough in the mixed society of the world to be polished by its intercourse, and yet withdrawn so soon as to retain an unworldly degree of purity and simplicity." And a writer in the Retrospective Review remarks, that "the delightful freedom of his manner, so acceptable to those who had long been accustomed to a poetical school, of which the radical fault was constraint; his noble and tender morality; his fervent piety; his glowing and well-expressed patriotism; his descriptions, unparalleled in vividness and accuracy since Thomson; his playful humor and his powerful satire; the skilful construction of his verse, at least in die 'Task,' and the refreshing variety of that fascinating poem,—all together conspired to render him highly popular, both among the multitude of common readers, and among those who, possessed of poetical powers themselves, were capable of intimately appreciating those of a real poet."

We might thus All many pages with encomiastic remarks upon the poetry of Cowper, but the reader would rather taste of the original for himself.1

THE PROVIDENCE OF OOD IN ALL THINGS.

Happy the man, who sees a God employ d
In all the good and ill that checker life!
Resolving all events, with their effects
And manifold results, into the will
And arbitration wise of the Supreme.
Did not his eye rule all things, and intend
The least of our concerns; (since from the least
The greatest oft originate;) could chance
Find place in his dominion, or dispose
One lawless particle to thwart his plan;
Then God might be surprised, and unforeseen
Contingence might alarm him, and disturb
The smooth and equal course of his affairs.
This truth, Philosophy, though eagle-eyed
In nature's tendencies, oft overlooks;
And, having found his instrument, forgets,
Or disregards, or, more presumptuous still,
Denies the power that wields it. God proclaims
His hot displeasure against foolish men,
That live an atheist life; involves the heaven
In tempests; quits his grasp upon the winds,
And gives them all their fury; bids a plague

1 Read—Hayley's Lire, a most Interesting piece of blogTaphy—Grlmshaw's Life, prefixed to bis edition In I vols., and Southey's Life, prefixed to his ediUon In 15 vols. The latter ts the best edition of the poet. Read, also. artlcUs In the Edinburgh Review, 11. 6i, and iv. 273, and In the Quarterly xvl. 116, and xxx. Its. Also, an article In Jeffrey's Miscellanies. An admlrible dissertation on the pro* cress of English poetry, from Chaucer to Cowper, will be found in vol. II. chap. 12, of Soutbcy'g ediUon of the poet

3 A C2«

Kindle a fiery boil upon the skin,

And putrefy the breath of blooming Health.

He calls for Famine, and the meagre fiend

Blows mildew from between his shrivell'd lips,

And taints the golden ear. He springs his mines,

And desolates a nation at a blast

Forth steps the spruce Philosopher, and tells

Of homogeneal and discordant springs,

And principles; of causes, how they work

By necessary laws their sure effects

Of action and reaction: he has found

The source of the disease that nature feels,

And bids the world take heart and banish fear.

Thou fool! will thy discovery of the cause

Suspend the effect, or heal it? Has not God

Still wrought by means since first he made the world •

And did he not of old employ his means

To drown it? What is his creation less

Than a capacious reservoir of means,

Form'd for his use, and ready at his will?

Go, dress thine eyes with eye-salve; ask of Him,

Or ask of whomsoever he has taught;

And learn, though late, the genuine cause of all.

no, u. isi.

THE WOUNDED SPIRIT HEALED.

I was a stricken deer, that left the herd
Long since. With many an arrow deep infix'd
My panting side was charged, when I withdrew
To seek a tranquil death in distant shades.
There was I found by one who had himself
Been hurt by the archers. In his side he bore,
And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars.
With gentle force soliciting the darts,
He drew them forth, and heal'd, and bade me live.

Tort, 111. 108.

TRUE PHILOSOPHY.

Philosophy, baptized In the pure fountain of eternal love, Has eyes indeed; and viewing all she sees As meant to indicate a God to man, Gives Him his praise, and forfeits not her own. Learning has borne such fruit in other days On all her branches: Piety has found Friends in the friends of science, and true prayer Has flow'd from lips wet with Castalian dews. Such was thy wisdom, Newton, child-like sage! Sagacious reader of the works of God, And in His word sagacious. Such, too, thine, Milton, whose genius had angelic wings, And fed on manna! And such thine, in whom Our British Themis gloried with just cause, Immortal Hale! for deep discernment praised, And sound integrity, not more than famed For sanctily of manners undefiled. '"*■1B

THE GEOLOGIST AND COSMOLOOIST.1

Some drill and bore
The solid earth, and from the strata there
Extract a register, by which we learn
That he who made it and reveal'd its date
To Moses, was mistaken in its age.
Some, more acute and more industrious still,
Contrive creation; travel nature up
To the sharp peak of her sublimest height,
And tell us whence the stars; why some are fixt,
And planetary some; what gave them first
Rotation, from what fountain flow'd their light
Great contest follows, and much learned dust
Involves the combatants; each claiming truth,
And truth disclaiming both. And thus they spend
The little wick of life's poor shallow lamp
In playing tricks with nature, giving laws
To distant worlds, and trifling in their own.

r<ut, Ul. ISO.

