“In ardent adoration joined, Obedient to Thy holy will, Let all my faculties combined Thy just desires, O God, fulfil! From thee derived, eternal King, To thee our noblest powers we bring: O, may thy hand direct our wandering way! O, bid thy light arise, and chase the clouds away!” Listen also to the author of the “Night Thoughts,” and hear his acknowledgment of the true sources of poetic inspiration:-- “O Thou bless’d Spirit: whether the Supreme, Great ante-mundane Father; in whose breast, Embryo creation, unborn being, dwelt, And all its various revolutions rolled, Present, though future; prior to themselves; Whose breath can blow it into nought again; Or, from His throne some delegated power; Who, studious of our peace, dost turn the thought From vain and vile, to solid and sublime! Unseen Thou lead’st me to delicious draughts Of Inspiration, from a purer stream, And fuller of the God, than that which burst From famed Castalia.” Alas! how often has been, and is, this noble gift of poesy abused and prostituted to base purposes; of how few could it be said that he had written no line which dying he might wish to blot. Dryden, we may remember, exclaims “O gracious God! How far have we Profaned Thy heavenly gift of poesy! Made prostitute and profligate the muse, Debased to each obscene and impious use, Whose harmony was first ordained above For tongues of angels, and for hymns of love!” Yet even he cannot altogether escape the reproach conveyed in these lines to such as have, at times, shown themselves unworthy of the sacred gift, and of this he appears to be conscious when he says “how far have _we_,” etc. Cowper might with great propriety act the censor on such a dereliction of duty, and say-- “Debased to servile purposes of pride, How are the powers of genius misapplied! The gift, whose office is the Giver’s praise, To trace Him in His word, His work, His ways, Then spread the rich discovery, and invite Mankind to share in the divine delight; Distorted from its use and just design, To make the pitiful possessor shine, To purchase at the fool-frequented fair Of vanity, a wreath for self to wear, Is profanation of the basest kind-- Proof of a trifling and a worthless mind.” So also might one of the sacred poets of our own day, many of whose strains of simple, earnest, and pure devotion, will be found in our volume. He has just passed from hence to sing in a heavenly choir; and fain would we embody in this preface a slight tribute of our admiration for his genius, and our gratitude for the service he has rendered to the Christian Religion. TO THE MEMORY OF JAMES MONTGOMERY.