Dr. Blow went back to his old post as Abbey organist on the death of his pupil, and devoted himself to church music. "To this," he said, "I have ever especially consecrated the thoughts of my whole life. All the rest I consider but as blossoms and leaves. With this I began my youthful raptures in this art, with this I hope calmly and comfortably to end my days." His best known anthem, "I beheld, and lo!" was written within a week for James II., who had asked him if he could do as well as the Italian composers, and the king, much pleased with it, sent Father Peter to congratulate Blow after service. The priest, however, took it upon himself to add that, "in his opinion, it was somewhat too long." "That," replied Blow scornfully, "is only one fool’s opinion. I heed it not." Blow, who died and was buried opposite to Purcell in 1708, was considered by his fellow-musicians "to be the greatest master in the world for the organ, especially in his voluntaries, which he played gravely and seriously." The inscription on his grave declares "that his musical compositions are a far nobler monument to his memory than any that can be raised to him," and on the open music-book below is given the _Gloria_ from his fine Jubilate in C major. William Croft succeeded Blow as organist, and most of his musical compositions were written for special occasions; as, for example, his anthem, "I will give thanks," which was produced after the famous Blenheim victory. He, too, was of a lovable, kindly disposition, and the inscription on his monument ends thus quaintly: "He emigrated to the Heavenly Choir, with that Concert of Angels, for which he was better fitted, adding his Hallelujah. Awake up my glory! Awake lute and harp! I myself will awake right early." Half a century later, that prince among musicians, George Frederick Handel, was buried in the Poets’ Corner. Though not of English birth or upbringing, he had become an English subject, and had found a warm welcome in the hearts of the English people. From babyhood he had shown the bent of his mind. Even his toys were tiny trumpets, horns, and Jew’s harps, much to the annoyance of his kind old father, the well-known doctor in the German town of Halle, who thought this craze of George Frederick’s should be forcibly put a stop to, and who decreed therefore, that "there was to be no more jingling, neither was he to go into houses where music was practised."