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she isn't near enough. Another step-yes, now she touches-it is but the hem of His garment; but it is all she needs. Glory to Jesus! her issue of blood is dried, and immediately she feels in her body that she is healed. Glory to Jesus! she touched, and was made perfectly whole. And if there was virtue in His garment, isn't there efficacy in His blood? May God help you to come to Christ to-night."

This is better than the poetry that would precede and follow our passage in its first delivery. But perhaps the best hymn marked by the characteristics of revivalism in these collections may follow here. It is

called Richard Weaver's favourite:

"My heart is fixed, eternal God, fixed on Thee,

And my immortal choice is made, Christ for

me.

He is my Prophet, Priest, and King,
Who did for me salvation bring,

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One common method for attracting attention is the spiritualizing of sights and employments most familiar to the audience. Soldiers, sailors, volunteers, find their callings all turned into parables. One writer tries his hand at the railroad with but indifferent success. It belongs to few to keep their parallels straight in such an undertaking. It will be observed that repentance

a state of mind never thoroughly realized

And while I've breath I mean to sing, Christ has to perform two different offices.

for me.

In Him I see the Godhead shine, Christ for

me.

He is the Majesty Divine, Christ for me,
The Father's well-beloved Son,
Co-partner of His royal throne,

Who did for human guilt atone, Christ for me.

To-day as yesterday the same, Christ for me.
How precious is His balmy name, Christ for

me.

Christ a mere man may answer you
Who error's winding path pursue;
But I with part can never do, Christ for me.

Let others boast of heaps of gold, Christ for

me.

His riches never can be told, Christ for me.
Your gold will waste and wear away,
Your honours perish in a day.

My portion never can decay, Christ for me.

In pining sickness or in health, Christ for me.
In deepest poverty or wealth, Christ for me.
And in that all-important day,

When I the summons must obey

And pass from this dark world away, Christ for me.

"The line to heaven by Christ was made,
With heavenly truths the rails were laid;
From earth to heaven the line extends,
To life eternal, where it ends.

The Lamb, the Lamb, the bleeding Lamb';
I love the sound of Jesus' name;
It sets my spirit in a flame.
Glory to the bleeding Lamb.

Repentance is the station then
Where passengers are taken in;
No fee for them is there to pay,
For Jesus is Himself the way.

The Bible is the engineer;
It points the way to heaven so clear;
Through tunnels dark and dreary here,
It doth the way to heaven steer.

In first, and second, and third class
Repentance, faith, and holiness
You must the way to glory gain,
Or you with Christ can never reign.

Come then, poor sinner, now's the time,
At any station on the line,

If you'll repent and turn from sin,
The train will stop and take you in."

There is energy in Richard Weaver's parable founded on the same theme:

At home, abroad, by night and day, Christ for me. [for me. Whene'er I preach, or sing, or pray, Christ Him first and last, Him all day long, "Come and stand with me at the Bluepits My hope, my solace, and my song; station. The engine is whistling, and the Convince me if you think I'm wrong, Christ steam flying. You see a man waving a red flag,

for me.

Now who can sing my song and say, Christ
for me?
[for me.
My life and truth, my light and way, Christ
Can you, old men and women there,

and you ask, 'What is the matter? You are told that there are two trains approaching on the same line. What must be done?' Every stroke of the engine cries, 'Death! death! death!' The signalman runs with the red flag this way and that way, and every moment

brings the two trains nearer together. There is coming death in every stroke. The pointsman rushes forward to see if he can change the position of the two trains. You cry out to him, "Run! RUN! RUN!' He reaches the points, pulls the handle, the nearest train is turned on the other line of rails, the danger is averted, and the lives of those in the trains are preserved. But as the engine dashes by the pointsman, he is caught and cut to pieces. He has saved those lives at the expense of his own. The decree has gone forth that the wages of sin is death; but, thank God, Jesus Christ, the pointsman of heaven, rushed forward, and, by the sacrifice of His own life, has redeemed us.'

We have heard that Weaver has his

great titled friends; that he has been in

vited to dine at rich men's tables, and shown at once his sense and humility in preferring the kitchen to the parlour on these occasions. That many with means at their command were glad to assist him with their substance, we gather from an anecdote which tells of a hearer, unknown to

er the proportion of converts. Richard Weaver, sincere though we believe him, has no better test than noise of effectual conversion. Until people shout they are doubtful. To die "shouting" expresses in A good wobrief, all there is to be said.

man, who had borne a trying illness under trying circumstances with pious but quiet resignation, was considered unsatisfactory by her friends of this school; till, worked upou by their exciting language, at the moment of death she yielded to pressure. This put the seal of assurance upon her state. All was right. "She had hollered a deal." Repugnant as all this is to ourselves, we are forced to draw distinctions. Take colliers, for instance. They live in noise; their work passes in it; their pleasures are riotous; silence and self restraint are things they do not understand, and very much akin in the minds of most of them to

deadness. Whether this is over-tolerance or not, let us listen to some of the strains,

him, who once paid for his journey, and through which sound is sustained at a max

offered him further assistance, to whom his thankfulness was thus expressed:

"I could not help then telling him what a Father mine was. It was just like Him. I asked Him for a pound, and He gave me fiveand-twenty shillings."

