Krishna Pal, a native carpenter, in consequence of an accident, came under the care of Mr. Thomas, a missionary who had been a surgeon in the East Indies and was now an associate worker with William Carey. Mr. Thomas set the man's broken arm, and talked of Jesus to him and the surrounding crowd with so much tact and loving kindness that Krishna Pal was touched. He became a pupil of the missionaries; embraced Christ, and influenced his wife and daughter and his brother to accept his new faith. He alone, however, dared the bitter persecution of his caste, and presented himself for church-membership. He and Carey's son were baptized in the Ganges by Dr. Carey, Dec. 28, 1800, in the presence of the English Governor and an immense concourse of people representing four or five different religions. Krishna Pal wrote several hymns. The one here noted was translated from the Bengalee by Dr. Marshman. O thou, my soul, forget no more The Friend who all thy sorrows bore; Let every idol be forgot; But, O my soul, forget him not. Renounce thy works and ways, with grief, And fly to this divine relief; Nor Him forget, who left His throne, And for thy life gave up His own. Eternal truth and mercy shine In Him, and He Himself is thine: And canst thou then, with sin beset, Such charms, such matchless charms forget? Oh, no; till life itself depart, His name shall cheer and warm my heart; And lisping this, from earth I'll rise, And join the chorus of the skies. _THE TUNE._ There is no scarcity of good long-metre tunes to suit the sentiment of this hymn. More commonly in the Baptist manuals its vocal mate is Bradbury's "Rolland" or the sweet and serious Scotch melody of "Ward," arranged by Mason. Best of all is "Hursley," the beautiful Ritter-Monk choral set to "Sun of My Soul." _NEW YEAR._ Two representative hymns of this class are John Newton's-- While with ceaseless course the sun, --and Charles Wesley's-- Come let us anew our journey pursue; the one a voice at the next year's threshold, the other a song at the open door. While with ceaseless course the sun Hasted thro' the former year Many souls their race have run Nevermore to meet us here. * * * * * As the winged arrow flies Speedily the mark to find, As the lightening from the skies Darts and leaves no trace behind, Swiftly thus our fleeting days Bear we down life's rapid stream, Upward, Lord, our spirits raise; All below is but a dream.