'Hope, then, though woes be doubled, Hope and be undismayed;

Let not thine heart be troubled,
Nor let it be afraid.

This prison where thou art,

Thy God will break it soon, And flood with light Thy heart In His own blessed noon.

Up! up! the day is breaking;

Say to thy cares, "Good-night!"
Thy troubles from thee shaking,
Like dreams in day's fresh light.
Thou wearest not the crown,
Nor the best course can tell ;
God sitteth on the throne,

And guideth all things well.

Trust Him to govern, then!
No king can rule like Him;
How wilt thou wonder, when
Thine eyes no more are dim,
To see those paths which vex thee,
How wise they were and meet;
The works which now perplex thee,
How beautiful, complete!

'Faithful the love thou sharest :
All, all is well with thee !
The crown from hence thou bearest
With shouts of victory.

In thy right hand to-morrow

Thy God shall place the palms; To Him who chased thy sorrow, How glad will be thy psalms !'

Dr. Isaac Watts' term of study being closed at Stoke Newington, he being still little more than a youth, returned for some time to his father's house at Southampton, and worshipped there with the congregation that gathered under the ministry of the Rev. Nathaniel Robinson. While there he felt, and expressed his feeling, that the psalmody was far beneath the beauty and dignity of a Christian service. He was requested to produce something better, and the next Sabbathday the service was concluded with the following hymn which he had written :

'Behold the glories of the Lamb
Amidst His Father's throne ;
Prepare new honours for His Name,
And songs before unknown.

'Let elders worship at His feet,
The church adore around,
With vials full of odours sweet,
And harps of sweeter sound.

'These are the prayers of the saints,
And these the hymns they raise ;
Jesus is kind to our complaints;
He loves to hear our praise.

'Eternal Father, who shall look
Into Thy secret will?

Who but the Son shall take that book
And open every seal?

'He shall fulfil Thy great decrees,
The Son deserves it well;

Lo, in His hands the sovereign keys
Of heaven, and death, and hell!

'Now to the Lamb that once was slain
Be endless blessings paid;
Salvation, glory, joy, remain

For ever on Thy head.

'Thou hast redeem'd our souls with blood,
Hast set the pris'ners free;

Hast made us kings and priests to God,
And we shall reign with Thee.

'The worlds of nature and of grace
Are put beneath Thy power;
Then, shorten these delaying days,
And bring the promis'd hour.'

This is the tradition of the origin of the first hymn of Dr. Watts' that was sung at a Christian service. It was received with great acceptance and delight. It was indeed 'a new song.' The young poet was entreated to produce another and another. The series extended from Sabbath to Sabbath,

until almost a volume was formed, but their publication for general use was delayed for some years.

The commentator. Thomas Scott says of himself, in his little book, 'The Force of Truth,' that when his mind awoke to the sense of the need of true religion, a hymn from Watts' "Divine Songs for Children," beginning

666

Almighty God, Thy piercing eye

Strikes through the shades of night, And our most secret actions lie

All open to Thy sight.

"There's not a sin that we commit,
Or wicked word we say,

But in Thy dreadful Book 'tis writ,
Against the Judgment Day,"

fell in my way.

I was much affected by it, and, having committed it to memory, was frequently repeating it, and thus I was continually led to reflect on my guilt and danger.'

Netheravon, near Salisbury Plain, is just two miles from the humble village where Addison spent the first fifteen years of his life. He went daily to Amesbury School, and it is said that

in his walks to and fro he observed the things which suggested the touching imagery used in his translation of the twenty-third Psalm.

'The Lord my pasture shall prepare,
And feed me with a shepherd's care;
His presence shall my wants supply,
And guard me with a watchful eye;
My noonday walks He shall attend,
And all my midnight hours defend.

'When in the sultry glebe I faint,
Or on the thirsty mountain pant,
To fertile vales and dewy meads
My weary, wandering steps He leads ;
Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow,
Amid the verdant landscape flow.

'Though in the paths of death I tread,
With gloomy horrors overspread,
My steadfast heart shall fear no ill,
For Thou, O Lord, art with me still;
Thy friendly crook shall give me aid,
And guide me through the dreadful shade.

'Though on a bare and rugged way,
Through devious, lonely wilds I stray,
Thy bounty shall my pains beguile;
The barren wilderness shall smile,
With sudden greens and herbage crown'd,
And streams shall murmur all around.'