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, Where the dear Lord was crucified, 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, Oh! dearly, dearly has He loved, Without a city wall, Where the dear Lord was crucified, 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; As, of old, St. Andrew heard it By the Galilean lake; Turned from home and toil and kindred, In our joys and in our sorrows, Days of toil and hours of ease, Jesus calls us, from the worship Jesus calls us. By Thy mercies, 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, Oh, for the Sun of Righteousness That setteth nevermore! The highest hopes we cherish here, Here faith is ours, and heavenly hope, 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 |