This may be found, vocalized with full harmony, in the _American Vocalist_. With all the parts together (more or less) it must have made a vociferous song-service, but the hymn was oftener sung simply in soprano unison; and there was sound enough in the single melody to satisfy the most zealous. All her passengers will land on the bright eternal shore, O, glory hallelujah! She has landed many thousands, and will land as many more, O, glory hallelujah! Both hymn and tune have lost their creators' names, and, like many another "voice crying in the wilderness," they have left no record of their beginning of days. "MY BROTHER, I WISH YOU WELL." My brother, I wish you well, My brother, I wish you well; When my Lord calls I trust you will Be mentioned in the Promised Land. Echoes that remain to us of those fervid and affectionate, as well as resolute and vehement, expressions of religious life as sung in the early revivals of New England, in parts of the South, and especially in the Middle West, are suggestive of spontaneous melody forest-born, and as unconscious of scale, clef or tempo as the song of a bird. The above "hand-shaking" ditty at the altar gatherings apparently took its tune self-made, inspired in its first singer's soul by the feeling of the moment--and the strain was so simple that the convert could join in at once and chant-- When my Lord comes I trust _I shall_ --through all the loving rotations of the crude hymn-tune. Such song-births of spiritual enthusiasm are beyond enumeration--and it is useless to hunt for author or composer. Under the momentum of a wrestling hour or a common rapture of experience, counterpoint was unthought of, and the same notes for every voice lifted pleading and praise in monophonic impromptu. The refrains-- O how I love Jesus, O the Lamb, the Lamb, the loving Lamb, I'm going home to die no more, Pilgrims we are to Canaan's land, O turn ye, O turn ye, for why will you die, Come to Jesus, come to Jesus, just now, --each at the sound of its first syllable brought its own music to every singer's tongue, and all--male and female--were sopranos together. This habit in singing those rude liturgies of faith and fellowship was recognized by the editors of the _Revivalist_, and to a multitude of them space was given only for the printed melody, and of this sometimes only the three or four initial bars. The tunes were the church's rural field-tones that everybody knew. Culture smiles at this unclassic hymnody of long ago, but its history should disarm criticism. To wanderers its quaint music and "pedestrian" verse were threshold call and door-way welcome into the church of the living God. Even in the flaming days of the Second Advent following, in 1842-3, they awoke in many hardened hearts the spiritual glow that never dies. The delusion passed away, but the grace remained.