Perhaps the finest hymn we have received from his pen, if we except "I lay my sins on Jesus," is "I heard the voice of Jesus say." Other familiar hymns are "Thy works, not mine, O Christ," "Not what my hands have done," "Blessing, and honor, and glory, and power," "All that I was, my sin, my guilt," "Thy way, not mine, O Lord," and "A few more years shall roll." In 1843 Dr. Bonar married Miss Jane Lundie, and for forty years they shared joy and sorrow. She, too, was a gifted writer, and it is she who has given us the beautiful gem, "Fade, fade, each earthly joy." Sorrow was one of the means used by the Lord to enrich and mellow the life of Bonar. Five of his children died in early years. It required much of divine grace in such experiences to write lines like these: Spare not the stroke; do with us as Thou wilt; Let there be naught unfinished, broken, marred. Complete Thy purpose, that we may become Thy perfect image, O our God and Lord. Bonar himself was sorely afflicted during the last two years of his life. He died in 1889, deeply mourned by all Scotland as well as by Christians throughout the world who had come to know him through his tracts and hymns. At his funeral one of his own hymns was sung. It was written on the theme of his family motto, "Heaven at Last." What a city! what a glory! Far beyond the brightest story Of the ages old and hoary: Ah, 'tis heaven at last! Christ Himself the living splendor, Christ the sunlight mild and tender; Praises to the Lamb we render: Ah, 'tis heaven at last! Now, at length, the veil is rended, Now the pilgrimage is ended, And the saints their thrones ascended: Ah, 'tis heaven at last! Broken death's dread bands that bound us, Life and victory around us; Christ, the King, Himself hath crowned us; Ah, 'tis heaven at last! The Dayspring from on High O very God of very God, And very Light of Light, Whose feet this earth's dark valley trod, That so it might be bright! Our hopes are weak, our foes are strong, Thick darkness blinds our eyes; Cold is the night, and O we long For Thee, our Sun, to rise! And even now, though dull and gray, The east is brightening fast, And kindling to the perfect day That never shall be past. O guide us till our path be done, And we have reached the shore Where Thou, our everlasting Sun, Art shining evermore! We wait in faith, and turn our face To where the daylight springs, Till Thou shalt come our gloom to chase, With healing on Thy wings. John Mason Neale, 1846. TWO FAMOUS TRANSLATORS OF ANCIENT HYMNS