He died that we might be forgiven, He died to make us good, That we might go at last to heaven, Saved by His precious blood. There was no other good enough To pay the price of sin; He only could unlock the gate Of heaven, and let us in. O dearly, dearly has He loved, And we must love Him too, And trust in His redeeming blood, And try His works to do. Cecil Frances Alexander, 1848. AN ARCHBISHOP'S WIFE WHO WROTE HYMNS Shortly before the death in 1911 of Archbishop William Alexander, primate of the Anglican Church in Ireland, he remarked that he would be remembered as the husband of the woman who wrote "The roseate hues of early dawn" and "There is a green hill far away." The humble prelate was right. Although he occupied an exalted position in the Church less than two decades ago, few people today recall his name. But who has not heard the name of Cecil Frances Humphreys Alexander, who, in spite of multitudinous duties as wife and mother, found time to be a parish worker among the poor and to write hymns that shall never die? When Cecil Frances was only a little girl, she began to reveal poetic talent. Because her father was an officer in the Royal Marines and rather a stern man, she was not sure that he would be pleased with her efforts and therefore she hid her poems under a carpet! When he finally discovered what his nine-year-old daughter was busying herself with, he set aside a certain hour every Saturday evening, at which time he read aloud to the family the poems she had written. The family numbered among its friends none other than John Keble, writer of the famous collection of devotional poems known as "The Christian Year," and he, too, gave encouragement to the youthful poet. In 1848, at the age of twenty-five, she published a volume of hymns for little children that probably has never been excelled by a similar collection. Two years later she became the bride of Rev. William Alexander, afterwards Bishop of Derry and Raphoe, and later Archbishop of Armaugh. He was rector of a country parish in the county of Tyrone at the time, and there was much poverty among his people. Among these needy folk the young minister's wife moved about like a ministering angel. A beautiful tribute to her memory from the pen of her husband reads: "From one poor home to another, from one bed of sickness to another, from one sorrow to another, she went. Christ was ever with her, and in her, and all felt her influence." But the poetic spark within her was not permitted to languish. Even when children began to bless this unusual household and the cares of the mother increased, her harp was tuned anew and sweeter songs than ever began to well up from her joyous, thankful heart.