Thy ways to us seem often dark, Thou crossest human wit and will: We murmur; but Thou dost Thy work; That’s wise and good, which we thought ill. If Austin is the Faber of the seventeenth century, John Mason (d. 1694), whom Baxter called ‘the glory of the Church of England,’ is its Newton. There is in Mason the same childlike simplicity which is the charm of the Olney hymns, with an added quaintness which belongs to the earlier century. He is one of the minor poets of the sanctuary, but in his own time he was amongst the best of the evangelical hymn-writers. Mason was born a Dissenter, but entered the Anglican Church. His friend, Thomas Shepherd (1665-1739), who also wrote some noteworthy hymns, seceded from the Establishment, and was for a few years pastor of the church at Nottingham, where Doddridge subsequently ministered. Of the hymns of these good men, George Macdonald and Mr. Horder express a high opinion, comparing them favourably with those of Dr. Watts. Mr. Horder justly says that Mason would have reached a higher standard had his lot been cast in a ‘hymn-singing age.’ Some of Mason’s verses are too racy for congregational use, e.g. this from ‘A Song of Praise for Health’— Their earnest cries do pierce the skies, And shall I silent be? Lord, were I sick as I am well, Thou shouldst have heard from me. The sick have not more cause to pray Than I to praise my King; Since nature teaches them to groan Let grace teach me to sing. Here is a verse from his ‘Song of Praise for the Birth of Christ’— The wakeful shepherds near their flocks Were watching for the morn; But better news from heaven was brought— Your Saviour Christ is born. In Bethlehem the Infant lies, Within a place obscure; O little Bethlehem, poor in walls But rich in furniture! One of his best hymns, perhaps the very best, is A GENERAL SONG OF PRAISE TO ALMIGHTY GOD How shall I sing that Majesty Which angels do admire? Let dust in dust and silence lie: Sing, sing, ye heavenly choir. Thousands of thousands stand around Thy throne, O God, most high: Ten thousand times ten thousand sound Thy praise; but who am I? Thy brightness unto them appears, Whilst I Thy footsteps trace: A sound of God comes to my ears, But they behold Thy face: They sing because Thou art their Sun, Lord, send a beam on me: For where heaven is but once begun, There Hallelujahs be. Enlighten with faith’s light my heart, Inflame it with love’s fire, Then shall I sing and bear a part With that celestial choir. I shall, I fear, be dark and cold With all my fire and light, Yet when Thou dost accept their gold, Lord, treasure up my mite.