The Press.
London, England, 1855-07-14 00:00:00

THE PRESS.

this volume we are most pleased with those
pieces which are most simple in expression.
The following is admirable, and alone would
justify us in placing Mr. Montgomery high in
the rank of religious poets :

FOB PUBLIC PEACE AT HOBE.
" Heavenly Father, who alone makest men to be of one mind
In a house."—Prayer-book.
When Jean walk'd the midnight•waves
That foam'd and fissh'd in lightning•glare,
Or, darken'd like devouring graves
On sea and shipmen, tossing there,
• Nature obey'd her present God,
And crouch'd beneath His calming Eye,
As though she felt the feet which trod,
Belong'd to Him, who rules the sky !
But storms arise, of deeper swell,
And tempests of a darker sway,
Which in our mortal bosom dwell
By Law, nor Reason, lull'd away.
Passion, and Pride, and lust and sin,
With stern emotions, fierce, or wild,
All, in mad discord, mud within,—
How often have they man defiled !
And who, but He, Whose word aril will
The storms of Nature'► realm control,
Can say to spirits—Peace ! be still !
And calm thee down, tempestuous soul?
Men wonder, how the Ark contain'd
In perfect concord, brute and bird,
Under a ruling spell restrain'd,
And not in war and wildness stirr'd.
And yet, a miracle we find
Of higher range and holier law,—
When home is one harmonious wind,
By love becalm'd and Christian awe.
All hateful tempests of the heart,
Which blacken there, with turbid gloom,
Sooth'd by The Saviour, thence depart,
And smiles of peace their reign resume.
The soul is hush'd beneath the balm
Till Heaven seems mirror'd by its rest,
As moonlight, when the waves are calm,
Lies tranced upon the ocean's breast.

It shows the facility of the author that of
the numerous pieces in this volume there are
scarcely two in the same metro. The accom-
paniment to the " Cantate " has a mediaeval
flow very appropriate to the theme :
Pilgrims in a world of pain,
While we suffer, still we reign:
Through a wilderness of woe
Onward as our marches go,
Oft may heave the inward sigh,
Sadly droop the sunken eye,
Haunting grief and harrowing care
Circle round us, everywhere,—
Yet, in Heaven we have a King,
And beneath His banner sing
Jubilate ! Jubilate !

Lift we, then, our lyric song
Full and fervent, loud and long :
Hallelujah! Lord on high
For the gotten victory.—
Music is a gift divine
Dedicate to Thee, and Thine;
Organ, trump, and raptured lire,
Let Thy Glories now inspire,
Till our diapason blend
Far as Earth and Man extend,
• Jubilate! Jubilate!
•• • • • •

Children of the Cross are we,
Shout we, hence, our Jubilee :
Time may frown, and Flesh may fear;
Oft descend the heart-drawn tear;
Hopes depart, and homes decay;
All fond Edens fade away ;
Sickness, anguish, grief, and pain
Over hearth and licusehold reign,
But the Church will ever sing
Lands to Her celebtial King,—
Jubilate! Jubilate ! .

We extract one more example of Mr. Mont-
gomery's simplest style, the verses from an
accompaniment to the prayer for plenty :
While the breezy woodland sing
And the ripen'd corn-fields bring
Bending harvests, rich and rare,
Seek we Lord, the Shrine of prayer.
What lit Growth, in fruit, or field,
All which golden summers yield,—
But indeed a sacred Birth
Preaching God through all the earth !
• • • • • •
To the Giver in His gilt
Lauding worship thus we lift,—
Looking through each veil that lies
On each charm thy grace supplies.
Let our roaring hearts ascend,
And their anthem'd praises blend
With Heaven's orchestra on high,
Echo'd through eternity !
Might the vast creation feel
What Thy words to us reveal,
Matter then, as well as Mind,
Would adore Thee, with mankind.

SATURDAY;

Living Christ of holy love !
Waft pure wisdom from above,
Faith, and feeling,—all which can
Raise and rescue sunken Man.

Lost in self, but saved in Thee,
Let our bright'ning spirits be
Ever growing, more and more,
Like the Lord Whom they adore.

Other pieces are more distinguished for
thoughtful sentiment. The subjoined verses
are from those on St. Andrew's Day :

The world knows least its g►eatest men,
Their records are on high,
But where they or, how and when
They laid them down to die,
Rests oft couceal'd from that recording fame
Blind earth•gods call the glory of a name.
Lord of our souls I by this we find
"ris not through outward fame
The moral saviours of mankind
Eternalise their name ;
Since oft in secrecy of love retir'd,
For Heaven they tail, by Heaven alone inspired.
Ncr may we mourn because our God
Thus for high worth decreed,
That Minds who most this way have trod
And lessen'd mortal need
Should often vanish into fameless gloom,—
Unheard their country, and unknown their tomb.
But rather let disciples learn
To conquer self and siu ;
And thus a higher law discern
By which our souls begin
To work like angels, who iu secret move
On countless errands of celestial Love.

It would be easy to cull front the volume a
selection of choice thoughts. We quote a few
of those we pencilled as we read :
They live the best, who love the most,
And count that day a sinful boast
In which no care, or cross hath shown
tiod rules the will, and reigns alone.

Nature is one mysterious plan
That moves in sympathy with Man ;
Her scenes are parables to thought,
With types of teaching wisdom fraught.
Priceless and peerless hold we, then,
2'ha€ page Messiah lolled to read ;
For, long as earth has Baffling men
The Psalms reply to human need.

The next is in the spirit of Butler's
A nalogy ":
Nature seems Athanasian oft,—
Her guarded ways are most severe :
To earth below or skies aloft,
What fencing laws define her sphere?
Infringe but these,—and they resent,
And make Mau know his element.

There are many beautiful passages on the
influence exerted over man's spirit by the
grave. We can take but one :
Why are the dead, so mighty when no more,
Touch'd with a charm no words can tell,
When their deep voices from th Eternal Shore
Come wafted with an inward-spell?
Perchance, they rule us by that mystic law
Which acts within their world of calm,
And gently soothe with sanctifying awe
The Hearts that need suck holy balm ?

The volume, as may be supposed, abounds
with poetic images. The following is one of
the most striking in English poetry. It is
from the poem on the " Burial of the
Dead "
Oh! gently lay her where the yew•trees wave
lii tender darkness o'er some grassy tomb,
And sunbeams learn the language of the grace
Tinging their brightness with a softeit'd gloom.

Tastes are so various that the simple pas-
sages we have quoted will seem to some not
the happiest specimens which might be
selected from this volume of Mr. Mont-
gomery's poetic power. But we rather wished
to exhibit its practical piety and devotional
aspiration, as these qualities are the animating
spirit of the book, and breathe and burn in
every page. Devotional poetry of a high
order is so rare that a volume like the " Sanc-
tuary," which must, from the thought it em-
bodies, have been the labour of years, deserves
a warm welcome from all who can appreciate
chaste and holy sentiment cast into the mould
of sweet, and, what frequently appears to our
ear, seraphic verse.

A Pilgrimage to El Medinah and Meccah. By
Richard F. Burton, Lieutenant Bombay
Army. Vols. I. and IT. London : Long-

mans:

LIEUTENANT BURTON'S book would be welcome
if only from the novelty of its subject The
digunaltiee: o*nd by tie aitivel to any WWI