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The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 7. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Zzz Missing head (search)
an to threaten and terrify another, to make him believe what did not strike him as true. Passing by the Telemachus of Fenelon, we come to the political romance of Harrington, written in the time of Cromwell. Oceana is the name by which the authothat they are manifestly not written to subserve the interests of a narrow sectarianism. They might have been penned by Fenelon in his time, or Robertson in ours, dealing as they do with Christian practice,—the life of Christ manifesting itself in e walked with God. Without the actual inspiration of the Spirit of Grace, the inward teacher and soul of our souls, says Fenelon, we could neither do, will, nor believe good. We must silence every creature, we must silence ourselves also, to hear ibrave but reverent men, who, in investigating nature, never lost sight of the Divine Ideal, and who, to use the words of Fenelon, Silenced themselves to hear in the stillness of their souls the inexpressible voice of Christ. Holding fast the mighty
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 7. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Criticism (search)
th the mournful necessity of laboring in vain. We have been pained more than words can express to see young, generous hearts, yearning with strong desires to consecrate themselves to the cause of their fellow-men, checked and chilled by the ridicule of worldly-wise conservatism, and the solemn rebukes of practical infidelity in the guise of a piety which professes to love the unseen Father, while disregarding the claims of His visible children. Visionary! Were not the good St. Pierre, and Fenelon, and Howard, and Clarkson visionaries also What was John Woolman, to the wise and prudent of his day, but an amiable enthusiast? What, to those of our own, is such an angel of mercy as Dorothea Dix? Who will not, in view of the labors of such philanthropists, adopt the language of Jonathan Edwards: If these things be enthusiasms and the fruits of a distempered brain, let my brain be evermore possessed with this happy distemper It must, however, be confessed that there is a cant of