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No black, no white, no bond, no free,
All hues, all states alike to me;
No rich no poor, no great, no small,

But man! man! MAN! and God o'er all!

V.

God over all. I saw his hand
Uphold the weak in every land,
And smite the oppressor in his ire
With lightning-hail and showers of fire;
He turned the sacred Nile to blood,
He chained old ocean's foaming flood,
He led Euphrates' conscious tide

From Babylon's doomed and damning pride;
He sent the Persian madman home,
He humbled Carthage, humbled Rome,
And hurled with one indignant breath
The Armada's power to scorn and death.

VI.

He led the Jew from Egypt's brick,
And Babylon's slime-pits dark and thick;
He led the Turk from Altai's mines
To empire where the Bosphorus shines;
He led the North's barbarian hordes

To rule their plunderers, Rome's proud lords;
He bade the downtrod Sclavic serf
Spring up enfranchised from the turf;
He raised the abject Saxon slave
To reign on every shore and wave;

And through all woe, and war, and wrong
He saved the weak but smote the strong,
Till this I read through all earth's past,
The slave at first is king at last!

VII.

But still I saw one meek, dumb race
The prey of every Nimrod's chase.
Afric's mysterious, unknown land
Stood like a statue, dim but grand;
Grand in a suffering sublime

That mocked the martyrdoms of time.
Reft of her children, reft of light,
Huge, helpless, hopeless, robed in night,
I saw her ancient, awful form

Rise dark toward heaven amid the storm,
And heard her untranslated cry
Go up to God in agony.

VIII.

Crash fell the thunderbolt! The glare
Of lightnings burned the sulphurous air!
Not idle bolts of mythic Jove,
But God's own answer from above.
I woke hill, valley, prairie flood,
One sea of blood! one sea of blood!
It stained the land, the sea, the sky,
It stained the eternal stars on high,
O, God of peace! O, God of war!
I knew what for! I knew what for!

IX.

One dead in every house! O, land,
Planted and dressed by God's own hand!
O, sons of heroes snatched to heaven
In lightning-chariots, angel-driven !

O, statesmen, clad with trust divine! Read! read! O, read this awful signThe slave! Ay, brother of our blood, Offspring, heir, image once of God! Soul, flesh, like his who died to saveIt is the slave! It is the slave!

X.

But hark! Rejoice! rejoice! REJOICE!
A voice, a solemn, sovereign voice
Proclaims with power and majesty,
"Be free!" "be free!" "FOREVER FREE!"
Shout! shout! ring bells! let bonfires flame!

Let booming guns the joy proclaim!
Let land to land, and sea to sea
Roll on the anthem of the free,
Till it shall sweep in strength sublime
The breadth of earth, the length of time,
And burst in glad and grateful roar
Of praise along the heavenly shore!

ΧΙ.

"Amen!"

"The promise must be kept."
Let heaven and earth respond again.
"The promise must be kept." Praise God!
Our virtue thrives beneath his rod.
"The promise shall be kept." Again
Let million freemen shout, "Amen!
It shall! And never, never more
Shall slavery drench this land in gore;
And, though all earth, all hell combine
To ravage Freedom's sacred shrine,
We'll trust in Him whose sword ne'er slept,
And swear-The promise shall be kept!"

XII.

The war-cloud lifts-the future smiles
Like Ocean round his tropic isles.
Blood yet must flow, and tears must rain
From many a heart, but not in vain.
Soon as the nation's heart is broke,

God stays at once the avenging stroke;
Soon as, in spite of pride and pelf,
We love our neighbor as ourself,
And practice what we've preached so long,
That instant in the right we 're strong,
And God smites for us with his rod,
For man is man when God is God.

XIII.

Once more I see-it is no dream-
A light from heaven on Afric beam;
And all her dim and giant hight
Grows radiant with a blessed light.
Her children in a Christian clime
Grow great and wise, and good with time,
And give their gold, their life, their love
To bear her tidings from above,
Christ and the Christian's light and love,
Till, nobler, purer than of yore,
America and Afric stand,
And praise Jehovah hand in hand.

WHEN all the blandishments of life are gone, The coward sneaks to death, the brave live on.

