E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream
Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die.

Then in a nobler, sweeter song,

I'll sing Thy power to save

When this poor lisping, stammering tongue
Lies silent in the grave.

Many there be, indeed, with whom this hymn is not a favorite. To them its imagery is unwelcome; nevertheless, it has been triumphantly sung by millions of God's saints. It was a great favorite with my honored friend, Governor Stevenson, of Kentucky. As sung at his funeral, it stirred my heart to rapid beating, and brought tears to my eyes. I could almost hear the shouts of his ransomed soul, declaring:

Then in a nobler, sweeter song,

I'll sing Thy power to save,

When this poor lisping, stammering tongue
Lies silent in the grave.

II.

660 Oh, for a closer walk with God,
A calm and heavenly frame,

A light to shine upon the road
That leads me to the Lamb!

Return, O holy Dove, return,
Sweet messenger of rest:

I hate the sins that made Thee mourn,
And drove Thee from my breast.

The dearest idol I have known,
Whate'er that idol be,

Help me to tear it from Thy throne,
And worship only Thee.

So shall my walk be close with God,
Calm and serene my frame;
So purer light shall mark the road
That leads me to the Lamb.

III.

This was a great favorite with William E. Gladstone, and

by him translated into the Italian language:

599 Hark, my soul, it is the Lord;
'Tis thy Saviour, hear His word;
Jesus speaks, and speaks to thee,
Speaks to each one, "Lov'st thou Me?"

He delivered thee when bound,
And, when wounded, healed thy wound;
Sought thee wandering, set thee right,
Turned thy darkness into light.

Can a woman's tender care
Cease towards the child she bare?
Yes, she may forgetful be;
Yet will He remember thee.

His is an unchanging love,
Higher than the heights above,
Deeper than the depths beneath,
Free and faithful, strong as death.

We shall see His glory soon,
When the work of grace is done;
Partners of His throne shall be;
Hear Him asking, "Lov'st thou Me?"

Lord, it is my chief complaint
That my love is weak and faint;

Yet I love Thee and adore;

Oh, for grace to love Thee more!

IV.

Perhaps the most powerful of all Cowper's hymns is this. It is all the more interesting to read or sing it, because of his personal experiences of perplexities and sorrows:

427 God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;

He plants His footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines,

With never-failing skill,

He treasures up His bright designs,
And works His sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take;
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy and shall break
In blessings on your head.

Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace;
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.

His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;

The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.

Blind unbelief is sure to err,
And scan His work in vain;

God is His own interpreter,

And He will make it plain.

In this connection, Mrs. Browning's touching lines upon "Cowper's Grave," may well be read:

It is a place where poets crowned may feel the heart's decaying;
It is a place where happy saints may weep amid their praying:
Yet let the grief and humbleness as low as silence languish:
Earth surely now may give her calm to whom she gave her anguish.

And now, what time ye all may read through dimming tears his story, How discord on the music fell, and darkness on the glory,

And how when, one by one, sweet sounds and wandering lights

departed,

He wore no less a loving face because so broken-hearted.

He shall be strong to satisfy the poet's high vocation,

And bow the meekest Christian down in meeker adoration;

Nor ever shall he be, in praise, by wise or good forsaken,

Named softly as the household name of one whom God hath taken.

With quiet sadness and no gloom I learn to think upon him,

With meekness that is gratefulness to God whose heaven hath won

him,

Who suffered once the madness-cloud to His own love to blind him; But gently led the blind along where breath and bird could find him,

And wrought within his shattered brain such quick poetic senses
As hills have language for, and stars harmonious influences:
The pulse of dew upon the grass kept his within its number,
And silent shadows from the trees refreshed him like a slumber.

Wild, timid hares were drawn from woods to share his home-caresses, Uplooking to his human eyes with sylvan tendernesses:

The very world, by God's constraint, from falsehood's ways removing, Its women and its men became, beside him, true and loving.

And though, in blindness, he remained unconscious of that guiding,
And things provided came without the sweet sense of providing,
He testified this solemn truth, while frenzy desolated,
Nor man nor nature satisfies whom only God created.

A word in conclusion as to John Newton's hymns. Concerning these, a competent critic has well written: "There are no hymns more popular among all sections of the Church than some of Newton's. This is largely due to the depth and vitality of his religious experience, which reached to regions far below the doctrinal forms in which it found expression. Scarcely a hymnal of any section of the Church can be mentioned which does not include some of his best known hymns. They may be found not only in hymnals of the Evangelical type, but in those so widely separated in doctrinal matters as 'Hymns Ancient and Modern' and Dr. Martineau's 'Hymns of Praise and Prayer.' From the little volume of 'Olney Hymns' the Church has drawn a far larger number of hymns, and these greatly prized, than from many more voluminous collections. Its somewhat narrow theology is softened by the reality and tenderness of the religious experience of its authors, of both of whom it may be said, "They learnt in suffering what they taught in song.'"

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Some will remember several of Newton's hymns, which we used to sing years ago, but sing no longer in our churches, e. g., those beginning: