Forgive him, O forgive, they cry,

Nor let that ransomed sinner die.'

Through this advocate we may be saved from the terrible cry of banishment, From thy face shall I be hid!""

66 STAND UP! STAND UP FOR JESUS!"

-Rev. Geo. Duffield, Jr.

THIS deservedly popular hymn was composed to be sung after a sermon delivered by its author, the Sabbath following the mournfully sudden death of the Rev. Dudley A. Tyng, who was called from earth in 1858, and whose dying counsel to his brethren in the ministry was,—

"Stand up for Jesus!"

-Belcher.

c

COME THOU FOUNT OF EVERY BLESSING."

-Robinson.

THE author of this hymn was at different times Calvinist, Socinian, Baptist, Independent, Methodist and lastly irreligious. During this last state of life his attention was called to this

hymn, and he said, "I would give a thousand worlds to enjoy the feelings I then had." In view of such an experience we may well pray, as well as sing,

"Let thy goodness, like a fetter,

Bind my wandering heart to thee."

JUST AS I AM, WITHOUT ONE PLEA.'

A JEW in New York, who professed not to believe in either Judaism or Christianity, a worldly, fashionable, pleasure-serving, man was seized by a dangerous disease and told that he could live only a few days.

In spite of professed infidelity he became anxious about the future. Minister after minister called upon him, talked and prayed, but in vain. At length a Christian business man came in, and during his call sang,

"Just as I am without one plea,"

The Jew exclaimed, "Do you really mean that for me? You know what I have been worldly, skeptical, pleasure-loving.

Be very

sure, now. Do you really mean that for me?”

"Yes, I do just that." With much inward struggle the Jew was able to make the words of the hymn his own and say to Christ,

"Just as I am, I come, I come."

A few days later he died trusting in Him,—

"Whose love unknown

Had broken every barrier down."

A LITTLE boy came to one of our city missionaries, and holding out a dirty and well-worn bit of printed paper, said,—

"Please, sir, father sent me to get a clean paper like that."

Taking it from his hand, the missionary unfolded it, and found it was a page containing that beautiful hymn of which the first stanza is as follows:

Just as I am, without one plea

But that thy blood was shed for me,

And that thou biddst me come to thee,

O Lamb of God, I come!"

The missionary looked down with interest into the face earnestly upturned to him, and asked the little boy where he got it, and why he wanted a clean one.

"We found it, sir," said he, "in sister's pocket after she died; and she used to sing it all the time when she was sick, and loved it so much that father wanted to get a clean one to put in a frame to hang it up. Wont you give us a clean one, sir?"

This little page, with a single hymn on it, had been cast upon the air, like a fallen leaf, by Christian hands, humbly hoping to do some possible good. In some little mission Sundayschool, probably, this poor girl had thoughtlessly received it, afterwards to find in it, we hope, the Gospel of her salvation. Could she, in any probability, have gone down into death, sweetly singing that hymn of penitence and faith in Jesus to her latest breath, without the saving knowledge of him, which the Holy Spirit imparts?

"PRAISE GOD FROM WHOM ALL BLESSINGS FLOW."

MANY have heard from Chaplain McCabe's own fire-touched lips, how this grand old doxology, that has doubtless been on more lips than any other uninspired production, was sung by the starving "boys in blue "

that were incarcerated in Libby Prison. Day after day they saw comrades passing away, and their numbers increased by fresh, living recruits for the grave. One night about ten o'clock, through the stillness and the darkness, they heard the tramp of coming feet, that soon stopped before the prison door until arrangements could be made inside. In the company was a young Baptist minister, whose heart almost fainted as he looked on those cold walls and thought of the suffering inside. Tired and weary he sat down, put his face in his hands and wept. Just then a lone voice of deep, sweet pathos, sung out from an upper window,

"Praise God from whom all blessings flow;"

and a dozen manly voices joined in the second line,—

'Praise Him all creatures here below;"

and then by the time the third was reached, more than a score of hearts were full, and these joined to send the words on high,

"Praise Him above ye heavenly host;"

and by this time the prison was all alive,