We woke to-day with anthems sweet To sing before the mercy-seat, And, ere the darkness round us fell, We bade the grateful vespers swell. Whate’er has risen from heart sincere, Each upward glance of filial fear, Each litany, devoutly prayed, Each gift upon Thine altar laid; Each tear, regretful of the past, Each longing o’er the future cast, Each brave resolve,—each spoken vow,— Jesus, our Lord! accept them now. Whate’er beneath Thy searching eyes Has wrought to spoil our sacrifice; Aught of presumption, over bold, The dross we vainly brought for gold; If we have knelt at alien shrine, Or insincerely bowed at Thine, Or basely offered blind and lame, Or blushed beneath unholy shame; Or,—craven prophets,—turned to flee When duty bade us speak for Thee;— ’Mid this sweet stillness, while we bow, Jesus, our Lord! forgive us now. Oh, let each following Sabbath yield For our loved work an ampler field, A sturdier hatred of the wrong, A stronger purpose to grow strong.[199] The _Methodist Hymn-book_ contains contributions from several Methodist writers new to our authorized hymnal. Of those still living I will say nothing, but I cannot pass over the name of James Smetham (1821-89), whose tender, solemn lines, ‘While ebbing nature grieves,’ though they may rarely be sung in public, will be prized by many. Another of his hymns is in a different key. It is, perhaps, more suitable for congregational use— Show me, Lord, that Thou art love In confirmed tranquillity, Like the silent sky above, Let my craving spirit be; Dwell in life as vast and still, In the sunlight of Thy will. Thou who fillest all in all, Knowing that I wander here, Thou wilt hearken when I call, I will wait till Thou appear. Angels in Thy smile are blest; Smile, and Thou wilt give me rest. See the lilies of the field! They are all endued by Thee: Thou their innocence wilt shield; But Thou carest more for me: For like summer verdure, I Live and grow, but cannot die. Since on me Thou hast conferred This dread gift of endless life, Let my spirit walk prepared For its brief and mortal strife; Rushing then into Thy breast, Thou wilt smile, and I shall rest. The weakness of this hymn lies in the word ‘rushing’ in the fourth verse, which breaks in upon the quietness and confidence of the poem. Mark Guy Pearse has written several good hymns for children. They are, as Dr. Julian says, ‘of exceptional merit.’ Four are in the _Methodist Sunday School Book_. His Christmas carol, ‘The fierce wind howls about the hills,’ has a quaint, old-world simplicity and ruggedness that is both picturesque and affecting. His most carefully wrought hymn is a beautiful song of praise. The first two lines in each verse are its special charm. Many readers will be glad to see it here, though it is well known in Methodist Sunday schools.