AN HOUR AMONG HYMN-BOOKS.

BY REV. F. M. BIRD.

Behind me and at my right rise two goodly bookcases. One contains merely originals, or what we call sources-that is, the hymns, poems, or works of any given author, entire or in part, published either by himself or by some competent person after his death. It is to these that we must go to verify the authorship or text of any particular hymn, also to see how many and what sort of hymns each author wrote, and whether there be any good ones which have not been noticed and used. Thus the use of possessing and examining these books is twofold. Most of the hymns we have in use in our modern collections do not stand as their authors wrote them, but are more or less altered, or abridged, or both. Some of the changes are great improvements, some are shocking mutilations, many are slight verbal variations, which affect the sense or the expression, not much, but somewhat, for good or evil. But if we want to come directly into communion with an author without the intervention of editors and interpreters, if we wish to hear just what he means and says and how he says it, we must go to his own original book. I remember an instance in which the lie is literally given to an author, and what is worse is put into his own mouth. Many collections contain-the Methodist Episcopal does notpart of Tate and Brady's 130th Psalm, beginning,

ENGLISH hymnology is assuming the conse-
quence and being developed into the pro-
portions of a recognized science. There is a
bookseller in London who gives his exclusive
attention to the subject, and whose shop is
devoted to volumes in this department of litera-
ture. He can at a few moments' notice answer
any question regarding the text, authorship, or
history of almost any hymn, and can show his
visitors the first, last, or intermediate editions
of any hymn-book, original or select, which
they may wish to see. American students, of
course, enjoy no such facilities; but there are a
few private libraries whose owners have appre-
hended the importance of the Church's poetry,
and gathered more or less upon the subject.
From such a library I write now, and at my
elbow rises what I shrewdly suspect to be the
only hymnologic collection in this country that
approximates completeness. It belongs to a gen-
tleman who may be called the pioneer of hym-
nology in America, and to whom all lovers of
sacred song, and especially all Methodists, are
under lasting obligations. All human knowl-
edge comes in this way by gradual steps from
small beginnings in the individual. Somebody
is drawn by innate taste or outward accident
toward some minute, unknown speciality. He
takes it up first, perhaps, as a whim, and fol-
lows it afterward as a solid pleasure and serious In the first edition, 1698, this reads,
pursuit, and by and by the world gets the
benefit of his researches. Hobbies
may be very
innocent and useful things; some one must get
and spend skill in taming Pegasus before the
ladies, and children, and sober, busy men, who
have not much horsemanship, can ride him.

I propose introducing the readers of the Repository, or such of them as feel any curiosity that way, to my friend's library. I think they can pass an hour with pleasure and profit among his old books. I know I have spent weeks there and never regretted them. Nor need the ladies fear such black contamination as is apt to punish fingers which meddle with old books. The hymn-books are old indeed, and time-stained, but not dusty; we use them too much and keep them too carefully for that. And how neatly they are labeled, and patched, and covered, and rebacked, and bound! Now, hymn-books are not often bound splendidly, nor printed on the finest paper, nor got up generally in the publisher's best style; but a more respectable set of old volumes you will not often see than I show you to-day.

"My soul with patience waits
For thee, the living Lord."

"My soul doth with impatience wait," etc.
This reminds me of the cool manner in which
good John Kent explains that slightly-trouble-
some passage-Matthew xvi, 18-on which the
Romanists build so largely, "Thou art Peter,
and on this rock," etc.:

"Thou Peter art, but I'm thy Lord,
By all the angelic host adored;
And on myself, thy faith can see

I build my Church, and not on thee."

But I am wandering from my subject. The other chief advantage of having the original volumes at our elbow is, that we can thereby see how much a man did and how well he did it. When we know that an author has done some good things we are apt to wonder if there are not more. And there generally are. By no means all the best hymns of any writer of note, besides Watts and Addison, are in use. Our standard collections usually contain in about equal proportions the best and most ordinary hymns in the language-not the worst,

but the most negative, commonplace, indifferent. Mediocrity and merit seem to be equally sought; and, doubtless, this is with a benevolent desire to be all things to all men, for are there not in every congregation two classesthose who have taste, who know and enjoy a good thing when they see it, and those who are not thus appreciative or gifted? And can not the more favored class be satisfied with the good hymns while the poor people are edified by the others?

