of the Bible delivered one of his most magnificent bursts of language, bringing tears to all eyes-bathing his peroration in the pathos of the Passion-as he described that wonderful picture in the Louvre of Mary Magdalene at the feet of the crucified Christ.

Daniel Webster said he read the Bible through every year to improve his own diction, adding: "But it has God for its author, salvation for its end and truth without any admixture of error for its matter."

A HYMN may be great in itself and yet be more fully appreciated if we knew something of the author's life and the circumstances under which its lines were written.

There is an elderly gentlemen living still, I believe, at Cape May, N. J., who in 1876 under the name of Edgar Page, wrote a hymn which was first sung by Bishop McCabe at a ministers' meeting in Philadelphia, but which soon became a vehicle of expressing religious enthusiasm all over the Christian world.

The author himself says: "I could write only two verses, when I became so influenced that I fell on my face in prayer. The following Sunday I wrote the other two verses and then could only fall down in prayer. I have never received a cent for it. I could not do work for the Master and receive pay for it. Perhaps that accounts in some measure for its popularity." The author's full name is Edgar Page Stites. I must quote only one verse:

I've reach'd the land of corn and wine,
And all its riches freely mine;

Here shines undimmed one blissful day,

For all my night has passed away.

O Beulah land, sweet Beulah land,
As on thy highest mount I stand,
I look away, across the sea,
Where mansions are prepar'd for me,
And view the shining glory shore,

My heav'n, my home, for evermore.

Dr. John Fawcett was minister of the Baptist church at Hebden Bridge, England. When about thirty years of age he was invited to the pastorate at Carter's Lane, London. Thinking his people a trifle indifferent to him he accepted the call, but upon making known his intention to his people, they came about him with such prayers and tears and protestations that they prevailed upon him to remain. He spent the rest of his life there, I believe some forty-five years, dying in 1817 at seventy-seven years of age. Immediately upon resolving to stay with his people he wrote the hymn which is now universally known and loved by Christian people:

Blest be the tie that binds

Our hearts in Christian love;
The fellowship of kindred minds
Is like to that above.

In 1666, George Neumarck, a poor scholar, was finding his way back to his native town. Born in poverty, penury pursued him. Passing through Hamburg something moved him to stop. He sought lodging at Mrs. Johassen's, living upon the barest necessaries until one day he had nothing to sell or pawn except his dear old violin. Going to Nathan, the pawnbroker, he pledged it for 25 shillings, but just as he turned to go out the desire came over him to sing his sorrows once more, and grasping the bow he poured out his soul until his face shone, and he rushed for the door. He ran against a man just outside. "Pardon me," said the stranger, "I am poor enough, but will

give a florin for a copy of that. I think it was made for me." "You can have it without the florin. Who are you?" “John Gutig, in the Swedish ambassador's service."

"Come in the morning to Mrs. Johassen's and you can have the copy."

Ten days afterward Gutig was again at Neumarck's lodging, saying: "The ambassador had a secretary who wrote all his letters, but yesterday he left and the baron does not know how to fill his place. I told him how I met you and our conversation, and showed him your writing." Baron Rosenkrantz seems to have been of the same family as Ahab's Obadiahmen who care for the Lord's saints—so he told Gutig to bring Neumarck at once. After a little conversation the ambassador handed Neumarck a bundle of papers. "Read them, sift them and make a digest of them. Take your time and when ready, knock at that door."

When Neumarck left the ambassador's hotel, he trod on air. Going straight for the pawnshop he said, "Nathan, you took advantage of my poverty, but I thank you, and give you a shilling extra."

Hastening to Mrs. Johassen's, he said: "I am the happiest man in Hamburg. Go, call in all your neighbors and I will sing you a hymn which none of you ever heard before." The room was soon filled with people and Neumarck, seizing his bow, played and sang what has since become immortal.

I must take space to quote only the first and last verses. Some of our hymn books omit it entirely; some give two or three of its six verses; one book largely used at present gives four stanzas, but in language quite different from the Winkworth translation, from which I quote:

Leave God to order all thy ways,

And hope in Him whate'er betide,
Thoul't find Him in the evil days

An all-sufficient strength and guide;
Who trusts in God's unchanging love
Builds on the rock that naught can move.

Sing, pray and swerve not from his ways,
But do thine own part faithfully;

Trust his rich promises of grace,

So shall they be fulfilled in thee.
God never yet forsook at need,
The soul that trusted him indeed.

A HYMN calculated to give strength and stability to Christian faith was written by Wm. H. Bathurst some eighty years ago:

O for a faith that will not shrink
Though pressed by every foe;
That will not tremble on the brink
Of any earthly woe.

That will not murmur nor complain
Beneath the chastening rod.
But in the hour of grief and pain
Will lean upon its God.

A faith that shines more bright and clear
When tempests rage without.

That, when in danger, knows no fear,

In darkness feels no doubt.

Many years ago there lived upon the shore of the Solway Firth an old Scotch covenanter, a man of plain living and high thinking. His little farm was swept by the sea breezes and the salt spray could be almost always tasted. His crop was al

ways scanty, and when the wind was not from the sea a land swell seemed threatening to carry away everything out to the ocean. The farmer had cut his meager grain and shocked it. over night, intending to gather it in the morning. After an early breakfast he had just taken the "big ha' Bible" for family worship, when a neighbor came rushing in: "Sandy, the wind is rising and your shocks will all go to sea unless we get them in at once. The old man looked up from the book, quietly saying, "Neither wind nor rain can take a straw that's intended for me. Sit down, mon, and let us worship God."

While there is no real conflict between Christian faith and Christian work, yet the wordy discussions between those who magnify faith at the expense of works and those who exalt works at the cost of faith will wax warm while the race exists.

Montgomery has a much admired hymn touching Christian benevolence:

Sow in the morn thy seed,

At eve hold not thy hand,

To doubt and fear give thou no heed
Broadcast it o'er the land.

And duly shall appear

In verdure, beauty, strength,
The tender blade, the stalk, the ear
And the full corn at length.

Thou canst not toil in vain.

Cold, heat, and moist and dry,
Shall foster and mature the grain
For garners in the sky.

Thence when the glorious end-
The day of God shall come-
The angel reapers shall descend
And heaven cry "Harvest home."