Other hymns of Watts continue to hold their grip on the Christian Church after the passing of two centuries. No Christmas service seems complete without singing his beautiful paraphrase of the ninety-eighth Psalm, "Joy to the world, the Lord is come!" Another hymn, "O God, our help in ages past," based on the ninetieth Psalm, is indispensable at New Year's time. Then there is the majestic hymn of worship, "Before Jehovah's awful throne," as well as the appealing Lenten hymn, "Alas, and did my Saviour bleed?" And who has not been stirred by the challenge in "Am I a soldier of the cross?" Other hymns by Watts include such favorites as "There is a land of pure delight," "Come, Holy Spirit, Heavenly Dove," "O that the Lord would guide my ways," "My dear Redeemer and my Lord," "How beauteous are their feet," "Come, sound His praise abroad," "My soul, repeat His praise," "O bless the Lord, my soul," "Lord of the worlds above," "Lord, we confess our numerous faults," "In vain we seek for peace with God," "Not all the blood of beasts," "So let our lips and lives express," "The Lord my Shepherd is," and "When I can read my title clear." Although Watts never married, he deeply loved little children, and he is the author of some of the most famous nursery rhymes in the English language. The profound genius that produced "O God, our help in ages in past" also understood how to appeal to the childish mind by means of such happy little jingles as, "How doth the little busy bee" and "Let dogs delight to bark and bite," as well as by the exquisite cradle-song: Hush, my dear, lie still and slumber; Holy angels guard thy bed; Heavenly blessings without number Gently falling on thy head. Sleep, my babe, thy food and raiment, House and home, thy friends provide; All without thy care or payment, All thy wants are well supplied. How much better thou'rt attended Than the Son of God could be, When from heaven He descended, And became a child like thee. Soft and easy is thy cradle, Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay, When His birthplace was a stable, And His softest bed the hay. Seeking the Heavenly Prize Awake, my soul, stretch every nerve, And press with vigor on; A heavenly race demands thy zeal, And an immortal crown. A cloud of witnesses around Hold thee in full survey: Forget the steps already trod, And onward urge thy way. 'Tis God's all-animating voice That calls thee from on high; 'Tis His own hand presents the prize To thine aspiring eye: That prize with peerless glories bright Which shall new luster boast, When victors' wreaths and monarchs' gems Shall blend in common dust. Blest Saviour, introduced by Thee, Have I my race begun; And, crowned with victory, at Thy feet I'll lay my honors down. Philip Doddridge (1702-1751).