Nugae Canorae :: :: University of Virginia Library

The Author is well aware that, as far as the following Poem appears to be argumentative, the principle which it inculcates is indefensible: it seems like inferring that, because an institution may be abused, however excellent it may be in its design, it should not be used.

Wherever, whenever, and on whatsoever occasion, human beings meet together, they will carry human passions with them; to church, as well as to market; to the meeting-house, as well as to the ball-room: the good done by means of positive religious rites is prodigious; and it would be difficult to make out a case of any counter-balancing evil of which they are the cause; therefore let it not be supposed that, because

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the Author in the following Poem satirizes the intrusion of vulgar passions within the sacred threshold, he no longer wishes that threshold to be passed: on the other hand, he only laments that it is not more universally passed, as such a phenomenon would be one of the most conclusive prognostics that those very passions which he has described were on the decline. In one word, let the following poem be considered rather as a picture, than as an enunciation of principles.

Ah, holy day, I love to hear the chime
Of merry bells that usher in thy morn:
The rustic trimly clad, the rural lass,
Delight my heart. I love to see them speed,
Along the meadow pathway, to the style
That bounds the church-yard. The suspense
Of toil, the universal quietude

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That dwells on all things, quietude from sounds
Of human labour, shed a pleasing calm.
Nature alone puts forth her voice to-day,
The joyous birds, the bleat of sportive lambs,
The low of cattle, zephyrs breathing peace,
And health; the music of the woods that wave
Their dancing heads, and vocal, as they wave,
With sounds like those breath'd from the Æolian lyre,
When on its trembling strings the faint breeze pants,
Or ocean's deeper voice from distance heard;
The gratulation of a thousand streams
Sparkling like crystal to the glorious sun:—
All these unite in choral harmony:
And frivolous art withdraws the obtrusive strife,
That Nature's song may reach the ear of all.

Haste, let me join the comely throng that seeks
The House of God: there be my prayer breathed forth
With more expressive accent, and the song
Of praise ascend more ardent, with the hymn
Mingled of countless grateful spirits: there

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The decent rite, the anthem's chaunted lay,
The hallowed vestment, and the sacred grace
Of hoar antiquity's religious garb,
Shall aid the pious feeling, and express
The shapeless fervours of abstracted love,
Devotion's undefined extasy
In saintly forms of import well conceived.

Vain dream, alas! for though the form may speak
The inward sentiment that now disturbs
The o'ercharged heart,—though all inanimate things,
The decent rite, the anthem's chanted lay,
The hallowed vestment, and the sacred grace
Of hoar antiquity's religious garb,—
Though to the feeling heart when, undisturbed,
It contemplates the scene, an energy
May seem to breathe within the gothic walls,
Filling the sanctuary, like that of old,
With an invisible, present Deity:—
Though all the circumstance of things unite
To aid profound impression, they unite
In vain; for what can inert objects do,
Mute and inanimate, when all the soul,

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The spirit of the assembly, counteract
Their weak, inefficacious agency.

Where does the dowager, seldom visible,
Come forth with all her “honours thick upon her,”
Chariot, and footman, with embroidered gold,
Flying, with prayer-book in his hand, to ope
The already unclasped pew, and shewing wide
To the abashed assembly, she can keep
Menials for vanity as well as use?—at church.
Where does the importance of the country squire,
Hedged in the immunities of his kingly pew,
Find a fit scene of action?—at his church.
Where does the high-bred lady condescend
To exhibit all her store of courtly airs,
Her nods, grimace, and regulated smiles,
And all precedency's theatric forms?—
At church.—Where does the giddy serving-maid,
Or farmer's daughter, love to expose the charm
Of ribbands, hats, and lace, that Folly's food
Which will ere long to ruin tempt her heart?
At church.—Say, where do vanity and pride,
Pretence, and sly hypocrisy resort?—
To church:—and where, if piety be found,

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Simple, with cheek bedewed with contrite tears,
Will flinty scoffers point and smile?—at church.

Mark the sleek pastor, how he hurries through
The sacred office! The simplicity
Of gospel days, the tongue that utters things
Accordant with the heart, the heart that feels
Accordant to the law and testimony—
Where are they found? The pompous hierophant
Hiding beneath professional pretence
The love of power; or the coxcomb, pert,
Scented, accomplished, as the spruce gallant—
Too oft characterize the anointed band.

I know that there are some who bear the mark
Of true apostleship, who feel for souls,
Weep for the wandering, pray for the distress'd,
And, interceding, stand between their God
And many a trembling sinner; of their flock
The spiritual fathers; when occasion bids,
The temporal fathers too; weeping to see
The havock and disorder vice has made,
They bear a balm for every human wound.
But these how few! and he that deeply feels
The worth of piety, that simply longs

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To utter, what he cannot bear to keep
In selfish silence, whither shall he fly
If Sanctity, Simplicity, and Love,
Pity, and Mercy, Truth without pretence,
Be qualities to spiritual fellowship
Essential, indispensible esteemed.

The author might add, that even the poet, par excellence religious, Cowper, might be deemed irreligious, if to satirize the abuse of religious institutions, render a man obnoxious to such an epithet. See his description of the coxcomb parson, and various other passages in his poems.