In point of numbers at least America surpasses England and approaches Germany. Since 1841, when two anonymous versions appeared in this country, there have been at least ninety-six complete versions by American translators, bringing the total of enumerated versions in the language up to one hundred and fifty-four. Of American translators may be named William R. Williams (1843), H. H. Brownell (1847), Abraham Coles (1847 and later), William G. Dix (1852), S. Dryden Phelps (1855), John A. Dix (1863 and 1875), Marshall H. Bright (1866), Edward Slosson (1866), E. C. Benedict (1867), Margaret J. Preston (1868), Philip Schaff (1868), Samuel W. Duffield (1870 and later), John Anketell (1873), Charles W. Elliot (1881), Henry C. Lea (1882), M. W. Stryker (1883), H. L. Hastings (1886), and W. S. McKenzie (1887). This certainly, both by the length of the list and the weight of many of the names, constitutes a tribute to the power of the _Dies Irae_ such as never has been offered to any other hymn! Only Luther’s _Ein’ feste Burg_, of which there are eighty-one versions in English alone, can compare with it.[13] Of these English versions, those by Rev. W. J. Irons and Dean Stanley in England, and those of General John A. Dix and Mr. Edward Slosson in America, have enjoyed the most popularity. They certainly are excellent, but every translator seems somewhere to fail of complete success. Nor do those who have returned again and again to the attempt seem to accomplish their own ideal of a perfect translation. Dr. Abraham Coles, who has made some sixteen or seventeen renderings, is no better off than when he began. Nor do I think my own sixth version has carried me one inch beyond my first. The truth is that not even the _Pange lingua gloriosi_, which Dr. Neale calls the most difficult of poems, is in this respect the equal of this alluring and baffling hymn. But the reader, who has had no access to the hymn except through the poorest version, has the means to discern the fact that in it a great mind utters itself worthily on one of the greatest of themes. It happened to me once to enter a crowded church, where presently a distinguished German divine arose to speak. Others had addressed the audience in English; but he, turning to his fellow-countrymen, began to pour forth a trumpet-strain of lofty eloquence in his native tongue. He spoke of the “better valley,” of a happy and peaceful land. He seemed to see its broad and gentle river and to hear the chiming of its Sabbath bells. He peopled the air with its lovely citizens and created about us the presence of its glorious joy. Faintly and brokenly, as now and then he uttered some familiar words, I could catch glimpses of that _besseres Thal_, and its brightness and beauty, and the awe of its holy calmness came upon me—upon me, the stranger and the foreigner, in whose speech no word was said.