No More Learning

**** And golden vials full of odors which are the prayers of the saints.
--Rev. St. John.

Who livest--_that_ we know--
In Eternity--we feel--
But the shadow of whose brow
What spirit shall reveal?
Tho' the beings whom thy Nesace,
Thy messenger hath known
Have dream'd for thy Infinity
*A model of their own--
Thy will is done, Oh, God!
The star hath ridden high
Thro' many a tempest, but she rode
Beneath thy burning eye;
And here, in thought, to thee--
In thought that can alone
Ascend thy empire and so be
A partner of thy throne--

* The Humanitarians held that God was to be understood as
having a really human form. --_Vide Clarke's Sermons_, vol.
1, page 26, fol. edit.

The drift of Milton's argument, leads him to employ language
which would appear, at first sight, to verge upon their
doctrine; but it will be seen immediately, that he guards
himself against the charge of having adopted one of the most
ignorant errors of the dark ages of the church. --_Dr.
Sumner's Notes on Milton's Christian Doctrine_.

This opinion, in spite of many testimonies to the contrary,
could never have been very general. Andeus, a Syrian of
Mesopotamia, was condemned for the opinion, as heretical.
He
lived in the beginning of the fourth century. His disciples
were called Anthropmorphites. --_Vide Du Pin_.

Among Milton's poems are these lines:--
Dicite sacrorum praesides nemorum Deae, &c.
Quis ille primus cujus ex imagine
Natura solers finxit humanum genus?
Eternus, incorruptus, aequaevus polo,
Unusque et universus exemplar Dei. --And afterwards,
Non cui profundum Caecitas lumen dedit
Dircaeus augur vidit hunc alto sinu, &c.

*By winged Fantasy,
My embassy is given,
Till secrecy shall knowledge be
In the environs of Heaven. "

She ceas'd--and buried then her burning cheek
Abash'd, amid the lilies there, to seek
A shelter from the fervour of His eye;
For the stars trembled at the Deity.
She stirr'd not--breath'd not--for a voice was there
How solemnly pervading the calm air!
A sound of silence on the startled ear
Which dreamy poets name "the music of the sphere. "
Ours is a world of words: Quiet we call
"Silence"--which is the merest word of all.
All Nature speaks, and ev'n ideal things
Flap shadowy sounds from visionary wings--
But ah! not so when, thus, in realms on high
The eternal voice of God is passing by,
And the red winds are withering in the sky!

**"What tho' in worlds which sightless cycles run,
Link'd to a little system, and one sun--
Where all my love is folly and the crowd
Still think my terrors but the thunder cloud,
The storm, the earthquake, and the ocean-wrath--
(Ah! will they cross me in my angrier path?