The study of these originals is very interesting and suggestive. A law ought to be passed requiring every compiler to possess them, and severely punishing any body who presumes to make a new hymn-book-as is always done simply out of other collections. Such a person is as bad as the commentator who works merely with reference to King James's version, not understanding the Greek and Hebrew. The hymn-book is next to the Bible, and the good men from whom its contents came had a sort of secondary inspiration, enabling them to write their good hymns. The inspiration sometimes failed, and then they wrote poorly. To be sure a number wrote who had no mission to do it, and no inspiration at all. Others put forth volumes, in which, buried under a mountain of rubbish, lies a single pearl. And in yet others one has to wade through two, three, six hundred pages of useless marsh to discover and explore half a dozen green islands that bear flowers of beauty and precious fruits. No where are there more ocean gems and desert flowers than in English hymnology-a vast, unknown land, which a few venturesome travelers, like Livingstone, Du Chaillu, Speke, and Grant in Africa, must visit, examine, and describe for the whole human race.

Now for a few of our curiosities. We begin with the oldest. Here is an edition of Sternhold and Hopkins, in black letter, London, 1603. Here is the way good J. H. rendered Psalm 74, verse 11:

"Why dost withdrawe thy hand abacke,
And hide it in thy lap?

O, plucke it out and be not slacke
To give thy foes a rap."

The next is a greater rarity—a small volume, heavily bound and magnificently gilt-"The Psalms of King David, Translated by King James. Cum Privilegio Regiæ Majestatis." This is on a gorgeous title-page, where David and James stand upright, each in his robes and crown, receiving, each in one hand, the volume of Psalms, which is being handed down from heaven. The evident idea is, that these two

are par nobile fratrum, equal as kings, saints, poets. Posterity hardly sees it in that light, though the version has received some praise. On the last page I read, Oxford, Printed by William Turner, Printer to the famous University. MDCXXXI."

We pass by a number of sacred poets, who wrote a very few pieces that may be or have been called hymns; chief among them are Crashaw, Sandys, Baxter, Quarles, and Herbert. That excellent hymn of the last,

"Teach me, my God and king,
In all things thee to see,"

owes its present dress to John Wesley, who published it and many others, modernized and altered from Herbert, in "Hymns and Sacred Poems," 1739. This piece is in many collections, and should be in the Methodist Episcopal.

Hymn-making, as a business, commenced shortly before the advent of Dr. Watts. In 1688 appeared a bulky 18mo-"Six Centuries of Select Hymns and Spiritual Songs, collected out of the Holy Bible; together with a Catechism, the Canticles, and a Catalogue of Virtuous Women. By William Barton, A. M., late minister of St. Martin's, in Leicester." The worthy Barton was what is now called a machine-poet, and a favorable specimen of that class. Very different is the claim of good John Mason, rector of Water Stratford, who died 1694. There lies before me, most villainously printed, the third edition-1691-of his "Spiritual Songs, or Songs of Praise to Almighty God upon Several Occasions." And they are songs of praise indeed, brimful of piety and poetry, warm, simple, earnest, quaint, thoroughly personal, but no less lyrical, full of strange fancies and solid thoughts, instructive, edifying, delightful. Here are the first lines in the book: "How shall I sing that majestie

Which angels do admire?

Let dust in dust and silence lie,
Sing, sing, ye heav'nly quire.
Thousands of thousands stand around
Thy throne, O God most high;

Ten thousand times ten thousand sound

Thy praise, but who am I?"

A very few hymns of this excellent poet remain in modern books, and a number more ought to be introduced there. No. 611, Methodist Episcopal, is altered and abridged from one of his, containing seven verses.

Here is an old book which contains something interesting to Methodists: "Reformed Devotions in Meditations, Hymns, and Petitions for every Day in the Week and every

Holiday in the Year. By Theophilus Dorrington, Rector of Wittesham, in Kent. Seventh edition, 1708. On page 165, hymn 14, I read:

"Dear Jesu, when, when shall it be

That I no more shall break with thee?
When will this war of passion cease,
And let my soul enjoy thy peace?

