In distant hallelujahs stole

Wild murmuring o'er the raptured soul.

On wheels of light, on wings of flame
The glorious hosts of Zion came;

High heaven with songs of triumph rung
While thus they struck their harps and sung:

"O Zion, lift thy raptured eye,
The long expected hour is nigh,
Renewed, creation smiles again,
The Prince of Salem comes to reign.

"He comes to cheer the trembling heart,
Bids Satan and his host depart;

Again the day star gilds the gloom,
Again the bowers of Eden bloom."

Campbell's "Lochiel," "Lord Ullin's Daughter" and "Hohenlinden" endear his name to all the world. One night in Edinburgh he had a number of choice spirits for a time of festivity at his rooms, Sir Walter Scott being among the number. They broke up along in the "wee sma' hours ayont the twal." Scott, being lame, was a little unfortunate in missing the top step of the outer stairs, and so fell, rolling down a number of steps, making a great clatter. Campbell sprang to the door with a candle, crying, "Who's there?"

From the dark depths came up Scott's cheerful voice, with a line from "Hohenlinden," ""Tis 'Iser rolling rapidly.'

When Campbell awoke the morning after the publication of his "Pleasures of Memory" he found himself famous, nor have the passing years diminished his reputation. But while the "Pleasures of Memory" and "Gertrude of Wyoming" roll their great rivers of thought and feeling through the realm

of literature, there is a little Pierian fountain springing up among his minor pieces-as imaginative as Poe's "Raven," without the raving-which has always held a weird fascination for this writer. In these days when the newspapers are already reporting the losses in the great European war as 8,000,000, besides 500,000 Armenians murdered, it does not require a wonderful stretch of fancy to conjure up a possible realization of Campbell's picture of "The Last Man:"

All wordly shapes shall melt in gloom,

The Sun himself must die

Before this mortal shall assume
Its immortality!

I saw a vision in my sleep

That gave my spirit strength to sweep

Adown the gulf of Time!

I saw the last of human mold
That shall Creation's death behold,
As Adam saw her prime!

The Sun's eye had a sickly glare,
The Earth with age was wan,
The skeletons of nations were
Around that lonely man!

Some had expired in fight-the brands
Still rusted in their bony hands;

In plague and famine some!

Earth's cities had no sound nor tread;
And ships were drifting with the dead
To shores where all was dumb!

Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood
With dauntless words and high,

That shook the sere leaves from the wood
As if a storm passed by,

Saying, "We are twins in death, proud Sun! Thy face is cold, thy race is run,

'Tis Mercy bids thee go;

For thou, ten thousand-thousand years
Hast seen the tide of human tears,
That shall no longer flow.

"What though beneath thee man put forth His pomp, his pride, his skill;

And arts that made fire, flood and earth,
The vassals of his will!

Yet mourn I not thy parted sway,
Thou dim discrowned king of day-
For all those trophied arts

And triumphs that beneath thee sprang,
Heal'd not a passion or a pang
Entail'd on human hearts.

"Go; let oblivion's curtain fall
Upon the stage of men,
Nor with thy rising beams recall
Life's tragedy again.

Its piteous pageants bring not back,
Nor waken flesh upon the rack
Of pain anew to writhe;
Stretch'd in disease's shapes abhorr'd
Or mown in battle by the sword
Like grass beneath the scythe.

"Ev'n I am weary in yon skies
To watch thy fading fire;
Test of all sumless agonies,
Behold not me expire.

My lips that speak thy dirge of death

Their rounded gasp and gurgling breath

To see thou shalt not boast.

The eclipse of Nature spreads my pall—
The majesty of darkness shall
Receive my parting ghost!

"This spirit shall return to Him
Who gave its heavenly spark;
Yet think not, Sun, it shall be dim
When thou thyself art dark!
No! It shall live again, and shine
In bliss unknown to beams of thine,
By Him recall'd to breath,
Who captive led captivity,
Who robb'd the grave of Victory
And took the sting from Death!

"Go, Sun, while Mercy holds me up
On Nature's awful waste

To drink this last and bitter cup
Of grief that man shall taste.
Go tell the night that hides thy face

Thou saw'st the last of Adam's race

On Earth's sepulchral clod,

The darkening universe defy
To quench his Immortality

Or shake his trust in God."

THE following splendid hymn, much endeared to the Christian church, was written by Rev. Samuel Medley, of Liverpool, who died in 1799. It is founded upon Isiah lxiii., 7: "I will mention the loving kindness of the Lord:"

Awake, my soul, in joyful lays,

And sing thy great Redeemer's praise;
He justly claims a song from me;
His loving kindness, oh, how free!

He saw me ruined by the fall,
Yet, loved me, notwithstanding all;
He saved me from my lost estate;
His loving kindness, oh, how great!

Though numerous hosts of mighty foes,
Though earth and hell my way oppose,
He safely leads my soul along;
His loving kindness, oh, how strong!

I often feel my sinful heart
Prone from my Savior to depart,
But though I oft have him forgot,
His loving kindness changes not.

Soon shall I pass the gloomy vale;
Soon all my mortal powers must fail;
Oh, may the last, expiring breath
His loving kindness sing in death.

Then let me mount and soar away
To the bright world of endless day;
And sing, with rapture and surprise,
His loving kindness in the skies.

It is always a mistake to supplant a great word by an inferior. In a late version of the Bible we find the "tabernacle of David" changed to the "hut" of David, and the word "mercy" repeatedly used instead of the great, grand, embracing word "loving-kindness." Mercy is vastly inferior to loving kindness. The judge may show mercy to the prisoner, but never exhibits nor feels a particle of loving kindness unless he be some large souled Ben Lindsey.

De Quincey well said: "The sacrificing of the majestic language of the Bible must end in the ruinous dilution of re