SLAVERY.*

There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart;
It does not feel for man; the natural bond
Of brotherhood is sever'd, as the flax,
That falls asunder at the touch of fire.
He finds his fellow guilty of a skin
Not color'd like his own; and having power
T' enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause
Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey.
Lands intersected by a narrow frith
Abhor each other. Mountains interposed
Make enemies of nations, who had else
Like kindred drops been mingled into one.
Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys;
And worse than all, and most to be deplored,

1 In toe early history of geology many good and pious people were concerned, lest such discoveries should be made ns would invalidate the Mosaic account of the creation. But how groundless have all their fears proved I Truth is one, and God's works can never be in conflict with his Word. 01 the whole race of "spruce philosophers," as Cowper calls them, even the infidel Voltaire could thus write: "Philosophers put themselves, without ceremony, in the place of God, and destroy and renew the world after their own fashion." "From the time of Bullbn," says Dr. Wiseman, in his learned Lectures on Science and Revealed Religion, "system rose beside system, like the moving pillars of the desert, advancing In threatening array; but Ukc them they were fabrics of sand; and though in 1806 the French Institute counted more than Eiqhty such theories of geology hostile to Scripture history, not one of them has stood till now, or deserves to be recorded." And Turner, in his learned work on Chemistry, says, "Of all Uie wonders of geology, none is so wonderful as the confidence of the several theorists."

s Upon this and other pieces of Cowper, in behalf of the poor slave, the poet Campbell thus truthfully as well as feelingly remarks: "Poetical expositions of the horrors of slavery may, Indeed, seem very uuUkcly agents in contributing to destroy it; and it is possible that the most refined planter In the West Indies, may look with neither shame nor compunction on his own tmagt, exposed in the pages of Cowper, as a being degraded by giving stripes and tasks to his fellow creatures. But such appeals to the heart of the community arc not lost- They fix themselves silently ui the popular memory, and they become, at last, a part of that public opinion, whtca must, sooner os faster, wrench the lash from the hand of the oppressor."—Spteiauni, vil. 364.

As human nature's broadest, foulest blot,

Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat

With stripes, that Mercy, with a bleeding heart,

Weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast.

Then what is man? And what man, seeing this,

And hiiving human feelings, does not blush,

And hang his head, to think himself a man?

I would not have a slave to till my ground,

To carry me, to fan me while I sleep,

Anil tremble when I wake, for all the wealth

That sinews bought and sold have ever earn'd.

No: dear as freedom is, and in my heart's

Just estimation prized above all price,

I had much rather be myself the slave,

And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him.1

Talk, U.S.

KNOWLEDGE AND WISDOM.

Knowledge and Wisdom, far from being one,
Have oAtimes no connection. Knowledge dwells
In heads replete with thoughts of other men;
Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.
Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass,
The mere materials with which Wisdom builds.
Till smoothed, and squared, and fitted to its place,
Does but encumber whom it seems t' enrich.
Knowledge is proud that he has learn'd so much;
Wisdom is humble that he knows no more.

Tut. vL 68.

MERCY TO ANIMALS.

I would not enter on my list of friends,
(Though graced with polish'd manners and fine sense,

1 When Cowpcr wrote these lines, nearly a million of African slaves tolled In the British colonies. But the English abollUonists, led on by Sharpe, and Clarkson, and Wllberforce, so earnestly portrayed their wrongs nnd plead their cause, that the great heart of the nnUon became at length fully aroused to the subject, and they were declared absolutely and unconditionally free on the 1st of August, IMS.

ft was predicted that theft, and plunder, and murder, would be the consequence and the lrt of August was anticipated by all with the most intense interest. It came and passed with ah the solemnity of a Sabbath-day. The houses of worship were thronged the preceding evening, to wrl come the advent of Liberty, and as the clock tolled out the hour of midnight, the assembled populace bowed the knee in prayer and praise to the God who had bestowed it. Not a blow was struck in revenge—not an arm upraised in riot.

Ten years have now elapsed, and they have borne witness to the constantand rapid improvement of the freedmen. Their food, clothing, and furniture are much better: nearly every family has a horse or a mule, and very many have several. They are willing to work steadily for moderate W&kcs, and most of them remain on the estates of their former masters. Many have purchased land, and It is esUmated that there are now 20,000 freeholders among the emancipated peasantry of Jamaica alone. Marriage is now "honorable" among them; the parental relation Is better understood, and Its duties better performed; ed'icaUon Is appreciated; and churches have multiplied. The freed men contribute liberally towards sustaining the ministration of the gospel among themselves, and are already beginning to stretch out their hands, and to send forth their missionaries to their benighted fatherland. For these condensed facts I am indebted to Rev. C. S. Renahaw, for many years a desotcu missionary among the freedmcn In Jamaica.

Yet wanting sensibility,) the man

Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.

An inadvertent step may crush the snail

That crawls at evening in the public path;

But he that has humanity, forewarn'd,

Will tread aside, and let the reptile live.

The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight,

And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes,

A visitor unwelcome, into scenes

Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove,

The chamber, or refectory, may die:

A necessary act incurs no blame.

Not so when, held within their proper bounds,

And guiltless of offence, they range the air,

Or take their pastime in the spacious field.

There they are privileged; and he that hunts

Or harms them there is guilty of a wrong,

Disturbs the economy of Nature's realm,

Who, when she form'd, design'd them an abode.

The sum is this: If man's convenience, health,

Or safety interfere, his rights and claims

Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs.

Else they are all—the meanest things that are—

As free to live, and to enjoy that life,

As God was free to form them at the first,

Who in his sovereign wisdom made them all.

Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons

To love it too. TTM*. "<•5M

WAR.

Some seek diversion in the tented field,
And make the sorrows of mankind their sport
But war's a game, which, wi re their subjects wise,
Kings should not play at. Nations would do well
To extort their truncheons from the puny hands
Of heroes, whose infirm and baby minds
Are gratified with mischief; and who spoil,
Because men suffer it, their toy, the world.

Taj*, v. its.

LIBERTY.

Tis liberty alone that gives the flower
Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume;
And we are weeds without it. All constraint,
Except what wisdom lays on evil men,
Is evil; hurts the faculties, impedes
Their progress in the road of science; blinds
The eyesight of discovery; and begets,
In those that suffer it, n sordid mind
Bestial, a meagre intellect, unfit
To be the tenant of man's noble form.

Tail. v. <ts.

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