CHAPTER XX. THE ROOTS OF THE HILLS. IN the poems of James Thomson, we find two hymns to the God of Creation-one in blank verse, the other in stanzas. They are of the kind which from him we should look for. The one in blank verse, which is as an epilogue to his great poem, The Seasons, I prefer. We owe much to Thomson. Born (in Scotland) in the year 1700, he is the leading priest in a solemn procession to find God-not in the laws by which he has ordered his creation, but in the beauty which is the outcome of those laws. I do not say there is much of the relation of man to nature in his writing; but thitherward it tends. He is true about the outsides of God; and in Thomson we begin to feel that the revelation of God as meaning and therefore being the loveliness of nature, is about to be recognized. I do not say to change my simile-that he is the first visible root in our literature whence we can follow the outburst of the flowers and foliage of our delight in nature: I could show a hundred fibres leading from the depths of our old literature up to the great root. JAMES THOMSON: HIS HYMN. 293 Nor is it surprising that, with his age about him, he too should be found tending to magnify, not God's Word, but his works, above all his name: we have beauty for loveliness; beneficence for tenderness. I have wondered whether one great part of Napoleon's mission was not to wake people from this idolatry of the power of God to the adoration of his love. The Hymn holds a kind of middle place between the Morning Hymn in the 5th Book of the Paradise Lost and the Hymn in the Vale of Chamouni. It would be interesting and instructive to compare the three; but we have not time. Thomson has been influenced by Milton, and Coleridge by both. We have delight in Milton; art in Thomson; heart, including both, in Coleridge. HYMN. These, as they change, Almighty Father, these The rolling year Is full of thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring By brooks and groves, in hollow-whispering gales.1 In the following five lines I have adopted the reading of the first edition, which, although a little florid, I prefer to the scanty two lines of the later. A yellow-floating pomp, thy bounty shines In winter awful thou! with clouds and storms Nature attend! Join, every living soul, One general song! To him, ye vocal gales, Breathe soft, whose spirit in your freshness breathes; Where, o'er the rock, the scarcely waving pine And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar, Who shake the astonished world, lift high to heaven Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound; A secret world of wonders in thyself, Sound his stupendous praise, whose greater voice 1 False in feeling, nor like God at all, although a ready pagan repre sentation of him. There is much of the pagan left in many Christians -poets too. SIGNS OF A COMING DAWN. 295 Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, As home he goes beneath the joyous moon. Bleat out afresh, ye hills! ye mossy rocks, Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles, The long-resounding voice, oft breaking clear, * Should fate command me to the farthest verge In the void waste as in the city full; And where he vital breathes there must be joy. The worship of intellectual power in laws and inventions is the main delight of the song; not the living presence of creative love, which never sings its own praises, but spends itself in giving. there has passed away a glory from Still, although the world of song, although the fervour of childlike worship has vanished for a season, there are signs in these verses Even the exclusive and of a new dawn of devotion. therefore blind worship of science will, when it has turned the coil of the ascending spiral, result in a new song to "him that made heaven and earth and the sea and the fountains of waters." But first, for a long time, the worship of power will go on. There is one sonnet by Kirke White, eighty-five years younger than Thomson, which is quite pagan in its mode of glorifying the power of the Deity. But about the same time when Thomson's Seasons was published, which was in 1730, the third year of George II., that life which had burned on in the hidden corners of the church in spite of the wordliness and sensuality of its rulers, began to show a flame destined to enlarge and spread until it should have lighted up the mass with an outburst of Christian faith and hope. I refer to the movement called Methodism, in the midst of which, at an early stage of its history, arose the directing energies of John Wesley, a man sent of God to deepen at once and purify its motive influences. What he and his friends taught, would, I presume, in its essence, amount mainly to this that acquiescence in the doctrines of the church is no fulfilment of duty—or anything, indeed, short of an obedient recognition of personal relation to God, who has sent every man the message of present salvation in his Son. A new life began to bud and blossom from the dry stem of the church. The spirit moved upon the waters of feeling, and the new undulation broke on the shores of thought in an outburst of new song. For while John Wesley |