TRAHERNE'S "SERIOUS AND PATHETICALL CONTEMPLATION OF THE MERCIES OF GOD"
This book would hardly be complete without some account of the above work. It is a small 12mo volume of 146 pages, with an engraved frontispiece. It is written—excepting the three pieces of verse which I have already printed—in a kind of unrhymed verse, which is curiously suggestive of the style of Whitman's "Leaves of Grass," particularly in the frequent passages in which the author enumerates or catalogues, as the American poet does, every object he can think of which bears any relation to his theme. There were, of course, more points of unlikeness than of likeness between the two poets, but they at least resembled each other in their invincible optimism, as well as in the points mentioned above. Whitman could not have known of the existence of the "Serious and Patheticall Contemplation"; but had it been accessible to him, it might well have been suspected that he was under some obligations to it.
The booklet consists of a series of "Thanksgivings" for the Body, the Soul, the Glory of God's Works, the Blessedness of God's Ways, the Wisdom of His Word, &c. There is much poetry and beauty of expression in these "Thanksgivings," and they are valuable also for the light which they occasionally throw upon passages in the poems which might else seem obscure. Thus the following passages from the "Thanksgiving for the Body" may be profitably compared with "The Salutation" and "Wonder":
I will praise Thee, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made, marvellous are Thy works; and that my Soul knoweth right well.
My substance was not hid from Thee when I was made in secret and curiously wrought in the lowest parts of the earth.
Thine eyes did see my substance yet being unperfect; and in thy book all my members were written; which in continuance were fashioned when as yet there was none of them.
I quote the following passage from "A Thanksgiving and Prayer for the Nation" not merely because it is fine in itself, but also because it affords us yet another interesting glimpse of the author's personality:
Have we not here a very remarkable anticipation of the leading thought of Whitman's "Leaves of Grass"? Do we not see in both poets the same deep love of and delight in humanity, the same feeling of comradeship and brotherhood with all men, the same hunger for sympathy and reciprocal affection, the same pleasure in the common things of life and nature, and the same frank acceptance of things as they are, and not as they might be? I have said that there is more unlikeness than likeness between the poets—but is it really so? Does not the above passage show that beneath all apparent differences there was a fundamental resemblance in their characters? To say the least, there was this resemblance—that both of them found life supremely well worth living, and never doubted, even when the clouds were blackest, that the sun was shining beyond them.