good report, think on these things." Recall that the most trenchant rebuke of Whitman's crass materialism is that of the delicate, refined and spiritually sensitive Lanier, who says: "Whitman is poetry's butcher. Huge raw collops slashed from the rump of poetry, and never mind gristle, is what Whitman feeds our souls with. As near as I can make it out, Whitman's argument seems to be that because a prairie is wide therefore debauchery is admirable, and because the Mississippi is long therefore every American is God." Read his Marshes of Glynn, Ballad of Trees and the Master, The Crystal. Hear him as he says: "Measure what space a violet stands above the ground: 'Tis no further climbing that my soul and angels have to do [to get to God] than that." Young Knowles's last volume bears the significant title Love Triumphant; and one who reads will soon pierce its deeper meaning. Love is the fulfilling of the law everywhere:

"Yet the east is red with dawn,

Like a cross where one hath bled;
And upon that splendor drawn-
Gentle eyes and arms outspread-
See that figure stretched above:
As God lives! its name is Love!

"Love that lights the fireless brands,
Love that cares for world and wren,
Bleeding from the broken hands

Crowned with thorns that conquer men;
Only love's great eyes inspire

Church, sect, creed to glow with fire."

To quote further is needless, it is enough to say that anyone who carefully and intelligently reads the writings of Vaughn Moody, Edwin Markham, Henry van Dyke, and, best of all, the lyrics of Richard Gilder, will readily realize that he is in touch with that spiritual insight and interpretation of the world's life and work for which we plead. The latest volume of Mr. Gilder, In the Heights, is, as its title indicates, a call to men to lead and live the higher life. Society, civics, commerce and religion must all be lifted to the heights of unselfish and spiritual service. The deep, dominant note of our day in commerce and civics, in literature and life, is the spiritual note. The living God is speaking

to men to-day in tones not to be misunderstood. The events of our era emphasize the divine revelation that the wages of sin is death while the gift of God is life. Ours it is to seize the opportunity, and by a wise use of the history and movement of yesterday and to-day reveal to men the supreme and eternal value of the things of the spirit, inviting them by a true interpretation of the world, of man, and of the world currents,

"To leave the low dank thickets of the flesh,

Where man meets beast and makes his lair with him,

For spirit-reaches of the strenuous vast,

Where stalwart souls reap grain to make the bread

God breaketh at his table and is glad."

Just in proportion as we realize our privilege, and with cheer and faith go forth to meet and measure ourselves against this high opportunity, we shall become-as Gilder foresees

"New messengers of righteousness and hope
And courage for our day! So shall the world,
That ever surely climbs to God's desire,
Grow swifter toward his purpose and intent."

Prom Bownap

ART. IX.-BROWNING'S SAUL.

IN a book on the poetry of Robert Browning appears this dedication:

"A man-true as steel,

A poet-searcher of men's

Minds and hearts."

Thus briefly, but comprehensively, is described the greatest of Christian poets.

The age of Robert Browning was one of doubt and despair. Into it came this man of abounding vitality and of robust faith. He was not of his time, but for his time. With the great problems of human life and destiny he battled like a hero, and the glorious in man, in God and the eternal hereafter, were the trophies of his conflict. His style befits his themes. "Soul struggles and the birth-throes of great thoughts" demand different language than a "hymn to a daisy" calls for. His style is alpine, and there is hard struggling sometimes to reach his vision. In imagination powerful, in intellect piercing, all things with Browning "are pregnant with abstract meaning." In none of his work is the man and the poet seen to greater advantage than in Saul, called by able critics his greatest poem. It is difficult to escape the use of the superlative in estimating it. "The majesty of its thoughts, the splendor of its imagery, the simplicity and sweetness of its rhythmic flow make it one of the greatest of Browning's poems." It has been called "a Messianic oratorio in words." Some, rising high in their praise, declare that there is no nobler poem in the whole range of English poetry, while still more enthusiastic admirers class it as the best and greatest poem ever written. The first part of Saul, ending with section nine, was written when Browning was thirtythree years old; the second ten years later, when the more mature mind of the poet had expanded to the broader conception of salvation and immortality as alone competent to satisfy human need. It is a religious poem, and founded on that familiar scene in the Scriptures, 1 Samuel 16. 14-23, where David, the shepherd minstrel, is brought before the mad monarch to restore him with

the charm of music. The poem opens with the welcome of David, who, as a radiant youth, comes with music and song, humanity and faith, to do what he may for the king:

