THE MORAL SUBLIME.

The sublime is an outward reflection of the inward greatness of the soul."-Longinus.

THE moral sublime is the sublime in moral action or endurance-the highest appeal to human taste. In an extensive review of ecclesiastical history which I have lately completed, I have been struck with the numerous examples which it affords of this noble greatness.

Profane history affords many sublime examples of endurance and self-sacrifice. The cases of Socrates, Leonidas, Regulus, and Winkelried, sustain our confidence in humanity and our hopes of the world. But how far short of the illustrious examples of the church are these instances! There is a peculiarity in the latter, arising from religious influence, which approaches the sublimity of inspiration. How calmly and majestically they suffer! What a bearing of repose, like the classic statues of the gods, they wear at the very stake, as if they were beings of a superior essence, immortal, and insensible to the effects of the elements ! The instances of profane history are cases of cool and stanch submission to stern principle or hard necessity-magnanimous, indeed, but it

is a dread magnanimity—a submission to suffering that is felt and endured, but not defied and vanquished. Those of religion are examples of calm triumph-of majestic superiority to suffering, as if they were conscious of being more than conquerors." The former had fortitude, but the latter courage.

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What an impressive specimen of the moral sublime is the last prayer of the gray-headed Polycarp, at the stake! He was nearly ninety years old; the veneration and affections of all the Asiatic churches centred in him. being exposed to the hootings of the populace, and the aggravations of a mock trial, he was led to the place of death, where, being bound and all things ready for the match, he uttered this memorable prayer, or rather thanksgiving :"Father of thy well-beloved and blessed Son Jesus Christ, through whom we have received the knowledge of thee-God of angels and powers, and all creation, and of all the family of the righteous that live before thee-I bless thee that thou hast counted me worthy of this day, and of this hour,-an hour in which I am to have a share in the number of the martyrs and in the cup of Christ, unto the resurrection of eternal life, both of the soul and the body, in the incorruptible felicity of the Holy Spirit.

Among whom may I be received this day, as a rich and acceptable sacrifice, which thou, the faithful and true God, hast prepared. Wherefore on this account and for all things I praise thee, I bless thee, I glorify thee, through the eternal High Priest, Jesus Christ, thy wellbeloved Son. Through whom all glory be to thee with him in the Holy Ghost, both now and for ever. Amen." The flames curled over him, and he was no more.

I scarcely know of a more sublime picture, though not an instance of violent suffering, than that of the death of the VENERABLE BEDE, as described by one of his pupils. He was the ornament of his country and of the eighth century, and was employed at the time of his death in rendering the Gospel of St. John into the language of the people, the Anglo-Saxon. "Many nights," says his disciple, "he passed without sleep, yet rejoicing and giving thanks, unless when a little slumber intervened. When he awoke he resumed his accustomed devotions, and with expanded hands never ceased giving thanks to God. By turns we read, and by turns we wept; indeed, we always read in tears. In such solemn joy we passed fifty days; but during these days, besides the lectures he gave, he endeavored to compose two

works; one of which was a translation of St. John into English. It has been observed of him, that he never knew what it was to do nothing. And after his breathing became still shorter, he dictated cheerfully, and sometimes said, 'Make haste; I know not how long I shall hold out; my Maker may take me away very soon.' On one occasion, a pupil said to him, 'Most dear master, there is yet one chapter wanting; do you think it troublesome to be asked any more questions?" He answered, 'It is no trouble; take your pen and write fast.' He continued to converse cheerfully, and while his friends wept as he told them they would see him no more, they rejoiced to hear him say, It is now time for me to return to Him who made me. The time of my dissolution draws near. I desire to be dissolved and to be with Christ. Yes, my soul desires to see Christ in his beauty.' The pupil before mentioned said to him, 'Dear master, one sentence is still wanting.' He replied, 'Write quickly.' The young man soon added, 'It is finished.' answered, 'Thou hast well said, all is now finished! Hold my head with thy hands. I shall delight to sit on the opposite side of the room, on the holy spot at which I have been accustomed to pray, and where, while sitting,

He

I can invoke my Father.' Being placed on the floor of his little room, he sung, 'Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost,' and died as he uttered the last word." What a scene for the painter! And one has painted it, not in colors, but in equally-expressive words:

Within his studious cell,

The man of mighty mind,
His cowl'd and venerable brow

With sickness pale, reclined.

"Speed on!" Then flew the writer's pen,
With grief and fear perplex'd;

For death's sure footstep nearer drew
With each receding text.

The prompting breath more faintly came—

"Speed on!-his form I see

That awful messenger of God,

Who may not stay for me."

"Master, 'tis done." "Thou speakest well,

Life with thy lines kept pace."

They bear him to the place of prayer,

The death dew on his face;

And there, while o'er the gasping breast
The last keen torture stole,

With the high watchword of the skies,
Went forth that sainted soul.