William Barton may be taken as a fair example of the poorer hymn-writers of the time. There is little to choose between the best and the worst of his _Six Centuries of Hymns_. The work was dedicated to Sir Matthew Hale, who had spoken a good word for the hymns to the Mayor and Aldermen of Leicester, in which town Barton had been minister of St. Martin’s Church. Led by Dr. Julian’s statement that these hymns ‘deserve more attention from compilers than they have hitherto received,’ I have searched them diligently, but in vain. I am most impressed that such dull productions could ever have been popular. There is, indeed, something very pathetic in the author’s evident satisfaction with his work and in his son’s pride in his father’s ‘pious and laborious undertaking,’ which he was led to attempt, ‘finding that the ancient usage of our speech in Sternhold and Hopkins’s translation was become obsoletely contemptuous to many people of this age.’ This filial editor believed that the hymn-book ‘would sufficiently manifest its excellency in the perusal,’ a belief which the extensive circulation of its many editions may be taken to justify. Barton’s first book, his version of the Psalms, was published in 1644, and the last edition was printed in 1768. During a great part of that period it was probably the standard psalter of the Nonconformist congregations. His hymns are usually brief, and he was careful to use familiar metres, having a special weakness for ‘delicate and expeditious tunes.’ His psalms and hymns owed their long life to the poverty of rivals, but one cannot be surprised that Enoch Watts, in urging his brother ‘to oblige the world by showing it your hymns in print,’ should say that ‘honest Barton chimes us asleep.’ The following verses are a fair specimen— My Saviour, my Beloved One, Is mine and I am His; Chief of ten thousand He alone, Pure red and white He is. Made sin for us that knew no sin, That so we might be made The righteousness of God in Him, By whom the price was paid. Stronger than death His love is found. Not to be bought with goods: Nor quenched with waters, nor be drowned With whatsoever floods. O draw me, my dear Saviour, With these strong cords of love, And then will we go after Thee As fast as we can move.[86] Although the seventeenth century is poor in hymn-writers, we find some grand and beautiful hymns written by poets and men of letters. There is, for instance, Sir Thomas Browne’s evening hymn, of which he says, ‘This is the dormitive I take to bedward: I need no other _laudanum_ than this to make me sleep; after which I close mine eyes in security, content to take my leave of the sun, and sleep unto the resurrection.’[87] The night is come, like to the day; Depart not Thou, great God away. Let not my sins, black as the night, Eclipse the lustre of Thy light. Keep still in my horizon; for to me The sun makes not the day, but Thee.