Miss Winkworth's translation of Gustavus' battle hymn is as follows for the first and third verses: I. Fear not, O little flock, the foe What though your courage sometimes faints, Lasts but a little hour. III. As true as God's own word is true, A jest and byword are they grown It is, however, readily seen that a hymn of this kind must lose much in the translation. Nor in the mention of battle hymns must Julia Ward Howe's "Battle Hymn of the Republic" ever be omitted— Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord, He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored, He hath loosed the fateful lightning of nis terrible swift sword, His truth is marching on. The G. A. R. men were traveling across Iowa to a convention at Dubuque. They had been on the train all day, told all the stories they could think of, sung all the songs they knew, and toward evening all were tired and quiet. Suddenly a man sitting near the door started a ribald song to the tune of "John Brown's Body." As he concluded, without giving time for applause or laughter, Col. Hepburn was on his feet and, with raised hand and magnificant voice, sang: In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me. As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, While God is marching on. Handkerchiefs waved, and hats were lifted, and a great shout raised, while the poor vulgar singer slipped out to the smoker. The editor of a great New York paper recently wrapped the drapery of prudence about himself and, digging up the bones of John Brown, proceeded to deliver a jeremiad upon the lack of “prudence," the insanity, the "failure" of John Brown's folly. Did he fail? From Harper's Ferry to the emancipation proclamation the ghost of John Brown stood at the pillow of every advocate of slavery. He aimed to marshal the conscience of humanity, and he did it. "Prudence" forsooth! Whenever did anyone strike twelve for God or for man by taking counsel of his fears, or of his prudence, which is about the same thing, at such great moments? Leonidas, Luther, Garibaldi, Wolfe storming the heights of Abraham, Robert Emmet, O'Connell, "Mad" Anthony Wayne, Washington, were all imprudent. What! Washington? Yes, by every rule of war and prudence, his crossing the Delaware and striking an intrenched force every way his superior, was rashly imprudent. Its inspiration was justified by its success. "Go in this thy might and thou shalt save Israel," was the command to Gideon. Act while the aroma of the divine afflatus is about you, lest a mere moment's putting off make mischance as heavy as a crime. There are crises when all thoughts of prudence must be swept away. No man, sane or insane, willingly faces the cannon's mouth for nothing. John Brown did this to arouse a nation, and when on his way to execution he smilingly stopped to pat the head of a pickanniny, saying, "God will yet visit you and bring you out," he stood like a replica of Michelangelo's "Moses. And by the same token John Brown, who lies at the foundation of Mrs. Howe's great hymn, must be remembered for ever Not any spot six feet by two Will hold a man like thee. John Brown will tramp the shaking earth From Blue Ridge to the sea, Till the strong angel comes at last And opes each dungeon door, And God's great charter holds and waves And then the lowly poor will come On that far distant day, And from the felon's nameless grave Where old John Brown is laid. TENS of thousands have been moved by the pathetic appeal which Sir Walter Scott puts into the mouth of Jennie Deans, who has been introduced to the presence of Queen Caroline by the Duke of Argyle. The affecting circumstances -the Scotch dress, the presence, the wrought-up feeling and tearful voice of Jennie, all conspire to make us exclaim with the Queen, "This is eloquence!" So with the great hymns which move multitudes-Cardinal Newman's hymn, "Lead, Kindly Light," is one of the most famous in the world. Lead Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, The night is dark and I am far from home, Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see I was not ever thus-nor prayed that thou I loved to choose and see my path; but now I loved the garish day and spite of fears So long thy power hath blest me, sure it still O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till And with the morn those angel faces smile, Which I have loved long since, and lost a while. The Cardinal himself said: "It is not the hymn, but the tune that has gained the popularity." And that is probably true, for it is a great favorite with those who have no definite religious belief and who acknowledge no authority. It has always seemed to me a sort of will o' the wisp, leading everywhere and touching nowhere. It is said that two friends went to the author to inquire what he meant by the last two lines. The Cardinal said: "I think I did have a meaning, but I forget what it was.' Whatever wavering and wandering multitudes may think of it, the Kindly Light "which led its author straight into the arms of the Scarlet Woman of the Seven Hills" does not seem to commend itself particularly to the homage of other communions. Protestants and especially Baptists, who have been brought up on the great truths of the Bible, must always contrast this hymn with the magnificent strength and certainty and definiteness of that bracing hymn by William Williams of Pant-yCelyn: Guide me, O thou great Jehovah, Feed me till I want no more. Open now the crystal fountain, Whence the healing streams do flow; Lead me all my journey through. Be thou still my strength and shield. When I tread the verge of Jordan, I will ever give to thee. There is nothing crawling or creepy about this. Humbly it reaches out for the Divine Hand, but withal having a sense of dignity befitting both the supplicant and the subject-a |