Here I repent, and sin again;
Now I revive, and now am slain;
Slain with the same unhappy dart

The Wesleyan publications began in 1738, and continued for half a century; but as they are minutely described in Mr. Creamer's Methodist Hymnology-New York, 1848-a work which every Methodist who at all appreciates the unrivaled treasures of Wesleyan poetry ought to possess, I go into no enumeration of them here. They comprise eleven volumes of over one hundred pages each, over twenty original tracts of eight to one hundred pages, and about ten different selections from the others. The whole number of published poems by Charles Wesley is over 4,200, five times as many as have been put forth by any one other English hymn-writer, unless we except one Thomas Row, an obscure scribbler of fifty years ago, who is said to have been guilty of a thousand "copies of verses."

Which, O, too often wounds my heart!" Comparing this with hymn 856, Methodist Episcopal, you find its first and second verses identical with these, except a few alterations. The third verse of 856 is by Charles Wesley. While I am on this point let me say that hymn 292—“Of Him who did salvation bring”likewise ascribed to C. Wesley, is taken from a long poem in Arndt's True Christianity, translated from the Latin by Anthony William Boehm, London, 1720. It is headed, "A Hymn of St. Bernard to the Holy Jesus;" has forty-portant and interesting of these was John Cenone verses of four lines each, each line comprising ten syllables. Here is the original of verse 3:

The example of Watts and Wesley called forth a goodly array of sacred versifiers, a few of whom had considerable talent, others a little, and many none at all. Among the most im

nick, known as having been Wesley's teacher at Kingswood, and afterward going over to Calvinism. He was a man of honest intentions and ardent piety, though perhaps weak and

15. "That sin might lose its shame, he blushed in misguided. Mr. Wesley published in the Amer

blood,

And closed his eyes that we might see his God;
Let all the world fall lowly down, and know
None but a God such mighty love could show."

It was probably modified to its present shape by John Wesley. Charles has hymns enough of his own, and does not need the work of others ascribed to him.

"

Dr. Watts's poems are no curiosity. Of his Psalms and Hymns" hundreds of editionsliterally-have been printed, and of his Hora Lyricæ, dozens. Besides these, his sermons, miscellanies, etc., contain over forty hymns.

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ican Magazine for 1779 a letter from him, dated June 25, 1751, in which Cennick expresses these noble sentiments: "As long as people in many things think differently all must be allowed their Christian liberty; and, though souls may remove from you to us, or from us to you, without becoming better, or with simple and upright views to please our Savior alone, and to do his will, I can see no harm in it. I really love the servants and witnesses of Jesus our dear Savior in all the world, and am sorry if I ever feel such a thought, as if I had rather souls should be blest under our ministry Here is something of interest: "Hymns and than through others." Before me are two Spiritual Songs, in Three Books: I. On Various thick volumes containing five separate publicaSubjects. II. Adapted to the Lord's Sup- tions from his pen: 'Sacred Hymns for the per. III. In Particular Measures. By Simon children of God in the Days of their PilgrimBrowne." 1720. This is the man who is men- age," 1741; ditto, parts I and II, 1742; and tioned in the Books of Mental Philosophy as "" 'Sacred Hymns for the Use of Religious the victim of a most singular monomania. He Societies," parts I and II, 1743, and part III, thought the thinking power had been annihila- 1744. Their contents exhibit every variety of ted in him, and that he had no longer a soul. merit, from genuine poetry to mere doggerel; This idea he expressed pathetically in the dedi- but Cennick, taken all in all, is by no means a cation of one of his books to Queen Anne. He contemptible writer. No one ever drank in was a highly-respectable dissenting minister, more of Charles Wesley's spirit, though Toplady save on every other subject, and, as Toplady more nearly reproduced his style. But Censaid, "instead of having no soul, spoke, wrote, nick was not a mere imitator; there was some and acted as if he had two." His hymns are original poetry in his soul. He had much of solid, readable, and, in some instances, excellent. the simplicity and tenderness which make Hymn 401, Methodist Episcopal, is his, but is Burns so charming, with a Christian humility far from being one of his best. and faith that were all his own. His verses

are often touching, sometimes even elegant, and usually full of experimental meaning and Gospel strength. Witness those two immortal lyrics, "Children of the heavenly King," and "Jesus, my all, to heaven is gone," which in the originals contain, the one twelve, the other eight verses. Here is something that none of my readers have seen before, on Christ stilling the storm:

"If thou be in this heart of mine,

No tempest will I fear;

Nor hell, nor death, though both combine,
Shall drive me to despair.