Yet we can understand his mistrust and jealousy of a well-dressed congregation. He does not like to see the women among his audience in silks and ribbons, but with "shawls drawn over their heads." In fact, none will do for him who associate religion with ideas of awe, solitude, and quiet. As the people he preaches to live, work, amuse themselves in crowds and droves, so must they gain their religion. Nothing is more demonstrative than a collier under conviction. Even if, impelled by conscience, one rushes alone to a "sand-pit" or the solitude of the upper room by day, his cries and roarings must attract a large assemblage of anxious and impressed hearers at the foot of the stairs or somewhere within hearing. Where noise and loud utterance is a mark of conversion, we may take for granted that witnesses are essential. Nobody halloes for his own solitary edification. The drunken blasphemer, suddenly awakened, upon opening a hymn-book, bawls out, "I've found it! I've found it!" with an energy that might wake the dead. Everybody sings, everybody shouts, everybody assembles all his friends. They are converted in company. The larger the number of whomsoever composed - the great

imum

"O God, my heart with love inflame,
That I may in Thy holy name
Aloud in songs of praise rejoice
While I have breath to raise my voice!
Then will I shout, then will I sing,
I'll make the heavenly arches ring;
I'll sing and shout for evermore,
On that eternal happy shore."

Shouting is of itself a means of grace, and we must say the only one enlarged upon ·

"You've no need to carry your burden of grief, Nor one moment tarry in seeking relief; It is yours, it is yours, whilst you're raising your voice,

And the angels look down to rejoice."

Shouting is the motive for the converted to assemble themselves together, and the inducement to the unconverted to join

them

"The Gospel band has now set out, Glory to the bleeding Lamb,

And we will help them all to shout, Glory to the bleeding Lamb!"

It is a point of difference between the saved and lost in the hymn, in universal favour, which asks of each and all, "How will you do?"

"When you come to Jordan's flood, How will you do?

You who now contemn your God, How will you do?

Death will be a solemn day :
When the soul is forced away,

A very favourite chorus is:

It will be too late to pray! How will you "Let us never mind the scoffs nor the frowns of do? the world, For we all have the cross to bear;

You who laugh and scorn and sneer, How It will only make the crown the brighter to will you do? &c.

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"There is a land of pure delight,

Where saints immortal reign, Infinite day excludes the night,

And pleasures banish pain.

We're marching through Emanuel's ground,
And soon shall hear the trumpet sound,
And then we shall with Jesus reign,
And never, never part again.

shine,

When we have the crown to wear."

One hymn has this refrain:

"We're bound for the land of the pure and the
holy,

The home of the happy, the kingdom of love;
Ye wanderers from God in the broad road of
folly,

Oh say, will you go to the Eden above?
Will you go, will you go, will you go, will you
go?

Oh say, will you go to the Eden above?

There are dozens more, making still more free with the most sacred names and mysteries- these we spare our readers; but all shows what we have already said. The conductors of these services know that if a "rough" is to be a saint, he will prefer being a noisy saint. To bring such a one to church, prayer-book in hand, is indeed to make of him a new man. The transformation is by no means so startling under Richard Weaver's auspices, who instinctively knows that quiet, order, gravity, subdued tones, measured utterances- all that such men associate with worldly respectability -is, and ever will be, intolerable to them: and that a religion that enjoins roaring and tumult, and which opens a wider, if a fresh field, for the exercise of vigour, pluck, and self-assertion, even to insolence a religion which sets them shouting at street-corners

What! never part again? No, never part again; and market-places, and which rather

And then we shall with Jesus reign,
And never, never part again.

There everlasting spring abides," &c.

One of Cowper's meets with the same treatment, each verse separated from the

context:

"I do believe, I will believe, that Jesus died for

me;

That on the cross He shed His blood, from sin to set me free."

Another familiar friend is graced with this appendage : ·

"I mean to go; I want to go, I mean to go I
do;
[there too."

I mean to go where Jesus is, and you may go

diverts the old stream of bad language into new channels than forbids it altogether,meets the sinner half-wav. And so does their ideal of repentance. It is to be very violent, and to involve profuse perspiration and a great deal of shouting, but it is to be short. What can be more summary, for example, than the course recommended in "Isaac Barnes's chorus".

