‘Where congregations ne’er break up, And Sabbaths have no end.’ The dullest preachers are sure to give it out, and that when there are the greatest number of restless children wondering when it will be time to go home. It is only within ten years that modern hymn books have altered it, returning in part to the original. “I do not think we have chosen the best parts of that hymn for our ‘service of song.’ You never read the whole of it? You don’t know how pretty it is! It is a relief from the customary palms and choirs. One’s whole heart is glad of the outlet of its sweet refrain,-- ‘Would God that I were there!’ before one has half read it. You are quite ready to believe that ‘There is no hunger, heat, nor cold, But _pleasure every way_.’ Listen to this:-- ‘Thy houses are of ivory, Thy windows crystal clear, Thy tiles are made of beaten gold; O God, that I were there! ‘We that are here in banishment Continually do moan. * * * * * ‘Our sweet is mixed with bitter gall, Our pleasure is but pain, Our joys scarce last the looking on, Our sorrows still remain. ‘But there they live in such delight, _Such pleasure and such play_, As that to them a thousand years Doth seem as yesterday.’ And this:-- ‘Thy gardens and thy gallant walks Continually are green; There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers As nowhere else are seen. ‘There cinnamon, there sugar grows, There nard and balm abound, What tongue can tell, or heart conceive The joys that there are found? ‘Quite through the streets, with silver sound, The flood of life doth flow, Upon whose banks, on every side, The wood of life doth grow.’ I tell you we may learn something from that grand old Catholic singer. He is far nearer to the Bible than the innovators on his MSS. Do you not notice how like his images are to the inspired ones, and yet how pleasant and natural is the effect of the entire poem? “There is nobody like Bonar, though, to sing about heaven. There is one of his, ‘We shall meet and rest,’--do you know it?” I shook my head, and knelt down beside her and watched her face,--it was quite unconscious of me, the musing face,--while she repeated dreamily:--