It is probable that the English version of his greatest hymn was written by himself, and this seems to indicate that he suffers in translation, for none of the English versions of his other poems is to be compared with this. Mr. Garrett Horder thinks that ‘Guide me, O Thou great Jehovah’ has been largely supplanted by ‘Lead, kindly Light,’ though the most recent hymn-books do not sustain this criticism. Keble re-wrote, but failed to improve it; and the same may be said of those who have made minor alterations. It is, and is likely to remain, one of the great songs of the Christian pilgrim in his progress from this world unto that which is to come. Mr. Elvet Lewis has given several translations of hymns hitherto unknown to English people, which are good reading, though perhaps none are likely to attain extensive use. Here are two verses in Williams’s favourite metre— Much I love the faithful pilgrims, Who the rugged steeps ascend; On their hands and knees they labour To attain the heavenly end; To the summit On my knees shall I come too. Bruisèd hands, oh! stretch ye upward, Tired feet, walk ye with care; The reward, the crown is yonder, My Belovèd—He is there! Earth forsaking Now the journey’s end is all. Here are two more in another metre, and with the cheery rhythm of John Newton— Here I know myself a stranger, And my native country lies Far beyond the ocean’s danger In the lands of Paradise: Storms of trial blowing keenly Drive me on this foreign strand; Come, O South wind, blow serenely, Speed me to my Fatherland. Now the air is full of balm With the fragrance of the land; And the breezes clear and calm Tell of Paradise at hand: Come, ye much-desired regions, With the best of joy in store; Country of the singing legions, Let me reach thy restful shore! Williams had the spirit of devout enthusiasm which characterized the Revival; his missionary hymns, though not among the best, are among the earliest of that class, and he had the rapt devotion to his Lord which is ever the inspiration of the true hymn-writer. To Thee, my God, my Saviour, Praise be for ever new; Let people come to praise Thee In numbers like the dew; O! that in every meadow The grass were harps of gold, To sing to Him for coming To ransom hosts untold![170] V Nineteenth-century Hymns I.—Anglican Hymns