Whom all my servants shall both hear and own.’” The following lines on the Deity are what no one but a philosopher and a poet could have written:— “Before this beauteous world was made, Before the earth’s foundations laid, He was, He ever is, we know not how! No mean succession His duration knows, That spring of being neither ebbs nor flows: Whatever was, was God, ere time or place; Endless duration He, and boundless space, Fill’d with Himself, wherever thought can pierce, He fill’d, Himself alone, the universe.” The next extract refers to the personality and divinity of our Saviour:— “The Father’s image He, as great, as bright, Clothed in the same insufferable light; More closely join’d, more intimately one With His great Father, than the light and sun. Equal in goodness and in might, True God of God, and light of light; Him, with the Father, we adore: There is no after, or before.” The following is part of Wesley’s description of the last judgment:— “The awful trumps of God! a call they sound, Rolling through nature’s universal round; That signal heard from the dissolving sky, Decrepit nature lays her down to die: Not so man’s deathless race, who now revive, And must in joy or pain for ever live! Vast heaps on heaps, thick orbs on orbs are hurl’d, Chaos on chaos, world confused in world; Huge spheres, so fast each after other roll’d, E’en boundless space their ruins scarce will hold.” With all due deference to eccentric John Dunton, we submit that such lines are far from being “intolerably dull.” They were too hastily written to have the polished rotundity of poets like Young and Pope; but, notwithstanding this, they are full of poetic fire. The reader, who is in search of poetic _thoughts_ rather than poetic _sounds_, will find himself amply recompensed by a careful reading of Wesley’s “Life of Christ.” We can hardly praise the poem so highly as it is praised by Nahum Tate; but, at the same, we maintain that, for learning, energy of thought, vivid imagination, picturesque phrases, and forceful language in general, it is immeasurably superior to scores of other poems, which, by accident, have been vastly more popular than it has been. Men brand Samuel Wesley’s poetry without reading it. This is, in the highest degree, unfair. In the name of a great and much injured man, we protest against it; and respectfully request that, for the sake of his memory, and their own benefit, they would give his poems a careful and candid perusal.