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The life of the poet who tomorrow completes the span of three score years and ten may well furnish the subject of our Sabbath lesson to day. We cannot cherish too sacredly the con tinual benison that comes, from his sweet verse, and no influence is so much needed amid the cares and distractions of our busy life as that afforded by poets who are true to the great ideals of human feeling and thought. There is something in religious worship of what ever town, let cynics sneer and phil osophers reason as they may, that sanctifies character and elevates mankind above the grovelling instincts and the selfish pursuits which continually strive for the mastery. The turning of the thoughts upward, the stir ring of the deepest and purest emotions of the heart, the yearning for the higher and the better in life, and the longing for a place in some immortal and all-comprehending love, raises man from the dust and bears him over all hindrance toward a sphere of being of which the naturalist takes no note. The record of the ages reads backward; the testi mony of the rocks is to the past; develop ment in physical nature furnishes no evidence of the high purposes whose motions are in the soul of men, or of the destiny for which it is marked. The soul leaves no fossil traces in sandstone, nor can aught be told of it from pliocene deposits. But we come into the world ‘trailing clouds of glory’, and bearing within a perception for ‘the light that never was on sea or land.”’ It is that something within that tells us of an immortal type, and however it may fall short of assurance as to a final destiny, it is surely capable of working grand results in this our mortal life. The hard conditions of the struggle for life, the toil that absorbs the thoughts and makes selfish the purposes, the cares that infest the day and even haunt the shadows of the night, the vexa tions, the ills and troubles of this our earthly state, can never quite extinguish that sacred flame, and it may be fanned into a pervading glow that shall purify all our lives and give a strength and integrity that no power can shake. It is to this inner-self that religion appeals; it is this that worship awakens and excites, and it this that thrills at the words of the poets when they give expression to noble thoughts, to fine aspirations and to feelings that are pure and strong. There is no exercise better fitted for the sacred hours of the day of rest or the no less sacred moments of domestic repose in the home at any time, than reading from the poets. Its influence will be felt through all the years and will aid in that elevation of life and char acter which is the highest object of human striving. Not to all poets is it given to the ministering evangels in the household. There are those who have made themselves the demons of dark passions and of the impulses that seek to over whelm and drive out the angels of our better nature. There are those that have revealed the deep mysteries of life and shown the varied throbbings of the heart, and from them we may draw large lessons of charity and toleration. Others have made it their mission to fan the sacred flame in the human heart, to strengthen the longings for the pure and good, to foster the sweet affections of the home, to inspire heroic purposes and raise the soul above the sordid surroundings of every-day life. These are ben efactors of the race, and perform an office no less holy than that of ministers of religion, while their voices penetrate through all the world and continue to ring from age to age. They diffuse a perpetual denison upon human life. Their strains should be heard in every family, the father should read them to the assembled household, the mother should teach them to her children, and their elevating influence should be felt upon all lives. Then would the selfishness, the greed, the cruelty, the crime, the vice and all the hideous brood that finds lodgment in the unsanctified mind and heart of men be gradually banished from the world by the singers, whose strains are more powerful to charm than the lute of Or pheus. And he that stands today on the verge of hu man life, as defined by the poet of Israel, where is his place in that band that sings for the regeneration of mankind? It is on nn ex alted throne of pride and grandeur where sits the mighty genius that sways with potent wand all passions, all delights, that shake this mor tal frame. It is farthest away from those who minister to the rage and fury of devouring ap petite. It is a place apart, surrounded with an atmosphere of serene purity, and upon it shines a light from above, in whose effulgence is no tint or stain. It is a celestial white. He is the poet of the home and heart who ap peals ever to the sense of light, to the feeling of hallowed love, to thoughts of higher and better being. His lines are for Sabbath evenings, for sacred hours in the family circle, for the chamber of loneliness and the closet of trial, and from them can be gained only inspiration and strength for the great work of life, which is the elevation of the human soul. Thousands will think of his gray head today with devout gratitude, and years to come, even when he has solved the last great mystery and sought the crowning heights of life, his songs will diffuse in the homes of the land the cheering and strengthening denison of the poets. It is a happy combination when the pencil worthily unites with the pen in the production of a book. We are all of us more or less dependent upon some such limning of an author's thoughts by the artist as shall render them more vivid to the mind as well as to the eye. One may be very familiar with a book and yet gain much by the light which is thrown upon it by the sympathetic interpreta tion of other minds. And when the pencil is in the hands of a congenial spirit, there is even more to be gained by the realization to the out ward vision of what perhaps has been but dim ly discerned by the inner gaze. We have been impressed with these views on looking over some beautiful illustrated books of the season, which, while of varied merit, yet have that merit made clearer by the shift of the skilful designer and engraver. One of the finest of these books is “‘ Great American Sculpture,” by William T. Clark, Jr. To have the life and work of a sculptor thus made familiar to the public, is a valuable means of inspiring inter est in art. A notable feature of the book is an appreciative essay on Ancient and Modern Sculpture, which is an excellent preparation for considering what has been done in this form of art by our countrymen. The names of Powers and Greenough, of Crawford and Ran dolph Rogers, Story, Brown, Ward, Connelly, Gould, Simmons, Akers and Harriet Hosmer, deserve the space which is accorded to them in this volume. There are twelve excellent er gravings of some of the most notable works of our sculptors, which vividly reproduce their sentiments and forms. Of Powers it is said that his fame as a sculptor will chiefly rest upon his busts. Greenough comes in for dis criminating praise, and the account of his rela tions with Powers is full of interest. Crawford and Rogers make important figures in this volume; Story, who is appreciatively dealt with, is said to be particulary fortunate in enjoying the friendship of men and women who have the ear of the public, and whose words are sure to be listened to with respect and credence. In regard to Gould, there does not seem to be suf ficient discrimination as to the merits of his different works, his ‘‘West Wind,’’ which the artist himself considers merely a popular pro duction, being rated relatively too high. We note the omission in the book of the names of Mead, Millmore, John Rogers and Thomas Ball, which is the more noticeable from the attention given to Roberts, Bailly, Harnisch and Rush, whose Philadelphia origin is cer tainly no reason for what looks like local favoritism. Vinnie Ream and Edmonia Lewis, who, it is fair to say, are not entitled to men tion beside some of the omitted names, receive a passing and not over-eulogistic notice. But there is so much in the volume that is valuable and interesting that we can commend it to per sons who wish to know what has been done by our most noted sculptors. The superb style in which the work is issued makes it peculiarly suited for a holiday gift. It is published in Philadelphia by Gebbie Barrie. Next Saturday President Hayes is to formally open the American Museum in New York City. The building already erected is but a small part of the structure as it is to be when com pleted, but it is large enough to be dedicated, and is the beginning of what the Manhattan ites hope is soon to be the largest museum in the world. When completed it will have an extreme length of 850 feet, and be 650 feet in width, and with courtyards and outbuildings will cover an area of about eighteen acres. The city has given the land on which the entire structure is to stand, and has also donated $700,000 to the building fund. The rest of the money must come from private sources; but, as there are two thousand members of the association, most of them wealthy men, it is thought it will not be difficult to raise by degrees the desired amount.
Newspaper Details
Boston Sunday Globe
Boston, Massachusetts, US
Sun, Dec 16, 1877
Page 4
Full Page
Clipped by
Marilyn R.
USA 10 Aug 2026
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