The hymn was a favorite with William McKinley, the martyred president. When he was dying, his attending physician heard him murmur, "'Nearer, my God, to Thee, E'en though it be a cross,' has been my constant prayer." That Sweet Story of Old I think, when I read that sweet story of old, When Jesus was here among men, How He called little children as lambs to His fold, I should like to have been with them then. I wish that His hand had been placed on my head, That His arm had been thrown around me, And that I might have seen His kind look when He said, "Let the little ones come unto Me." Yet still to His footstool in prayer I may go, And ask for a share in His love; And if only I earnestly seek Him below, I shall see Him and hear Him above. In that beautiful place He has gone to prepare For all who are washed and forgiven, Full many dear children are gathering there, "For of such is the kingdom of heaven" But thousands and thousands who wander and fall Never heard of that heavenly home: I should like them to know there is room for them all, And that Jesus has bid them to come. And O how I long for that glorious time, The sweetest and brightest and best, When the dear little children of every clime Shall crowd to His arms and be blest! Jemima Luke, 1841. A HYMN WRITTEN IN A STAGE-COACH Some one has said, "Let me write the songs of a nation, and I care not who may write its laws." It is a wise saying; for who can estimate the influence of the songs we sing, especially the songs of children? There is no better way to teach Christian truths to children than to have them sing those truths into their hearts and souls. When Jemima Luke sat in an English stage-coach in 1841 composing the lines of a little poem that had been ringing in her mind, she could scarcely have known she was writing a hymn that would gladden the hearts of thousands of children in many years to come. But that is how she wrote "I think when I read that sweet story of old," and that is the happy fate that was in store for her labor of love. Her maiden name was Jemima Thompson. Her father was a missionary enthusiast, and she herself was filled with zeal for mission enterprises. Even as a child, at the age of thirteen, she was an anonymous contributor to "The Juvenile Magazine." When she was twenty-eight years old she visited a school where the children had been singing a fine old melody as a marching song. "What a lovely children's hymn it would make," she thought, "if only there were suitable religious words for it."