'Nearer, my God, to Thee,' was written for the South Place Chapel service. There are stories of its echoes having been heard from a dilapidated log cabin in Arkansas, from a remote corner of the north of England, and from the Heights of Benjamin in the Holy Land. But even its devotion and humility have not escaped censure--arising, perhaps, from denominational bias. The fault found with it is the fault of Addison's 'How are thy servants blessed, O Lord,' and the fault of the Psalmody begun by Sternhold and Hopkins, which, published in Geneva in 1556, electrified the congregation of six thousand souls in Elizabeth's reign,--it has no direct reference to Jesus. Compilers of hymn-books have sought to rectify what they deem a lapse in Christian spirit by the substitution of a verse begining "Christ alone beareth me." But the quality of the interpolated verse is so inferior to the lyric itself that it has not found general acceptance. Others, again, with an excess of zeal, have endeavored to substitute "the Cross" for "a cross" in the first stanza. An even share of its extraordinary vogue must in bare justice be credited to the tune which Dr. Lowell Mason has made an inseparable part of it; though this does not detract in the least from its own high merit, or its capacity to satisfy the feelings of a devout soul. A taking melody is the first condition of even the loveliest song's obtaining popularity; and this hymn was sung for many years to various tunes, including chants, with no general recognition of its quality. It was Dr. Mason's tune, written about 1860, which sent it at once into the hearts of the people. HE SENDETH SUN, HE SENDETH SHOWER He sendeth sun, he sendeth shower, Alike they're needful to the flower; And joys and tears alike are sent To give the soul fit nourishment. As comes to me or cloud or sun, Father! thy will, not mine, be done. Can loving children e'er reprove With murmurs, whom they trust and love? Creator, I would ever be A trusting, loving child to thee: As comes to me or cloud or sun, Father! thy will, not mine, be done. Oh, ne'er will I at life repine,-- Enough that thou hast made it mine. When falls the shadow cold of death, I yet will sing with parting breath, As comes to me or cloud or sun, Father! thy will, not mine, be done. NEARER, MY GOD, TO THEE Nearer, my God, to thee, Nearer to thee! E'en though it be a cross That raiseth me; Still all my song shall be,-- Nearer, my God, to thee, Nearer to thee! Though, like a wanderer, The sun gone down, Darkness be over me, My rest a stone; Yet in my dreams I'd be Nearer, my God, to thee, Nearer to thee!