published when she was twenty-three years old; and two years later her " Hymns for Little Children" was issued, of which two hundred and fifty thousand copies were sold. These publications were followed by others, and while most of her hymns are not of the highest order, many of them have gone to the hearts of young people and have made lasting sacred impressions. Writing and publishing hymns for children, and giving all the proceeds therefrom to charity, was the inspiring work of Mrs. Alexander till her death at Londonderry, Ireland, in 1895.

Almost every hymnal in America contains the following stanzas, which are childlike in simplicity, and which the great Gounod set to beautiful music:

There is a green hill far away,
Without a city wall,

Where the dear Lord was crucified,
Who died to save us all.
We may not know, we cannot tell

What pains He had to bear;

But we believe it was for us

He hung and suffered there.

He died that we might be forgiven,
He died to make us good,
That we might go at last to heaven,
Saved by His precious blood.
There was no other good enough
To pay the price of sin;
He only could unlock the gate
Of heaven, and let us in.

Oh! dearly, dearly has He loved,
And we must love Him too,
And trust in His redeeming blood,
And try His works to do.
For there's a green hill far away,

Without a city wall,

Where the dear Lord was crucified,
Who died to save us all.

Another charming hymn from Mrs. Alexander's heart and pen, which has gained almost universal use is the following:

Jesus calls us o'er the tumult

Of our life's wild, restless sea;
Day by day His sweet voice soundeth,
Saying, "Christian, follow Me.”

As, of old, St. Andrew heard it

By the Galilean lake;

Turned from home and toil and kindred,
Leaving all for His dear sake.

In our joys and in our sorrows,

Days of toil and hours of ease,
Still He calls, in cares and pleasures,
That we love Him more than these.

Jesus calls us, from the worship
Of the vain world's golden store,
From each idol that would keep us,
Saying, "Christian, love Me more."

Jesus calls us. By Thy mercies,
Saviour, make us hear Thy call,
Give our hearts to Thine obedience,
Serve and love Thee best of all.

The third hymn I shall quote from Mrs. Alexander has not only caught the ear of young people, but of singing Christians in many English-speaking lands:

The roseate hues of early dawn,
The brightness of the day,
The crimson of the sunset sky,
How fast they fade away.
Oh, for the pearly gates of heaven,
Oh, for the golden floor:

Oh, for the Sun of Righteousness

That setteth nevermore!

The highest hopes we cherish here,
How fast they tire and faint!
How many a spot defiles the robe
That wraps an earthly saint!
Oh, for the heart that never sins,
Oh, for a soul washed white,
Oh, for a voice to praise our King,
Nor weary day or night!

Here faith is ours, and heavenly hope,
And grace to lead us higher;
But there are perfectness and peace,
Beyond our best desire.

Oh, by Thy love and anguish, Lord,

Oh, by Thy life laid down:

Grant that we fall not from Thy grace,

Nor cast away our crown.

It is said that Mrs. Alexander was deaf to applause, but when some one wrote to her to tell of a great change in heart and life that had come to a man by hearing "There is a Green Hill Far Away," she sprang from her chair and exclaimed: "Thank God! I do like to hear that." Those who knew her best have said that beautiful as many of her hymns are, her life was more beautiful still.

PHOEBE CARY

T is no small wonder that nearly every

church hymnal in the United States. and several in Great Britain contain the hymn familiarly known as "Nearer Home." Its author, Phoebe Cary, a sweet singer of beautiful and pathetic memory, was born on a farm near Cincinnati, Ohio, in 1824. An affair of the heart had greatly shattered the health and deeply wounded the spirit of her sister Alice, and in November, 1850, the latter removed to New York City, and in the following April she was joined by Phoebe.

In a few years these loving sisters attained to distinction in the literary world, and established a home that was noted for its charming hospitality, and became a centre of attraction for many of the brightest people of America. It was the privilege of Alice to publish more works than her sister. Phoebe was the stronger of the