HYMNS. THE eighteenth century gave England nearly all its hymns. If any popular collection were analysed, it would be found that the chronology of its chief contents ranges between 1709, when Watts published his "Spiritual Songs," and 1800, when Cowper died. The three favourite compositions of Bishop Ken are a little older, and some delightful additions have been made to our sacred minstrelsy by writers of more recent date -by Heber and James Montgomery, by Keble and Canon Stowell, by Sir E. Denny and Horatius Bonar; but still the great staple of British hymnology is to be found in Watts and Doddridge, in Toplady, Cowper, and the Wesleys, and in those contemporaries of theirs who clothed ardent devotion in vivid words and melodious numbers. Consequently, readers who are familiar with this kind of literature will at once recognise nearly all our specimens. It has been our object to bring together a few of those Christian lyrics which have been crowned by general acclamation, rather than to move for a new trial in behalf of candidates who, however graceful or ingenious, lacked that kind of excellence which compels the popular favour. BISHOP KEN. Regarding the three following hymns, Mr Montgomery has said-" Had he endowed three hospitals he might have been less a benefactor to posterity. There is exemplary plainness of speech, manly vigour of thought, and consecration of heart in these pieces. The well-known doxology,' Praise God, from whom all blessings flow,' &c., is a masterpiece at once of amplification and compression-amplification, on the burthen 'Praise God,' repeated in each line; compression, in exhibiting God as the object of praise in every view in which we can imagine praise due to Him; praise for all His blessings-yea, for all blessings, none coming from any other source; praise, by every creature specifically involved, 'here below,' and 'in heaven above ;' praise to Him in each of the characters wherein He has revealed Himself in His word-Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Yet this comprehensive verse is sufficiently simple, that by it out of the mouths of babes and sucklings praise might be perfected;' and it appears so easy, that one is tempted to think hundreds of the so might be made without trouble. reader has only to try, he will quickly be undeceived."* This devout and conscientious prelate was born at Berkhampstead also the birthplace of Cowper-July 1637, and died at Longleat, March 19, 1711. For four years he held the bishopric of Bath and Wells, but, refusing the oath of allegiance to King William, he was deprived, and spent the rest of his life in peaceful retirement. For Morning. Awake, my soul, and with the sun Redeem thy misspent time that's past, Let all thy converse be sincere ; Influenced by the light divine, * Montgomery's "Christian Psalmist." The Reflect all Heaven's propitious ways, Wake, and lift up thyself, my heart, I wake, I wake, ye heavenly choir; May I, like you, in God delight, Had I your wings, to heaven I'd fly, Glory to Thee who safe hast kept, I would not wake, nor rise again, Heaven is, dear Lord, where'er Thou art, For to my soul 'tis hell to be But for one moment without Thee. Lord, I my vows to Thee renew Scatter my sins as morning dew; Guard my first springs of thought and will, Direct, control, suggest, this day, BISHOP KEN. That all my powers, with all their might, Praise God, from whom all blessings flow, For Evening. Glory to Thee, my God, this night, Forgive me, Lord, for Thy dear Son, Teach me to live, that I may dread O may my soul on Thee repose, When in the night I sleepless lie, Dull sleep of sense me to deprive, Thy faithful lovers, Lord, are grieved But though sleep o'er my frailty reigns, Let it not hold me long in chains, 393 The faster sleep the sense does bind, O when shall I in endless day, And endless praise, with th' heavenly choir, You, my blest Guardian, whilst I sleep, Close to my bed your vigils keep, Divine love into me instil, Stop all the avenues of ill.* Thought to thought with my soul converse, Celestial joys to me rehearse, And in my stead, all the night long Sing to my God a grateful song. Praise God, from whom all blessings flow, Praise Him, all creatures here below, Praise Him above, ye angelic host, Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. For Midnight. Lord, now my sleep does me forsake, The sole possession of me take; Let no vain fancy me illude, Bless'd angels, while we silent lie, I now awake do with you join, And bid the night and world farewell. * It would have been better if this prayer had been addressed to the Divine Spirit Himself. As it is, it is too like the Romish invocation of angels. |