awkward and constrained, when scenes are to be
described, or thoughts unravelled of more complication and less
immediate interest. This is the rather to be observed, as many other
sacred poets have become less generally pleasing and useful, than they
otherwise would have been, from this very circumstance. The simple and
touching devoutness of many of Bishop Ken's lyrical effusions has been
unregarded, because of the ungraceful contrivances, and heavy movement
of his narrative. The same may be said, in our own times, of some
parts of Montgomery's writings. His bursts of sacred poetry, compared
with his _Greenland_, remind us of a person singing enchantingly by
ear, but becoming languid and powerless the moment he sits down to a
note-book.

Such writers, it is obvious, do not sufficiently trust to the command
which the simple expression of their feelings would obtain over their
readers. They think it must be relieved with something of more variety
and imagery, to which they work themselves up with laborious, and
therefore necessarily unsuccessful, efforts. The model for correcting
their error is to be found in the inspired volume. We can, in general,
be but incompetent judges of this, because we have been used to it
from our boyhood. But let us suppose a person, whose ideas of poetry
were entirely gathered from modern compositions, taking up the Psalms
for the first time. Among many other remarkable differences, he would
surely be impressed with the sacred writer's total carelessness about
originality, and what is technically called _effect_. He would say,
'This is something better than merely attractive poetry; it is
absolute and divine truth.' The same remark ought to be suggested by
all sacred hymns; and it is, indeed, greatly to be lamented, that such
writers as we have just mentioned should have ever lost sight of
it--should have had so little confidence in the power of simplicity,
and have condescended so largely to the laborious refinements of the
profane Muse.

To put the same truth in a light somewhat different; it is required,
we apprehend, in all poets, but particularly in sacred poets, that
they should seem to write with a view of unburthening their minds, and
not for the sake of writing; for love of the subject, not of the
employment. The distinction is very striking in descriptive poetry.
Compare the landscapes of Cowper with those of Burns. There is, if we
mistake not, the same sort of difference between