i 1. Fawcett was a gicat sufferer & wir's the cit end to dw 1. s it were, on the cen hes of a better w dd, with the celest dentry Fill in His best words were, Come. I rd Jesus; comue “FRVI GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNT LINS,” Tin of this hymn is given in Pish p Heler's os, and retol 1. the anotations to the Hymnal. Weft luin ^erican religious magazine a somewhat 2. f the incident, which is as follows: got recesserly take a lifet me to accom 1 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-papei, may give one a deatàless n me. Such was the case with Reginald H., known far and wide, wherever the Christian reli s penetrated, by his armilled missionary by mr. Greenlands i mountains.' These lines, DI to every neert, to certain to live, while a benighted in raams to whom Christ's story has not yet been rafted, were written in a parler, with conversation golag on around its author, and in a few minutes' time. nail Heber, then thirty-five years old, was visether-in-law, Dr. Shipley, in Wrexham, having w charge at Hodnet a short time in order to res in Dr. Shipley's church. Half.. gathered in the little rectory parle on, when Dr. Shipley turned case with which he composed, 20, asked him if he could not write some missionary lines for his church to sing the next morning, as he was going to preach upon the subject of Missions. This was not very long notice to give to a man to achieve the distinguishing work of his life, and in the few moments which followed, Heber builded better than he knew. Retiring to a corner of the room, he wrote three verses of his hymn, and returning read them to his companions, only altering the one word, savage, to heathen in the second verse. "There, there,' said Dr. Shipley, 'that will do very well.' But Heber, replying that the sense was not quite complete, retired for a few moments, and then returned with the glorious bugle-blast of the fourth verse: "Waft, waft, ye winds, His story, And you, ye waters, roll, Till like a sea of glory It spreads from pole to pole; The LAMB, for sinners slain, In bliss returns to reign. Amen.' "It was printed that evening, and sung the next morning by the people of Wrexham church." From Greenland's icy mountains, From India's coral strand, Roll down their golden sand, From many a palmy plain, They call us to deliver Their land from error's chain. What though the spicy breezes In vain, with lavish kindness, Bows down to wood and stone. Can we, whose souls are lighted The joyful sound proclaim, Waft, waft, ye winds, His story, It spreads from pole to pole; In bliss returns to reign. "MIGHTY GOD, WHILE ANGELS BLESS THEE.” ROBERT ROBINSON, the author of the well-known hymn beginning, "Come, thou Fount of every blessing," was a man of genius and impressible feelings, but was easily influenced by the force of association or circumstance, an instability which he deeply regretted in his |