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diapason note of the song of the angels at the advent of the Master.

Here then, we may say, we have our Poet's secret. And it must be evident that he who would worthily deal with such a far-reaching subject as that of human love must himself have a noble conception of human nature, as well as a wide, deep, and tender sympathy with all living creatures. And if ever a man, in spite of adverse Church dogma and popular belief, formed such an estimate of humanity, and expressed this life-embracing sympathy, that man was Robert Burns. In these, indeed, lay the very essence of his religion. He was constantly praying to be delivered from the revolting ideas of God and man which the accepted theology of his times promulgated. "Religion," he says in a letter to Mrs. Dunlop, "is surely a simple business, as it equally concerns the ignorant and the learned, the poor and the rich." To him it was not so much a matter for speculative theorising as a guide for virtuous practice. Nor had he any difficulty in practically determining what was good and what was bad. This was his confessed creed :-"Whatever mitigates the woes, or increases the happiness of others, this is my criterion of goodness; and whatever injures society at large, or any individual in it, this is my measure of iniquity." Such a creed imperatively demands the rejection of any theory that degrades or depreciates man, and thus libels the wisdom and love of God. Hence we find that Burns gave no such theory a shadow of sympathetic consideration. "Notwithstanding," he says, "the opprobious epithets with which some of our philosophers and gloomy sectarians have branded our nature— the principle of universal selfishness, the proneness to all evil they have given us; still, the detestation in which inhumanity to the distressed, or insolence to the fallen are held, shows that they are not natives to the human mind." "Mankind," he elsewhere affirms, "are by nature benevolent creatures, except in a few scoundrelly instances. I do not think that avarice of the good things we chance to have is born with us; but we are placed here amid so much nakedness, and hunger, and poverty, and want, that we are under the cursed necessity of studying selfishness in order that we may exist. Still there are in every age a few souls that all the wants and woes of life cannot debase to selfishness, or even to the necessary alloy of caution

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and prudence. If ever I am in danger of vanity it is when I contemplate myself on this side of my disposition and character. God knows, I am no saint; I have a whole host of sins and follies to answer for; but if I could, and I believe I do it as far as I can, I would wipe away all tears from all eyes." Here, surely, we have a man admirably fitted, divinely commissioned to sing the social harmony which is the fruit of a pure and truly religious affection. His faith rests on a divinity "whose very self is love"; and the power and sweetness of the lofty emotion breathe from every page of his writings. Nor is this generous sympathy a mere verbal profession. It is not only a faith; it is the outstanding fact of Burns's life. His own lot was of the cruelest. All his days he hungered and thirsted for that which came not, and yet his repining was only for a moment. His compassion and liberality of spirit were habitual. Nor was his sympathy confined by any barrier. Every unfortunate creature-be it a brother in adversity, a sister fallen from virtue, the mouse deprived of its home, the hare wounded by the sportsman, the birds shelterless in the winter blast, the fox exposed to the biting snow, aye, or even the devil in hell-finds a friend in this magnanimous nobleman of God. Manly honour and brotherly-kindness are his fixed religious principles. These constitute the gospel he preached to the world, and stamp him as a man who assuredly had a word of hope and gladness to speak to the manhood and womanhood of his own and succeeding times.

The influence of Burns's religious message upon the whole English-speaking world can never be estimated; while its character is too well known to require detailed illustration. His best known poems will have been suggested to the reader's mind by the references already made; therefore I have resisted the temptation to quote. I would not have it supposed, however, that the religion of Burns is to be found only in those of his writings that ostensibly treat of religious themes, or directly inculcate high moral principles. His lyrics, no less truly than such productions as the "Cottar's Saturday Night," "Man was made to Mourn," and "To the Unco Guid," are expressive of the spirit of his religious faith. A religion of love cannot be separated from sexual devotion or domestic felicity. Indeed, the affection they imply is the tap root whence springs the many

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branched tree of our social integrity, and peace, and progress. Only by so regarding it can we preserve untainted the more impersonal emotions that bless home and country and mankind at large, and eliminate from the sacred life-union of man and woman all mercenariness and baser passion. It was so regarded by Burns. "This passion," he says "is worthy of a man, and is akin to virtue." It was at this shrine his muse first worshipped, and to it was given the full force of his inspiration to the end. Nor can it be doubted that it was because love was to him a religion that he regarded parental responsibility as a sacred imposition, and it would be well for the members of modern society to cherish and realise more faithfully his sentiment that

"To mak' a happy fireside clime

To weans and wife,

That's the true pathos and sublime
Of human life."