"Said Abner, 'At last thou art come! Ere I tell, ere thou speak,

Kiss my cheek, wish me well!' Then I wished it, and did kiss his cheek.
And hè, 'Since the King, O my friend, for thy countenance sent,
Neither drunken nor eaten have we; nor until from his tent
Thou return with the joyful assurance the King liveth yet
Shall our lip with the honey be bright, with the water be wet.
For out of the black mid-tent's silence, a space of three days,
Not a sound hath escaped to thy servants, of prayer nor of praise,
To betoken that Saul and the spirit have ended their strife,
And that, faint in his triumph, the monarch sinks back upon life.'”

The dramatic circumstances of the poem are simple but graphic. Saul, blinded by passion, swept on by his mad will, has broken with God and is in ruin. His nature has become morose, his mind has lost its balance, and, melancholy-mad, he has been alone for three long days in the inner tent's deep silence, with never a sign to tell whether alive or dead. There David found him:

"He stood as erect as that tent-prop, both arms stretched out wide On the great cross-support in the center that goes to each side;

"so agonized Saul, drear and stark, blind and dumb."

David is the speaker in the poem, and he tells us what happened as by spell of music, he seeks to bring Saul back to life.

"Then I tuned my harp; took off the lilies we twine round its chords Lest they snap 'neath the stress of the noontide-those sunbeams like swords!"

First he plays the tunes known to field creatures-the sheep, the quail, the crickets. Then the harvest songs, marriage songs, warrior songs. Then "the chorus intoned as the Levites go up to the altar in glory enthroned." Here "in the darkness Saul groaned." The minstrel follows with the songs of life: of Saul's youth, of the young warrior with his father's sword, of his mother's death, of his brothers and friends, of that "boyhood of wonder and

hope," and the climb to the fame-crowned monarch "King Saul.” "Then Saul, who hung propped

By the tent's cross-support in the center, was struck by his name.

"One long shudder thrilled

All the tent till the very air tingled, then sank and was stilled
At the King's self left standing before me, released and aware.”

Once more the minstrel, wishing to fully restore Saul, who as yet was only partly aroused, tunes his lyre and sings of King Saul and his deeds, of the love and reverence of the people for him as monarch, of his fame beyond death, of monuments and traditions and songs of bards all praising him in later centuries as the first great king, and of the good of his life which will be diffused through unborn generations. While David sang thus Saul

"slowly resumed

His old motions and habitudes kingly. The right hand replumed
His black locks to their wonted composure, adjusted the swathes
Of his turban, and see-the huge sweat that his countenance bathes
He wipes off with the robe; and he girds now his loins as of yore,
And feels slow for the armlets of price with the clasp set before.

"So sank he along by the tent-prop till, stayed by the pile
Of his armor and war-cloak and garments, he leaned there awhile,
And sat out my singing-one arm round the tent-prop, to raise
His bent head, and the other hung slack-till I touched on the praise
I foresaw from all men in all time to the man patient there,
And thus ended, the harp falling forward. Then first I was 'ware
That he sat, as I say, with my head just above his vast knees,
Which were thrust out on each side around me, like oak-roots which
please

To encircle a lamb when it slumbers. I looked up to know

If the best I could do had brought solace: he spoke not, but slow

Lifted up the hand slack at his side till he laid it with care,

Soft and grave, but in mild settled will, on my brow: thro' my hair

The large fingers were pushed, and he bent back my head with kind power

All my face back, intent to peruse it as men do a flower.

Thus held he me there with his great eyes that scrutinized mine-
And O, all my heart how it loved him!"

Here is the crisis of the poem. His soul stirred with love for the king, David would do more than arouse him to life. He would