CHARLES WESLEY'S HYMN IN TIME OF TROUBLE.

EARLY in the year 1750, the city of London was twice severely shaken by shocks of an earthquake. Several weeks elapsed between the first and second convulsions, during which interim, the earth seems to have been internally agitated. The public mind was unsettled with apprehension, and the parks and squares, where the people were wont to assemble, presented at times a very impressive spectacle.

For several years after the threatened calamity at London, the earth seemed to be in trouble. The stroke came at last, but it fell upon the South, upon Lisbon and Quito. The work of destruction in these two cities indicates the magnitude of the calamity to which the great centre of life on the eastern isle seemed to be exposed.

George Whitefield and Charles Wesley were in London during these days of peril. Seldom, if ever, had these zealous men preached so acceptably as they did then. The most profane were overawed by the danger and sublimity of the situation, and the most hardened and unbelieving were eager to listen to the doctrine of God's providence, and to the promises of the gospel. Mr. Whitefield once preached a sermon at midnight to an immense concourse of people in Hyde Park, who seemed to receive the truth as from the very brink of eternity. The effect was impressive in the extreme. Cries and groans were heard on every hand. Penitent ejaculations and prayers for mercy trembled on every lip.

The following extracts from a letter, written at London at this time, afford a brief but interesting view of the agitated city:

"All London has been, for some days past, under terrible apprehensions of another earthquake. Yesterday thousands fled from the town, it having been confidently predicted by a dragoon that he had a revelation that a great part of the city, and Westminster especially, would be destroyed by an earthquake on the 4th instant, between twelve and one at night. The whole city was under direful apprehensions. Places of worship were crowded with frightened sinners, especially our two chapels, and the tabernacle, where Mr. Whitefield preached. Several of the classes came to their leaders, and desired that they would spend the night with them in prayer; which was done, and God gave them a blessing. Indeed all around was awful. Being not at all convinced of the prophet's mission, and having no call from any of my brethren, I went to bed at my usual time, believing I was safe in the hands of Christ; and likewise, that, by doing so, I should be the more ready to rise to the preaching in the morning; which I did, praise be to my kind protector.

"Though crowds left the town on Wednesday night, yet crowds were left behind; multitudes of whom, for fear of being suddenly overwhelmed, left their houses, and repaired to the fields, and open places in the city. Tower Hill, Moorfields, but above all, Hyde Park, were filled the best part of the night, with men, women, and

children, lamenting. Some, with stronger imaginations than others, mostly women, ran crying in the streets, 'An earthquake! an earthquake! Such distress, perhaps, is not recorded to have happened before in this careless city. Mr. Whitefield preached at midnight in Hyde Park. Surely God will visit this city; it will be a time of mercy to some. Oh may I be found watching!"

An incident occurred at this time which we have frequently called to mind as a very impressive illustration of what is termed the majesty of faith. The second shock of the earthquake occurred on the morning of the 8th of March. At an early hour, Rev. Charles Wesley appeared before a great audience who had assembled at the foundry to listen to a morning discourse. He was about to begin his sermon, when a subterranean thundering was heard and the whole city began to shake and totter. The foundry reeled to and fro and seemed every moment about to fall. The worshippers shrieked, and each one felt that his hour had come. The soul of the preacher at this critical juncture seemed touched with an inspiration as from on high. With a face glowing with triumph, and an eye flashing as with ethereal fire, he raised his hands and uttered the sublime language of the Psalmist: "Therefore we will not fear, though the earth be removed, and the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea. The Lord of hosts is with us, the God of Jacob is our refuge!"

The entry in his journal for that date was as follows:

"March 8, 1750. This morning, a quarter after five, we had another shock of an earthquake far more violent than that of February 8. I was just repeating my text, when it shook the foundry so violently, that we all expected it to fall on our heads. A great cry followed from the women and children. I immediately called out, 'Therefore we will not fear, though the earth be moved, and the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea. The Lord of hosts is with us, the God of Jacob is our refuge.' He filled my heart with faith, and my mouth with words, shaking their souls as well as their bodies. The earth moved westward, then eastward, then westward again, through all London and Westminster. It was a strong and jarring motion, attended with a rumbling noise like that of thunder."

The faith that could stand unmoved at such an hour would triumph amid the wreck of matter and the crush of worlds.

This anecdote of the zealous preacher seems to us interesting for the information it imparts. It gives us a certain feeling of confidence when singing the lyrics of Dr. Watts, to recall that he himself felt all of those sweet consolations of which he so fervently wrote. Charles Wesley composed very numerous hymns on the triumphs of faith, a number of which are to be found in almost every work of psalmody. It is edifying to know that he himself was an example of that all-conquering faith to which he devoted his pen.

He thus alludes to the events we have described in some lines written in 1755.

How happy are the little flock,

Who, safe beneath their guardian-rock
In all commotions rest!

When war's and tumult's waves run high,
Unmoved, above the storm they lie,
They lodge in Jesus' breast.

The plague, the dearth, the din of war,
Our Saviour's swift approach declare,
And bid our hearts arise;
Earth's basis shook confirms our hope;
Its cities' fall but lifts us up

To meet him in the skies.

The tokens we with joy confess :
The war proclaims the Prince of Peace,
The earthquake speaks his power,

The famine all his fulness brings;
The plague presents his healing wings,
And nature's final hour.

Whatever ills the world befall

A pledge of endless good we call,

A sign of Jesus near;

His chariot will not long delay;

We hear the rumbling wheels, and pray-
Triumphant Lord, appear!

LANGHORN'S “IT IS TOLD ME I MUST DIE.”

FRAGMENTS of a somewhat remarkable poem have been for a long period floating about in literature, and inquiries have frequently been made in regard to their authorship and origin. One of these fragments is entitled, "It is told me I must die."