justice of a first person qualified by the mercy of a second; the purity of the divine nature uniting itself with the human in one Emmanuel; a perfect man to suffer, a perfect God to pardon; and both God and man in one person, at the same instant, able and willing to give and take a perfect satisfaction for thee. O my soul, a wonder above wonders! an incomprehensibility above all admiration! a depth past finding out! Under this shadow, O my soul, refresh thyself: if thy sins fear the hand of justice, behold thy sanctuary: if thy offences tremble before the Judge, behold thy Advocate: if thy creditor threaten a prison, behold thy bail: behold the Lamb of God that hath taken thy sins from thee: behold the Blessed of heaven and earth that hath prepared a kingdom for thee. Be ravished, O my soul; O bless the name of Elohim; O bless the name of our Emmanuel with praises and eternal hallelujahs.

"Great Shepherd of my soul, whose life was not too dear to rescue me, the meanest of thy little flock, cast down thy gracious eye upon the weakness of my nature, and behold it in the strength of thy compassion: open mine eyes that I may see that object which flesh cannot behold. Enlighten mine understanding, that I may clearly discern that truth which my ignorance cannot apprehend: rectify my judgment, that I may confidently resolve those doubts which my understanding cannot determine: sanctify my will, that I may wisely choose that good which my deceived heart cannot desire: fortify my resolution, that I may constantly embrace that choice which my inconstancy cannot hold weaken the strength of my corrupted nature, that I may struggle with my lusts, and strive against the base rebellions of my flesh. Strengthen the weakness of my dejected spirit, that I may conquer myself, and still withstand the assaults of mine own corruption : moderate my delight in the things of this world, and keep my desires within the limits of thy will; let the points of my thoughts be directed

to thee, and let my hopes rest in the assurance of thy favour: let not the fear of worldly loss dismay me, nor let the loss of the world's favour daunt me : let my joy in thee exceed all worldly grief, and let the love of thee expel all carnal fear : let the multitudes of my offences be hid in the multitude of thy compassions, and let the reproachfulness of that death which thy Son suffered for my sake enable me to suffer all reproach for his sake: let not my sin against thy mercies, remove thy mercies from my sin; and let the necessity of my offences be swallowed up in the all-sufficiency of his merits: let not the foulness of my transgressions lead me to distrust, nor let the distrust of thy pardon leave me in despair. Fix in my heart a filial love, that I may love thee as a father, and remove all servile fear from me, that thou mayest behold me as a son. Be thou my all in all, and let me fear nothing but to displease thee; that being freed from the fear of thy wrath, I may live in the comfort of thy promise, die in the fulness of thy favour, and rise to the inheritance of an everlasting kingdom."

SACRED POETS.

To the higher forms of poetry, so essential is faith in the invisible and eternal, that were religion claiming all that is her own, the fairest gems would vanish from our secular minstrelsy. But it is not the design of these pages to recover from the world's poets the golden grains they may have gathered in the channel of Siloah, or the precious stones they may have picked up among the ruins of Zion. There is no setting in which the thoughts and language of Inspiration are not beautiful; and, as James Montgomery has remarked, the few passages in Shakspeare which can be termed "religious" are all favourites, and of the highest poetical beauty.

"Alas! alas!

Why, all the souls that are, were forfeit once,
And He, that might the vantage best have took,
Found out the remedy. How would you be,
If He, which is the top of judgment, should
But judge you as you are? Oh! think on that;
And mercy then will breathe within your lips,
Like man new made."

"The quality of mercy is not strain'd;
It droppeth as a gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed :
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes.
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown:
His sceptre shews the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings:
But mercy is above the sceptered sway;
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings;
It is an attribute to God himself;

And earthly power doth then shew likest God's,
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this-
That in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy."

"Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me,
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes: and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be,

And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of, say, I taught thee;
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ;
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss'd it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruin'd me.
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition;
By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't?

Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee;
Corruption wins not more than honesty.

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,

To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not:

Let all the ends thou aimest at, be thy country's,

Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell!
Thou fall'st a blessed martyr."

Our errand, however, lies with poets who have professedly consecrated their powers to sacred themes.

literature was more popuThe fashion of versifying

During the sixteenth century, no lar in France than sacred poetry. psalms, which Clement Marot originated in the court of Francis I., found many followers; but, during all that tuneful century, no disciple arose who could rival "the poet of princes, and the

prince of poets," till another soldier and Calvinist, Du Bartas,* published his famous poem of "The Week,” which, in the course of five or six years, ran through thirty editions, and was translated into many languages.† Of all these translations, probably none was more faithful or spirited than the English version by JOSHUA SYLVESTER. It must be confessed that it preserves only too well the occasional turgidity of the Gascon original; and in the finical reaction against everything quaint or fervid which signalised the flat afternoon of last century, both Du Bartas and Sylvester fell into utter oblivion. They deserve to be resuscitated. No doubt there is much that will not bear criticism, as, for example, the lines which “wrapt into an ecstasy" Dryden's boyish ardour, and which so amused him on a riper reperusal

"Now, when the winter's keener breath began

To crystallise the Baltic Ocean,

To glaze the lakes, to bridle up the floods,
And periwig with snow the bald-pate woods."

But there is a wonderful amount of that creative imagination which, within reverential limits, fills up inspiration's outline, and which helps to bring us into life-like contact with the times departed; and we think the coldest critic must confess to the ingenuity of passages like "The Handicrafts," and the pathos of such a canto as "The Fathers."

In the first of the following passages, Cain is represented as the first horse-tamer,—a feat as marvellous as that launching of the first boat which so elicits the Latin poet's admiration.

* Born 1544; died 1590.

From the library of the late Mr Heber we possess an excellent Latin translation by Gabriel de Lerm, dedicated to Queen Elizabeth,-" Gulielmi Sallustii Bartassii Hebdomas," Parisiis, 1573,—a misprint for 1583.

Born 1563; died at Middleburg, in Holland, 1618.

S