Come, ye needy, come and welcome, True belief and true repentance, Every grace that brings you nigh, Come to Jesus Christ and buy. Come, ye weary, heavy-laden, Sinners Jesus came to call. Sinners, will not this suffice? Can do helpless sinners good. "BLEST BE THE TIE THAT BINDS.” PERHAPS the best poetical expression of the sentiment of Christian brotherhood in the English language is found in the hymn beginning, "Blest be the tie that binds Our hearts in Christian love." John Fawcett, D. D., the author of this hymn, a name that finds frequent place in Baptist collections of church psalmody, was born near Bradford, Yorkshire, January 6, 1739. At the age of sixteen, while an apprentice, he heard Mr. Whitefield preach. The sermon was instrumental in his conversion, and he joined the Methodist Society. In 1758 he became a member of the newly-formed Baptist church in Bradford. Here his activity and usefulness were so great, that his brethren advised him "to go beyond private exhortation," and "to stand forth and preach the gospel." After much praying and many inward conflicts, he decided to follow their advice. In the summer of 1765, he was ordained minister of the Baptist Society at Wainsgate. His work here was hard; but his zeal and far-reaching sympathies won the hearts of his people, and opened the way of pastoral success. In 1772, after a pastorate of seven years, in which he had steadily grown in the attachment of a prosperous society, he went to London to preach for Dr. Gill, who was about resigning his ministerial office on account of his age and infirmities. Dr. Gill's people were so much pleased with his deportment and discourses, that they gave him a call to become their pastor. His church in Wainsgate was scattered and poor; that in London was large, with ample resources, and presented a most promising field for a man with growing capacities. His goods were loaded for removal to London, and his parishioners assembled to bid him a final adieu. An affecting scene followed, the poor people he had so long instructed and befriended entreating him with tears to remain. The voice of love prevailed; he was convinced that it was his duty to remain here, and that this was the field Providence had allotted him. "I will stay," he said. "You may unpack my goods, and we will live for the Lord lovingly together." The affectionate expression of regard on the part of his parishioners made a deep impression upon his mind, and inspired him to pen in return, under an impulse of true poetic feeling, his well-known hymn: Blest be the tie that binds Our hearts in Christian love: Before our Father's throne We pour our ardent prayers: Our fears, our hopes, our aims are one- We share our mutual woes; Our mutual burdens bear When we asunder part, It gives us inward pain; This glorious hope revives Our courage by the way: And longs to see the day. From sorrow, toil, and pain, And sin we shall be free; And perfect love and friendship reign Dr. Fawcett was a great sufferer towards the close of his life; but he seemed to dwell, as it were, on the confines of a better world, with the celestial country full in view. His last words were, "Come, Lord Jesus; come quickly." "FROM GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS." THE origin of this hymn is given in Bishop Heber's memoirs, and retold in the annotations to the Hymnal. We find in an American religious magazine a somewhat elegant version of the incident, which is as follows: "It does not necessarily take a lifetime to accomplish immortality. A brave act done in a moment, a courageous word spoken at the fitting time, a few lines which can be written on a sheet of note-paper, may give one a deathless name. Such was the case with Reginald Heber, known far and wide, wherever the Christian religion has penetrated, by his unequalled missionary hymn, 'From Greenland's icy mountains.' These lines, so dear to every heart, so certain to live, while a benighted man remains to whom Christ's story has not yet been wafted, were written in a parlor, with conversation going on around its author, and in a few minutes' time. "Reginald Heber, then thirty-five years old, was visiting his father-in-law, Dr. Shipley, in Wrexham, having left his own charge at Hodnet a short time in order to deliver some lectures in Dr. Shipley's church. Half a dozen friends were gathered in the little rectory parlor one Saturday afternoon, when Dr. Shipley turned to Heber, knowing the ease with which he composed, and |