tercourse between God and
the human soul;" Montgomery has made now "the supplication," and now the
"thanksgiving," of the poor negro ring in every ear, and vibrate through
every heart; Coleridge has expressed, in his sounding and splendid
measures, at one time his "faith," and at another his "repentance;"
Pollok has with true, although unequal steps, followed Milton and Dante,
both into the heaven of heavens, and into the gloom of Gehenna; and
Wordsworth, Southey, Croly, Milman, Trench, Keble, and a host more have,
by their noble religious hymns, shamed the wisdom of the Sadducee, and
darkened the glory of the song of the sceptic. Why argue about
principles while we can appeal to facts? Why shew either the
probabilities against, or the probabilities for, good sacred poetry,
while we see it before us, gushing from a thousand springs, and
gladdening every corner of the church and of the world?

Dr. Johnson says, "Whatever is great, desirable, or tremendous, is
comprised in the name of the Supreme Being. Omnipotence cannot be
exalted. Infinity cannot be amplified. Perfection cannot be improved."
All this is as true as it is pointedly expressed; but though true, it is
nothing to the purpose--nay, bears as much against prayer as against
poetry. What meant the Psalmist when he said, "My soul doth magnify the
Lord?" Did he aspire to exalt Omnipotence or to amplify perfection? No;
but only first to shew his own feeling of their magnitude; and, again,
to raise himself a step toward an approximately adequate conception of
the Most High. So in religious poetry. We cannot add to, or exalt God,
but we can raise ourselves up nearer to Him, and attain, if not a full
understanding, a deeper feeling of the elements of His surpassing
excellence and glory. Indeed, as the highest poetry (in Milton, for
instance) blossoms into prayer, so the truest prayer, often by
insensible gradation, becomes poetry.

Dr. Johnson says, that "of sentiments purely religious, the most simple
expression is the most sublime." True, and hence, the best religious
poetry is at once sublime and simple. He adds, "Poetry loses its lustre
and its power, because it is applied to the decoration of something more
excellent than itself." On this principle, poets should never sing of
God's works in nature--of the ocean, or the sun, or the stars--no, nor
of the heroic achievements of man's courage, or of the self-sacrifices
of his love--for are not all these more excellen