"Let us tell Him in brief that of sinners we're chief."

Again

"With a sorrow for sin let repentance begin,

Then conversion of course will draw nigh; But till washed in the blood of a crucified Lord,

We shall never be ready to die.

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Cast your deadly doing' down,
Down at Jesu's feet;
Stand in Him, in Him alone,
Gloriously complete."

Is there anybody here like sinking Peter?
Is there anybody here like blind Bartimeus?
Is there anybody here like faithless Thomas?
Is there anybody here that wants salva-
tion?

And they are pretty certain to hear much
of Canaan in hymns which take for granted
that all who sing them will go to heaven.
Of all faiths this is the most natural in the
religion of the poor. The Sunday school
lyric is founded on this expectation assured
even to joviality; the hymn probably famil-
iar to more English lips than any other in
the language-

"Here we suffer grief and pain,
Here we meet to part again,
In Heaven we part no more.
Oh! that will be joyful,
Joyful, joyful, joyful!
Oh! that will be joyful,

When we meet to part no more;"

not to be recalled by some of us without the echo of various rustic renderings

"Teachers, too, shall meet above, And the pastures whom we love;"

and the long-drawn

"When we meet to part no moor."

In

The vast number of this class of hymns may be attributable to various causes. the first place, a certain imagery is ready for any versifier. Palms, crowns, a golden city, a river, and a promised land, make up A large body of the persons who frequent a picture, and it is permitted to all people, these meetings on Sunday are such as have from long prescription, to express a hungerhabitually rejected every invitation to pub-ing for a future without exactly feeling it. lic worship, who, as one man expressed it, "make a practice of going nowhere." The order of any es ablished service is intolerable to them; but under the pressure of trial and sickness, poverty or depression, they will drop in to hear what is going on at a Temperance-hall, or listen to a street-preach

er.

With them this modified conformity is as much a case of "deadly doing," as the most ceremonious worship of that ideal for malist who is the bugbear of this theology. They are better satisfied with themselves when it is over without any good reason for being so. They may have heard themselves called sinners in good company, thus

"Is there anybody here like weeping Mary?
Call to my Jesus and He'll draw nigh;
Oh glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory be to God who rules on high!

It is observable that, in this department, literary qualifications are at their lowest. We come upon the oddest rhymes-mansion and transient, meeter and creature, and so on; but the theme is supposed of itself an inspiration.

No people have much right to talk about heaven who do not at least strive to begin their heaven upon earth. The heaven of the ignorant, on the contrary, is treated as a region so absolutely separate and distinct from earthly tempers and affections, that the fact that a man has spent his whole life with the strongest earthward tendencies does not interfere with the assumption that he will feel himself entirely at home, and in his place, among the blest. But another reason for this fond dwelling on a future heaven is, no doubt, that the poor do not find earth such a comfortable home and

resting-place for body or mind as the rich.
Well-to-do people, with an easy certain in-
come, and all their comforts about them,
would not find their spirits as much refresh-
ed by these Songs of Canaan as the compa-
nies for whom they are composed. There
will be no want, as well as no black_bon-"Say, brothers, will you meet us?
nets, and no funerals in heaven, says Rich-
ard Weaver's prose, and his hymn sings -

The Revival hymn-book suggests to young men and women to invite one another to Canaan, which is one way of making services popular:

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no, the saints are all

The heirs of His glory whose nature is love; No sickness can reach them, that country is healthy;

Oh say, will you go to the Eden above?"

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Sisters.

Say, brothers, will you meet us?
Say, brothers, will you meet us,
On Canaan's happy shore?

Brothers.

By the grace of God we'll meet you!
By the grace of God we'll meet you!
By the grace of God we'll meet you,
Where parting is no more!

Chorus.

Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!

For ever, evermore!

Sisters.

We, a little band, before Thee,
Jesus! Lord of all, adore Thee;
Soon we'll follow Thee to glory,

On Canaan's happy shore.

Brothers.

Pilgrims here we are and weary;
Dark the road has been, and dreary;
Daylight dawns, and brings us near Thee,
To Canaan's happy shore.

Sisters.

When we see the river swelling,

Jesus! every fear repelling,

Show us then our father's dwelling
On Canaan's happy shore.

Brothers.

Thou hast passed on before us;
To Thine image, Lord, restore us.
Death shall never triumph o'er us
On Canaan's happy shore.

Brothers.

Say, sisters, will you meet us,
On Canaan's happy shore?

Sisters.

By the grace of God we'll meet you,

Where parting is no more," &c. &c.

But, confident as all hearers are encouraged to be in their expectations of a blissful future, one great means of influence with preachers of this school is their bold familiarity with hell and all its terrors. Richard Weaver professes a perfect knowledge of the awful region. He boasts of shaking one

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