man, the old column, gliding slow, but guiding cerlainly 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 tion; this book demands it-it speaks with authority, and not as the Scribes. Other books glide gracefully along the earth, or onward to the mountain-summits of the ideal; this, and this alone, conducts up the awful abyss which leads to heaven. Other books, after shining their little season, may perish in flames, fiercer than those which destroyed the Alexandrian Library; this must, in essence, remain pure as gold, but unconsumable as asbestos, in the general conflagration. Other books may be forgotten in a universe where suns go down and disappear, like bubbles in the stream; the memory of this book shall shine as the brightness of that eternal firmament, and as those higher stars, which are forever and ever. / It is of the Bible, not as a revelation of special, but as a poem embodying general truth, that we propose in the following work to speak. Our purpose is not to expound its theological tenets, nor its ritual worship (except so far as these modify the imaginative tendencies and language of the writers), but to exhibit, in some degree, the beauty of the poetic utterance which the writers have given to their views and feelings. To this task we proceed, not merely at the instance of individuals whom we are proud to call friends, but because we feel that it has not been as yet accomplished adequately, or in accommodation to the spirit of the age. Every criticism on a true poem should be itself a poem. We have many excellent, elaborate, and learned criticisms upon the Poetry of the Bible; but the fragmentary essay of Herder alone seems to approach to the idea of a prose poem on the subject. A new and fuller effort seems to be demanded. Writers, |