Bishop Ken, born in 1637, is known chiefly by his hymns for the morning and evening, deservedly popular. He has, however, written a great many besides--too many, indeed, for variety or excellence. He seems to have set himself to write them as acts of worship. They present many signs of a perversion of taste which, though not in them so remarkable, rose to a height before long. He annoys us besides by the constant recurrence of certain phrases, one or two of which are not admirable, and by using, in the midst of a simple style, odd Latin words. Here are portions of, I think, one of his best, and good it is. FIRST SUNDAY AFTER CHRISTMAS. * * * * * Lord, 'tis thyself who hast impressed In native light on human breast, That their Creator all Mankind should Father call: A father's love all mortals know, And the love filial which they owe. Our Father gives us heavenly light, And to be happy, ghostly sight; He blesses, guides, sustains; He eases us in pains; Abatements for our weakness makes, And never a true child forsakes. He waits till the hard heart relents; Our self-damnation he laments; He sweetly them invites To share in heaven's delights; His arms he opens to receive All who for past transgressions grieve. My Father! O that name is sweet To sinners mourning in retreat. God's heart paternal yearns When he a change discerns; He to his favour them restores; He heals their most inveterate sores. * * * * * Religious honour, humble awe; Obedience to our Father's law; A lively grateful sense Of tenderness immense; Full trust on God's paternal cares; Submission which chastisement bears; Grief, when his goodness we offend; Zeal, to his likeness to ascend; Will, from the world refined, To his sole will resigned: These graces in God's children shine, Reflections of the love divine. * * * * * God's Son co-equal taught us all In prayer his Father ours to call: With confidence in need, We to our Father speed: Of his own Son the language dear Intenerates the Father's ear. _makes tender._ Thou Father art, though to my shame, I often forfeit that dear name; But since for sin I grieve, Me father-like receive; O melt me into filial tears, To pay of love my vast arrears. * * * * * O Spirit of Adoption! spread Thy wings enamouring o'er my head; O Filial love immense! Raise me to love intense; O Father, source of love divine, My powers to love and hymn incline! While God my Father I revere, Nor all hell powers, nor death I fear; I am my Father's care; His succours present are. All comes from my loved Father's will, And that sweet name intends no ill.