necessity, with the ultimate good of which she was wholly unacquainted, the mother goes forth as she believes unfriended and alone, to trust herself and the treasure of her affections to the mercy of the elements, and the shelter of the pathless wilds, unconscious that her peculiar situation is made the especial care of the Father of the fatherless, and the Protector of the forlorn.

And the water was spent in the bottle, and she cast the child under one of the shrubs.

And she went, and sat her down over against him a good way off, as it were a bow-shot; for she said, Let me not see the death of the child. And she sat over against him, and lift up her voice and wept.

And God heard the voice of the lad; and the angel of God called to Hagar out of heaven, and said unto her, What aileth thee, Hagar? Fear not; for God hath heard the voice of the lad where he is.

Arise, lift up the lad, and hold him in thine hand; for I will make him a great nation.

And in the following chapter, where Abraham, faithful even to the resigning his dearest treasure, goes forth with his son, prepared to render him up if the Lord should require it at his hand;

And Isaac spake unto Abraham his father and said, My father: and he said, Here am I, my son: and he said, Behold

the fire and the wood: but where is the lamb for a burnt

offering?

And Abraham said, My son, God will provide himself a burnt offering: so they went both of them together.

How strong must have been the faith of the patriarch at that moment; or if not, how agonizing his feelings as a father! But if there were any of the natural struggles of humanity between his faith and his love, they are sealed to us, by the simple and beautiful conclusion,— so they went both of them together.

Yet it is not merely in particular instances, such as may be singled out for examples, that we see and feel the poetry even of the historical parts of the Bible. The separate accounts of the creation and the deluge, handed down to us in language the most intelligible and unadorned, present to the imagination pictures of sublimity so awful and impressive, that it seems not improbable we may have derived our ideas of sublimity and power, from impressions made by our first reading of the Bible. Besides which, we find descriptions of the desert, and the wilderness, the wells of water, and the goodly pastures, of the intercourse of angels with the children of men, and of the visitations of the Supreme Intelli

in some measure

gence, if not personally, in the different manifestations of his power and his love—as a voice, and an impulse-all conveyed to us in language as simple as if a shepherd spoke of his flocks upon the mountain-as sublime as if an angel wrote the record of the world.

Nor is the poetry of the Bible by any means confined to those passages in which the power of the Almighty is exhibited as operating upon the infant world. The same influence extending over the passions and affections of human nature, is described with the most touching pathos, and the most impressive truth. That moving and controlling influence, so frequently spoken of as the word of the Lord coming with irresistible power upon the instruments of his will, is nowhere set before us in a stronger light, than in the character of Balaam, when he declared, that if Balak would give him his house full of silver and gold, he could not go beyond the word of the Lord his God, to do less or more. Not even when he stood upon the high place, amidst the seven altars with the burning sacrifice, and all the princes of Moab around him, and knew that the express object of his calling was to curse the people whom the Most High had blessed; yet here,

before the multitudes assembled to hear the confirmation of their hopes, he was compelled to acknowledge how those hopes were defeated, saying,

Balak, the king of Moab, hath brought me from Aram, out of the mountains of the east, saying, Come, curse me Jacob, and come, defy me Israel.

How shall I curse, whom God hath not cursed? or how shall I defy, whom the Lord hath not defied?

For from the top of the rocks I see him, and from the hills I behold him: lo, the people shall dwell alone, and shall not be reckoned among the nations.

Who can count the dust of Jacob, and the number of the fourth part of Israel? Let me die the death of the righteous,

and let my last end be like his !

And Balak said unto Balaam, What hast thou done unto me? I took thee to curse mine enemies, and, behold, thou hast blessed them altogether.

And he answered and said, Must I not take heed to speak that which the Lord hath put into my mouth?

Although Balaam knew that by obeying the word of the Lord he was sacrificing the favour of his master who had promised to promote him to honour, yet again, when brought to the top of another mountain with the vain hope of escaping from the power of Omnipotencewhen seven altars were again built, and seven bullocks and seven rams sacrificed, the people of Moab were again told, that the Lord

hath not beheld iniquity in Jacob, neither hath he seen perverseness in Israel: the Lord his God is with him, and the shout of a king is among them.

Disappointed, and defeated, Balak now very naturally exclaims, Neither curse them at all, nor bless them at all. Yet still willing to try for the third and the last time, the power of man against his Maker, he leads Balaam to the top of Mount Peor, where the same ceremonial gives the sanction of truth, and the majesty of power, to the words of the prophet; and here it is that he pours forth for the last time, a blessing still richer and more unlimited than before, beginning with the beautiful and poetic language,

How goodly are thy tents, O Jacob, and thy tabernacles, O Israel!

As the valleys are they spread forth, as gardens by the river's side, as the trees of lign aloes which the Lord hath planted, and as cedar trees beside the waters.

To those who are best acquainted with the poetry of the human heart, the sad history of Jephthah and his daughter affords peculiar interest, told as it is in language never yet exceeded for simplicity and genuine beauty, by of the numerous writers who have given us, both in prose and verse, imaginary details of this melancholy story.

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