Music and Its Relation to Religion [pp. 435-441]

1856.]
NIUSIC IN ITS RELATION TO RELIGION.
The following report of a public Lecture by the celebrated Dr. John Curemin,
D. ID., of England, has, so far as we know, never yet been reprinted in this country.[Ed. So. Lit. Mess.
Music is, in its structure, as profound
as any other science; both music and
acoustics have a great sympathy with
Euclid and geomnetry; a good mathematician only can thoroughly understand
their principles. Yet there is much in
music which any ordinary mind can
understand, and more which a good ear
can appreciate. Much may be attained
by a few hours' study, and more still by
a few months' practice. A man, however, may be a good singer or performer,
and yet not a good musician. The eye is
the recipient of the impressions of the
beautiful, and the ear the chamber of the
impress of music; one is a camera lucida,
and the other a music hall. Light reveals
to the eye the tints of the flower, the brilliancy of the stars, the splendours of the
sky, and the beauties of the landscape;
the air carries on its wings the tones, and
vibrations, and harmonies of Haydn,
Handel. Mozart, and Mendelssohn. Pleasures that really elevate are cheap-those
that injure and debase are expensive.
The flowers that beautify the earth with
colour, and delight the passer-by with fragrance, are everywhere; the poison-berry
and the deadly nightshade are found only
in the untrodden swamps, where you have
no business going. The greatest joys are
on the highway. If I gaze on a landscape, I know that various parts of it belong to different owners; but its most
beautiful part the beggar at the road-side
owns as much as they, and can enjoy it
as much as they enjoy it. So of music:
any ear may hear the wind. It is a great
leveller; nay, rather, it is a great digtnifier and elevator. The wind that rushes
through the organ of St. George's Chapel
at WAindsor has first passed through the
barrel-organ of some poor Italian boy; the
voice of Jenny Lind and that of a street
singer have but one common capital to
draw on-the catholic atmosphere, the
unsectarian air, the failure of which
wou'dcl be the utter extinction of Ilandel,
Haydn, and all the rest. The air or atmosphere-this compound of nitrogen
and oxygen, to which we are so deeply
indebted-somletimnes plays the musician
of itself, and calls upon handel, Haydn,
Mozart, and MAendelssohn, upon the ocean
and in the forest; and they, like invisible, but not inaudible performers, make
glorious music. Sometimes the shrouds
of a ship, as she rolls on the tempestuous
deep, raise wild and piercing sopranos
to the skies; sometimes the trees and
branches of a forest of gigantic pines
become mighty harp-strings, which, smitten by the rushing tempests, send forth
grand and incessant harmonies,-now anthems, and anon dirges. Sometimes the
waves of the ocean respond, like whiterobed choristers, to the thunder-bass of
the sky; and so make Creation's grand
oratorio, in which "the heavens are telling," and the earth is praising God.
Sometimes deep calls unto deep, the Mediterranean to the German Sea, and both
to the Atlantic Ocean; and these, the
Moses and the Miriam of the earth,
awaken rich antiphones, and form the opposite choirs, responding from side to side
in Nature's grand cathedral, praising and
adoring their Creator and Builder. Were
man silent, God would not want praise.
It is remarkable that almost all the
sounds of nature-the bleating of sheep,
the lowing of cattle, the noise cf the
waves-are all in the minor key, plaintive, sad. This is creation itself, giving
proof of the apostle's assertion, "All
creation groaneth and travaileth in pain
together." She feels that the curse is on
her, cold and heavy on her heart, and,
longing for deliverance, she gives utterance to her ceaseless, deep, and heartrending 3liserere; and she will continue
to do so. until her Lord bid her assume
the major key, and himself give the
key note; and then, spheres above, and