In every storm I'll cry to thee,

And thou shalt say, Be still;

A present calm mine eyes shall see
Obedient to thy will.

O, let my anchor be thy love,

On thee my rock made sure,

Nor winds nor storms shall me remove,
My faith shall firm endure.

O, enter, Lord, my little ark,
Then, though the ocean roar,
Fearless for Zion I'll embark,

And safely reach her shore."

Cennick's hymns have never been reprinted, while Joseph Hart's, which are much of the same sort, have passed through numerous editions. He was a stiff Calvinist, and much of the book is taken up with unconditional election, unavoidable perseverance, and such like. For instance:

"Brethren, would you know your stay?
What it is supports you still?
Why, though tempted every day,
Yet you stand, and stand you will?
Long before our birth,

Nay, before Jehovah laid

The foundations of the earth,
We were chosen in our Head.
God's election is the ground

Of our hope to persevere," etc.

If we Arminians had no more Scriptural "ground" and "stay" than that it would be a pity. But Hart, in spite of his predestination, seems to have been a liberal catholic Christian, enough so certainly to write several very valuable hymns. Come, ye sinners, poor and needy," is any thing but Calvinistic; and that less known but noble poem on Gethsemane, beginning in the original, "Jesus, while he dwelt below," and in some collections, "Many woes had Christ endured," is not marred by any suggestion of the creed that limits the uses of Christ's agony to an arbitrarily chosen few.

Dr. Summers has observed on Maria de Henry's hymn in the old Methodist Episcopal book-"Thou soft-flowing Kedron, by thy sil

ver stream"-that Kedron is one of the sewers of Jerusalem, and is, when it runs at all, a dark and filthy current. Joseph Hart, perhaps by accident, represents the matter correctly:

"Gloomy garden, on thy beds,

Washed by Kedron's waters foul,
Grow most rank and bitter weeds;
Think on thee my sinful soul."

And elsewhere:

"O, Kedron, gloomy brook, how foul
Thy black, polluted waters roll!"

If the poet was acquainted with the historic fact mentioned by Dr. Summers he made a fine use of it.

These are but a few specimens of my friend's originals. Here are the single volumes of Doddridge, Montgomery, Kelly, Beddome, Fawcett, Medley, and many lesser lights. Here are the three volumes, full calf, with a fancy frontispiece, quite gorgeously engraved, to each-London, 1780 of excellent Anne Steele, called, by an English fashion and an American blunder, Mrs. Steele, for the good woman's affections were disappointed on earth at an early age, and she transferred them all to heaven. Here is that precious treasure of homely and experimental piety, the Olney hymns, which, let overdelicate critics say what they will, has edified hundreds of thousands, and will, with its beloved and revered authors, be "had in everlasting remembrance." Good John NewtonI love the man, Calvinist as he was, for if ever there was a simple, honest, humble, liberal, genuine, loving, and working Christian he was one says in the Preface that the book was "intended as a monument to perpetuate the memory of an intimate and endeared friendship." Seldom have two nobler samples, in diverse ways, of human character and divine grace been thus allied than Cowper and Newton. I lately found in the Evangelical Magazine for 1824-sixteen years after his death-a scarce piece of Newton's, which is so characteristic, so full of quiet but deep humility and gratitude, and refers so touchingly to the wonderful mercies of Providence and grace displayed in his earlier life, that I must transcribe it:

TO MRS. HANNAH MORE.

BY THE REV. J. NEWTON.

Written in her album at Cowslip Green, when asked to insert
his name previous to seeing her, as was the custom.
Why should you wish a name like mine
Within your book to stand,

With those who shone and those who shine
As worthies of our land?
What will the future age have gained
When my poor name is seen,

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