A selection from "Vivia Perpetua" is given in Vol. VII. of this work, where it is prefaced by a short critique from the pen of Dr. Garnett, who says of it, "Vivia Perpetua' is unsatisfactory as a play. but has deep human interest as an idealised representation of the authoress's mind and heart. In the character of Vivia she has shadowed forth her own moral affections and intellectual convictions, and the intensity of her feelings frequently exalts her diction, else artless and slightly conventional, into genuine eloquence. The moral charm, however, takes precedence of the artistic, as is to be expected in the work of a true woman. Lyrical enthusiasm atones in no small measure for the lack of the constructive faculty, and 'Vivia Perpetua' fulfils better than many more ambitious works Milton's demand that poetry should be 'simple, sensuous, and passionate.' The authoress would probably have left a higher reputation if she had given freer scope to her natural instinct for lyrical poetry, instead of devoting her most strenuous endeavour to the difficult undertaking of reviving the poetical drama." Her hymn, "Nearer, my God, to Thee," has been one of the most popular of modern hymns, as it is certainly one of the most beautiful. Others less known, if but little inferior, will be found in the following pages.

ALFRED H. MILES.

HYMNS.

SARAH FLOWER ADAMS.

1.-NEARER, MY GOD, TO THEE.

TEARER, my God, to Thee,

NEA

Nearer to Thee!

E'en though it be a cross

That raiseth me;

Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee!

Though like the wanderer,
The sun gone down,

Darkness be over me,

My rest a stone;

Yet in my dreams I'd be
Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee!

There let the way appear,
Steps unto heaven;
All that thou send'st to me,

In mercy given;

Angels to beckon me,

Nearer, my God, to Thee,

Nearer to Thee!

Then with my waking thoughts,

Bright with Thy praise,

Out of my stony griefs,

Bethel I'll raise;

So by my woes to be

Nearer, my God, to Thee,

Nearer to Thee!

Or if on joyful wing

Cleaving the sky,

Sun, moon, and stars forgot,
Upwards I fly;

Still all my song shall be,

Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee!

-O! I WOULD SING A SONG OF PRAISE.

! I would sing a song of praise,

0'

Natural as the breeze

That stirs amongst the forest trees,
Whisp'ring ever,

Weary never,

Summer's prime or wintry days—
So should come my song of praise.

O! I would sing a song of praise,
Sweet as breathing flowers,
That ope to greet the earlier hours;
Never-ending

Incense sending

Up, to bless their parent rays—
So should wake my song of praise.

O! I would sing a song of praise,
Holy as the night,

When heaven comes to us in the light
Of stars, whose gleaming,

Influence streaming,

Draws us upward while we gaze

So should rise my song of praise.

To Thee, O God, a song of praise,

With breeze, and bloom, and star,
To Thee, who made us what we are—
Blessed Spirit!

We inherit

All from Thee; then let us raise

Songs of praise-immortal praise!

III.-O HALLOWED MEMORIES OF THE PAST.
HALLOWED memories of the past,
Ye legends old and fair,

0

Still be your light upon us cast,
Your music on the air,

In vain shall man deny,

Or bid your mission cease,
While stars yet prophesy

Of love, and hope, and peace.

For hearts the beautiful that feel,
Whose pulse of love beats strong,
The opening heavens new light reveal,
Glory to God, their song.

While bursts confession forth,

That, since the world began,
No miracle on earth

E'er match'd the heart of man.

And while from out our dying dust
Light more than life doth stream,
We bless the faith that bids us trust
The heaven that we dream.

In death there is no fear,

There's radiance through the gloom,
While love and hope are here,

The angels of the tomb.

Then, hallowed memories of the past,
Or legends old and fair,

Still be your light upon us cast,
Your music on the air,

In vain shall man deny,

Or bid your mission cease;
The stars yet prophesy

Of love, and hope, and peace.

IV. HE SENDETH SUN, HE SENDETH SHOWER.

E sendeth sun, He sendeth shower,

HE

Alike they're needful for the flower;

And joys and tears alike are sent
To give the soul fit nourishment.
As comes to me or cloud or sun,
Father! Thy will, not mine, be done.

Can loving children e'er reprove

With murmurs, whom they trust and love?
Creator! I would ever be

A trusting, loving child to Thee:
As comes to me or cloud or sun,
Father! Thy will, not mine, be done.

O! ne'er will I at life repine-
Enough that Thou hast made it mine.
When falls the shadow cold of death,
I yet will sing with parting breath,
As comes to me or shade or sun,
Father! Thy will, not mine, be done.