Hold Thou my hand, and lead me by Thy side; I dare not go alone, - be Thou my Guide. I will be patient, Lord, I will not doubt Thy Word; How can I perish, clinging to Thy side, This composition is worthy of all the honor that can be paid to it by editors, but I am not able to find it in any American hymnal. The statement made in some books that "The Dove on the Cross" was first published in 1819, when Mrs. Saxby was only eight years old, is clearly an error. Her marriage to the Rev. S. H. Saxby, vicar of East Clovendon, Somerset, took place in 1862. poems were published in 1875 and 1876, and further than this her personal history is not recorded. Two volumes of new A note of tenderness and plaintiveness pervades most of Mrs. Saxby's hymns, and in Dr. Julian's " Dictionary of Hymnology" I find this explained by herself: "I wrote most of my published hymns during a very distressing illness which lasted many years. I thought that I was then in the Border Land,' and wrote accordingly." HARRIET BEECHER STOWE HIS remarkable member of one of TH the most remarkable families produced by any country, reached well-nigh the summit of human distinction by the authorship of "Uncle Tom's Cabin." During a large portion of the last half of the nineteenth century the name of Mrs. Stowe was more familiar in all civilized countries of the globe than that of any other woman excepting Queen Victoria. In 1882, when a garden party was given in honor of Mrs. Stowe's seventieth birthday, Oliver Wendell Holmes read a poem from which I quote one stanza, which correctly, as well as facetiously, illustrates the universality of her fame: Briton and Frenchman, Swede and Dane, High Dutchman and Low Dutchman, too, The Russian serf, the Polish Jew, Arab, Armenian, and Mantchoo Would shout, "We know the lady!" The story of Mrs. Stowe's life is so familiar, or is so easily accessible, that a biographical sketch is unnecessary here. She wrote three hymns for " Plymouth Collection" (1855) which were set to music by her brother Charles. I can include only two in this volume. Taking the psalmist's words, "When I am awake, I am still with Thee," Mrs. Stowe sings: Still, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh, When the bird waketh and the shadows flee; Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight, Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with Thee! Alone with Thee! amid the mystic shadows, The solemn hush of nature newly born; Alone with Thee in breathless adoration, In the calm dew and freshness of the morn. As in the dawning, o'er the waveless ocean, The image of the morning star doth rest, So, in this stillness, Thou beholdest only Thine image in the waters of my breast. Still, still with Thee! As to each new-born morning A fresh and solemn splendor still is given, So doth this blessed consciousness awaking, Breathe each new day, nearness to Thee and heaven. When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber, Its closing eye looks up to Thee in prayer, Sweet the repose beneath Thy wings o'ershading, But sweeter still, to wake and find Thee there. So shall it be at last, in that bright morning, When the soul waketh, and life's shadows flee; Oh! in that hour, fairer than daylight dawning, Shall rise the glorious thought I am with Thee. The second hymn, which is equally beautiful, was suggested by the words of Jesus, "Abide with Me:" That mystic word of Thine, O sovereign Lord! Abide in me, I pray, and I in Thee; From this good hour, oh, leave me nevermore! Then shall the discord cease, the wound be healed, The life-long bleeding of the soul be o'er. Abide in me; o'ershadow by Thy love Each half-formed purpose and dark thought of sin: Quench ere it rise each selfish, low desire, And keep my soul as Thine, calm and divine. |