He had a small poetic gift, and some of his hymns, with their happy alliterations, quaint phrases, easy rhythm, and, above all, their simple piety, have charm and power. Dr. Johnson’s estimate of Hart may be inferred from a curious incident. ‘I went to church. I gave a shilling; and, seeing a poor girl at the sacrament in a bed-gown, I gave her privately half a crown, though I saw Hart’s hymns in her hand.’ The hymns by which he is, and will be, known, are— Come, Holy Spirit, come, Let Thy bright beams arise. Come, ye sinners, poor and wretched, And This God is the God we adore. Some of his forgotten verses have real epigrammatic force, e.g.— If profit be thy scope, Diffuse thy alms about. The worldling prospers laying up, The Christian laying out. A few other hymn-writers belong to the Dissenting Church of the eighteenth century, but they have passed or are passing from our modern hymn-books. Simon Browne (1680-1732), pastor of an Independent church in Old Jewry, published in 1720 a supplement to Watts, which shows how early Watts began to be regarded as the standard hymn-book in Congregational Churches. There is a pathetic interest in the strange affliction from which he suffered. In 1723 he was attacked by highwaymen, and defended himself with such vigour that his adversary, when he released him, was found to be dead. Browne was overwhelmed with grief, and sank into a state of melancholy which was deepened by family bereavement. ‘He imagined that God had in a gradual manner annihilated in him the thinking substance,’ yet he continued his ministry, and wrote many books, including an exposition of the First Epistle to the Corinthians in Matthew Henry’s _Commentary_. His best-known hymn is still to be found in many hymn-books. Come, Holy Spirit, heavenly Dove, My sinful maladies remove. Its form is altered and improved, having passed through the hands of many editors. He was also the author of a penitential hymn, which is much more impressive when given as Browne wrote it in the first person singular. In other respects editors have improved it by slight alterations. Lord, at Thy feet a sinner lies, And knocks at mercy’s door; With heavy heart and downcast eyes Thy favour I implore. On me the vast extent display Of Thy forgiving love; Take all my heinous guilt away, This heavy load remove. Without Thy grace I sink opprest, Down to the gates of hell: O give my troubled spirit rest, And all my fears dispel. ’Tis mercy, mercy, I implore, I would Thy pity move, Thy grace is an exhaustless store And Thou Thyself art love.