r his morality; it is his fullest and most authentic missive from his Maker; it is his sole torch into the darkness of the unseen world; all his science, his art, and his philosophy, it aims at, and, at last (in the course of its own development, for it is "a fire unfolding itself”), shall succeed in drawing into harmony with its principles; and of his poetry, it is the loftiest reach. Thus, it is designed at once to command and to charm, to subdue and to sublimate, the mind of man; to command his belief into obedience-to charm his heart and his imagination-to subdue his moral nature and to sublimate the springs of his hope and joy; predestined, too, to move along with his progress, but to move as did the fiery pillar with the armies of Israel, above and before him-his guide as well as companion, directing his motions, while attending his march. Its power over man has, need we say ? been obstinately and long resisted-but resisted in vain. For ages, has this artless, loosely-piled, little book been exposed to the fire of the keenest investigation—a fire which meanwhile has consumed contemptuously the mythology of the Iliad, the husbandry of the Georgics, the historical truth of Livy, the fables of the Shaster, the Talmud, and the Koran, the artistic merit of many a popular poem, the authority of many a work of philosophy and science. And yet, there the Bible lies, unhurt, untouched, with not one of its pages singedwith not even the smell of fire having passed upon it. Many an attempt has been made to scare away this "Fiery Pillar" of our wanderings, or to prove it a mere natural product of the wilderness; but still, night after night, rises-like one of the sure and evershining stars-in the vanguard of the great march of. man, the old column, gliding slow, but guiding cerainly to future lands of promise, both in the life that 's, and in that which cometh hereafter. In relation to other books, the Bible occupies a peculiar and solitary position. It is independent of all others; it imitates no other book; it copies none; it nardly alludes to any other, whether in praise or blame; and this is nearly as true of its later portions, when books were common, as of its earlier, when books were scarce. It proves thus its originality and power. Mont Blanc does not measure himself with Jura; does not name her, nor speak, save when in thunder he talks to her of God. Then only, too, does she "Answer from her misty shroud, John never speaks of Plato, nor Paul of Demosthenes, nor Jesus of any writer, save Moses and the Prophets. In those great heights, you feel blowing round your temples, and stirring your hair, the free, original, ancient Breath of the upper world, unconventional, unmixed, and irresistible, as the mountain tempest. It is a book unlike all others-the points of difference being these, among many more :-First, There is a certain grand unconsciousness, as in Niagara, speaking now in the same tone to the tourists of a world, as when she spoke to the empty wilderness and the silent sun; as in the Himalayan Hills, which cast the same look of still sovereignty over an India unpeopled after the Deluge, as over an India the hive of sweltering nations. Thus burst forth cries of nature-the voices of the Prophets; and thus do their eyes, from the high places of the world, overlook all the earth. You are aware, again, in singular union with this profound unconsciousness and simplicity, of a knowledge and insight equally profound. It is as though a child should pause amid her play, and tell you the secrets of your heart, and the particulars of your after history. The bush beside your path suddenly begins to sigh forth an oracle, in "words unutterable." That unconscious page seems, like the wheel in Ezekiel's vision, to be "full of eyes;" and, open it wherever you may, you start back in surprise or terror, feeling "this book knows all about us; it eyes us meaningly ; it is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of our hearts." Those herdsmen, vinedressers, shepherds, fishermen, and homeless wanderers, are coeval with all time, and see the end from the beginning. You perceive, again, the presence of a high and holy purpose pervading the Book, which is to trace and promulgate the existence of certain spiritual laws, originally communicated by God, developed in the history of a peculiar people, illustrated by the ruin of nations, proclaimed in a system of national religion and national poetry, and at last sealed, cemented, and spread abroad through the blood and Gospel of One who had always been expected, and who at last arrived-the Christ promised to the Fathers. It is this which renders the Bible, in all its parts, religious and holy; casts over its barest portions such an interest as the shadow of the fiiery Pillar gave to the sand and shrubs over which it passed-makes what otherwise appear trifles, great as trappings of Godhead-and extracts from fiction and fable, from the crimes of the evil and the failings of the good, aid to its main cbject, and illustration of its main principles. You find yourself again in the presence of a "true thing." We hear of the spell of fiction, but a far stronger spell is that of truth; indeed, fiction derives its magic from the quantity of truth it contrives to disguise. In this book, you find truth occasionally, indeed, concealed under the garb of allegory and fable, but frequently in a form as naked and majestic as Adam when he rose from the greensward of Eden. "This is true," we exclaim, 66 were all else a lie. Here, we have found men, earnest as the stars, speaking to us in language which, by its very heat, impetuosity, unworldliness, fearlessness, almost if not altogether imprudence, severity, and grandeur, proves itself SINCERE, if there be sincerity in earth or in heaven." Once more, the Bible, you feel, answers a question which other books can not. This the question of questions, the question of all ages-is, in our vernacular and expressive speech, "What shall I do to be saved?" "How shall I be peaceful, resigned, holy, and hopeful here, and how happy hereafter, when this cold cloak-the body-has fallen off from the bounding soul within." To this, the "Iliad" of Homer, the Plays of Shakspeare, the "Celeste Mechanique" of La Place, and the Works of Plato, return no proper reply. To this immense query, the Book has given an answer, which may theoretically have been interpreted in various ways, but which, as a practical truth, he who runs may read; which has satisfied the souls of millions; which hone ever repented of obeying; and on which many of the wisest, the most learned, the most slow of heart to believe, as well as the ignorant and simple-minded, have at last been content to lean their living confidence and their dying peace. The Book, we thus are justified in proclaiming to be superior to all other books that have been, or are, or shall ever be on earth. And this, not that it forestalls coming books, or includes all their essential truth within it; nor that, in polish, art, or instant effect, it can be exalted above the written master-pieces of human genius;-what comparison in elaboration, any more than what comparison in girth and greatness, between the cabinet and the oak; but it is, that the Bible, while bearing on its summit the hues of a higher heaven, overtopping with ease all human structures and aspirations-in earth, but not of it-communicating with the omniscience, and recording the acts of the omnipotence, of God-is at the same time the Bible of the poor and lowly, the crutch of the aged, the pillow of the widow, the eye of the blind, the "boy's own book," the solace of the sick, the light of the dying, the grand hope and refuge of simple, sincere, and sorrowing spirits;—it is this which at once proclaims its unearthly origin, and so clasps it to the great common heart of humanity, that the extinction of the sun were not more mourned than the extinction of the Bible, or than even its receding from its present pride of place. For, while other books are planets shining with reflected radiance, this book, like the sun, shines with ancient and unborrowed ray. Other books have, to their loftiest altitudes, sprung from earth; this book looks down from heaven high. Other books appeal to understanding or fancy; this book to conscience and to faith. Other books seek our atten |