Page images
PDF
EPUB

HYMNS.

THESE Compositions, so beautiful in their execution, so important in their objects, are now, for the first time, incorporated with the other original works of the author. They were written, with a few exceptions, which belong to the last months of his residence at St Alban's, between the years 1769 and 1772. Hitherto they have appeared only as originally published by Newton, interspersed in a numerous collection of his own pieces, where the peculiar excellence of only sixtyeight short poems was liable to be overlooked, or at least where they in a great measure lost their distinctive character. The particular dates of the separate hymns not having been preserved, that arrangement has been adopted as the best which promised most clearly to impress their practical or exegetical nature. With this view they have been divided into three heads, of PRAISE, PRAYER, and DOCTRINE, forming an admirable manual of personal devotion, in which the Christian will find the purest models of a simple and sublime service or instructive declarations of faith. There can hardly be a religious disposition of mind which does not discern, even in this small number of pious aspirations, a suitable form of thanksgiving or of petition; and scarcely a depression can sadden, or a doubt distress the heart, under which comfort, or at least religious expression, is not found here. The Olney Hymns exhibit the lights and shadows of a believer's life, and thus, more than other sacred poetry, do they come home to the heart, with the efficacy both of precept and example. Like all the poetry of Cowper, they possess an individuality that permits not a suspicion of their sincerity, while the universal interest of their topics identifies their experiences with those of all Christians. As literary performances their

merits are great-the language is noble, the versification easy, and the imagery poetical, without merging the sanctity of devotion in the sentiment of poetry. In these respects, Cowper surpasses all competitors: his performances are neither odes admired, because understood only by the refined, and that rather for elegance than piety, like one school; neither, like the productions of the other, are they so divested of ornament as to derive their sole merit from good intention. Cowper, as a sacred classic, here concentrates all his peculiar Christian excellencies as a poet. His general sincerity becomes, in these hymns, a heavenly-mindedness, an uncalculating, unhesitating devotedness of every feeling and interest to the glory of God. The ordinary unrestrained and regardless flow of his verse, expressive of earnest conviction of the truths which he utters, rises here into a spontaneous, an unconscious, burst of gratitude and love to Him whose grace is operating unspeakable renewings of purity and gladness in a heart constrained thus to sing aloud for very joy. At other seasons, the cry comes from the depths of some heart, breaking and forsaken, yet still confiding in the mercy of Jehovah. Thus, under whatever impression of gospel dispensations Cowper may speak, he speaks here in comfort to the seeking mourner, as well as to the rejoicing believer, and in language so affecting, by its union of faith and poesy, as can hardly fail to touch a responsive chord in every breast.

OLNEY HYMNS.

I. PRAISE.

I.

[The poet extols the comforts and invokes the aid of divine grace in the course of Christian retirement upon which he is about to enter. The hymn was written at St Alban's, on his recovery there of bodily health and mental peace, being one of those compositions named by himself Specimens of my first Christian thoughts." It was afterwards given to Newton, and thus inserted in the Olney collection.]

[ocr errors]

FAR from the world, O Lord, I flee,

From strife and tumult far;

From scenes where Satan wages still
His most successful war.

The calm retreat, the silent shade,
With prayer and praise agree;
And seem by thy sweet bounty made
For those who follow thee.

There, if thy Spirit touch the soul,
And grace her mean abode,

Oh, with what peace, and joy, and love,
She communes with her God!

There, like the nightingale, she pours

Her solitary lays:

Nor asks a witness of her song,

Nor thirsts for human praise.

Author and Guardian of my life,
Sweet source of light divine,
And (all harmonious names in one)
My Saviour! thou art mine.

What thanks I owe thee, and what love,

A boundless, endless store,
Shall echo through the realms above
When time shall be no more.

II.

[The joy of reconciliation with God. Written during one of those happy releases from depression which Cowper continued to enjoy during the first years of his residence at Olney.]

I WILL praise thee every day,
Now thine anger 's turn'd away!
Comfortable thoughts arise
From the bleeding sacrifice.

Here, in the fair gospel field,
Wells of free salvation yield
Streams of life, a plenteous store,
And my soul shall thirst no more.

Jesus is become at length
My salvation and my strength;
And his praises shall prolong,
While I live, my pleasant song.

Praise ye then his glorious name,
Publish his exalted fame!

Still his worth your praise exceeds,
Excellent are all his deeds.

Raise again the joyful sound,
Let the nations roll it round!
Zion, shout, for this is he,

God the Saviour dwells in thee!

III.

Written also at Cowper's conver

[The secret joys of a saving faith in Christ. St Alban's, soon after what has been termed " sion;" that is, after distress of mind and body, and the desertion of the world, had taught him the vanity of all sublunary comforts without God. The appeal to his former friends" is an affecting proof of sincerity. To this hymn he himself gave the expressive title, "The hidden life."]

To tell the Saviour all my wants,

How pleasing is the task!

Nor less to praise him when he grants
Beyond what I can ask.

My labouring spirit vainly seeks
To tell but half the joy :

With how much tenderness he speaks,

And helps me to reply!

Nor were it wise, nor should I choose,
Such secrets to declare;

Like precious wines, their taste they lose
Exposed to open air.

But this with boldness I proclaim,
Nor care if thousands hear,
Sweet is the ointment of his name,

Not life is half so dear.

And can you frown, my former friends,
Who knew what once I was;

And blame the song that thus commends
The Man who bore the cross

Trust me, I draw the likeness true,

And not as fancy paints;
Such honour may he give to you,

For such have all his saints.

« PreviousContinue »