Certainly all that is patriotic and humanitarian in the teaching of our national Bard is the fruit of the affections that centre in the home. The worth of the one adheres to the other, and both alike spring from the innate sense of human relationship, which is a sine qua non of all religion. Burns thus gave a new interpretation to the familiar maxim, "Love begins at home"; and the all-inclusive deduction from his loftier poetic flights is that the love which begins there, to be true to its mission, must not end there. Consequently, he applies his religious faith not merely to the sexual and domestic joys and sorrows, difficulties, disappointments, and cares which all have in some measure to endure, but to the more widely social and public customs, habits, and usages of his age. Here is his transition thought:

"Lord help me through this warl' o' care!

I'm weary sick o't, late an air' !

No but I hae a richer share

Than mony ithers;

But why should ae man better fare,

An' a' men brithers ?"

With almost God-like compassion and solicitude he regarded the oppression and poverty of which so

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many of his fellows "amid my generous

enthusiasm, must I find myself poor and powerless, incapable of wiping one tear from the eye of pity, or of adding one com

fort to the friend I love?" And in the spirit of the true largesouled prophet of social harmony, he sees that what is lacking is the vital principle of all pure religion. The transforming power of human sympathy and unselfish affection is that alone which could cure the evils he deplores. Hence he tells us that the religious truth which study of the material and moral worlds had most deeply impressed upon his mind is, that

"The heart benevolent and kind

The most resembles God."

It is this truth that inspires him with aversion for selfishness in all its forms, especially when it assumes the garb of religion, as well as with enthusiasm for that honour which was the divinest and surest restraint from evil. It is when he is dealing with such themes that his powers are seen at their best, as in his "Address to the Unco Guid," and his "Epistle to a Young Friend." Himself the soul of honour, his words in its praise are doubly forceful as enjoining the underlying principle of true religious nobility.

"The fear o' hell's a hangman's whip

To haud the wretch in order;
But where ye feel your honour grip,
Let that aye be your border:

It's slightest touches, instant pause;
Debar a' side pretences;

And resolutely keep its laws,

Uncaring consequences."

The injunction of the closing lines of that stanza are significant as showing that Burns's religion of love and humanity was in no sense or degree tinctured with that selfish other-worldliness which is so often the motive of much excellent religious profession and practice. The conviction never leaves him that the true comfort of religion is moral. This conviction is aptly illustrated by his frequent references to immortality. His conclusion on this question is, for wisdom and aptness, equal to any deliverance of religious thinkers of past or present times—“ A man conscious of having acted an honest part among his fellowcreatures—even granting that he has been the sport, at times, of passions and instincts-he goes to a great Unknown Being who could have no other end in giving him existence but to make him happy, who gave him those passions and instincts, and well knows their force." And again-"All my fears and

cares are of this world: if there is another, an honest man has nothing to fear from it." His faith in God's goodness, his unwavering trust in the divine desire for man's welfare, thus not only dictated to him the high-toned religious sentiments of which he is still our greatest exponent, but also imbued him with that courage that is distinctive of every lofty mind. Of this he was sure, that "sincere, though imperfect obedience” to the divine monitions of reason and conscience was the greatest gain, in the noblest sense, to man in this world, and, if there was another, in it spiritual life would be under the same beneficent law. Hence his conclusion of the whole matter is in complete harmony with the spirit of his religion, and the generous character of all his poetic teaching. It is expressed in words of simple Scriptural felicity. "Finally, brethren, farewell! Whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are gentle, whatsoever things are charitable, think on these things, and think on."

JAMES FORREST.

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