_Devotion_ is the eminent attribute of these hymns,—ardent, inflamed rapture of holiness. Well has it been said “to elevate to poetic altitudes;” every truth in Christian experience and revealed religion needs the strength and sweep of an aquiline pinion; and this is what Isaac Watts has done; he has taken almost every topic which exercises the understanding and the heart of the believer, and has not only given to it a devotional aspect, but has wedded it to immortal numbers; and whilst there is little to which he has not shown himself equal, there is nothing he has done for mere effect. Rapt, yet adoring, sometimes up among the thunder-clouds, yet most reverential in his highest range, the “good matter” is in a song, and the sweet singer is upborne as on the wings of eagles; but even from that triumphal car, and when nearest the home of the Seraphim, we are comforted to find descending lowly lamentations and confessions of sin—new music, no doubt, but the words with which we have been long familiar in the house of our pilgrimage. Religion never was designed To make our pleasures less. Thou art the sea of love Where all my pleasures roll, The circle where my passions move, And centre of my soul. To Thee my spirits fly With infinite desire, And yet how far from Thee I lie! Dear Jesus, raise me higher. I cannot bear Thy absence, Lord, My life expires if Thou depart; Be thou, my heart, still near my God, And Thou, my God, be near my heart. Such are the streams of devotion on which we are borne in the verses of Watts. Some of his hymns are like _collects_, the compact, comforting little _watchwords and creeds of the Church_— Firm as the earth Thy Gospel stands. Or— Our God, how firm His promise stands. Sometimes we have a fine _bold trumpet-like tone of Faith_: Begin, my tongue, some heavenly theme, And speak some boundless thing; The mighty works, or mightier name Of our eternal King. His very word of grace is strong As that which built the skies; The Voice that rolls the stars along Speaks all the promises. He said, “Let the wide heaven be spread,” And heaven was stretched abroad: “Abra’m, I’ll be thy God,” He said, And He _was_ Abra’m’s God. How well he has expressed the _depths of contrition_ in his version of the 51st Psalm, what plaintive compassion— O Thou that hear’st when sinners cry! And equally well he has depicted the _happiness_ and _serenity_ of “a heart sprinkled from an evil conscience:” O happy soul that lives on high! Or— Lord, how secure and blest are they Who feel the joys of pardoned sin. Then how vigorously his notes rouse and stir to the activities of the _Christian life_: Are we the soldiers of the cross, The followers of the Lamb? Or— Stand up, my soul, shake off thy fears!