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Cur igitur noe amem Te
O Jest amantissime!

Non, co salves me,
Aut in æterum damnes me.

Then why, Obiesser Yesus Christ,
Should I not jove Thee well?

Not for the sake of wang heaven,

Nor of escaping ne.

Not with the nope e gang asght,

Nor seeking rewat.

Be a Tave nar mi.

Cc... evere

I am longing for Thee!

In weakness appealing, in agony kneeling,
I pray, I beseech Thee, O Lord, set me free!

One would, at first thought, judge this simple but eloquent cry worthy of an appropriate toneexpression to be sung by prison evangelists like the Volunteers of America, to convicts in the jails and penitentiaries. But its special errand and burden are voiced so literally that hardened hearers would probably misapply it-however sincerely the petitioner herself meant to invoke spiritual rather than temporal deliverance. The hymn, if we may call it so, is too literal. Possibly at some time or other it may have been set to music but not for ordinary choir service.

SAMUEL RUTHERFORD.

The sands of time are sinking,

But, glory, glory dwelleth
In Immanuel's Land.

This hymn is biographical, but not autobiographical. Like the discourses in Herodotus and Plutarch, it is the voice of the dead speaking through the sympathetic genius of the living after long generations. The strong, stern Calvinist of 1630 in Aberdeen was not a poet, but he bequeathed his spirit and life to the verse of a poet of 1845 in Melrose. Anne Ross Cousin read his two hundred and twenty letters written during a two

years' captivity for his fidelity to the purer faith, and studied his whole history and experience till her soul took his soul's place and felt what he felt. Her poem of nineteen stanzas (152 lines) is the voice of Rutherford the Covenanter, with the prolixity of his manner and age sweetened by his triumphant piety, and that is why it belongs with the Hymns of Great Witnesses. The three or four stanzas still occasionally printed and sung are only recalled to memory by the above three lines.

Samuel Rutherford was born in Nisbet Parish, Scotland, in 1600. His settled ministry was at Anworth, in Galloway-1630-1651—with a break between 1636 and 1638, when Charles I. angered by his anti-prelatical writings, silenced and banished him. Shut up in Aberdeen, but allowed, like Paul in Rome, to live "in his own hired house" and write letters, he poured out his heart's love in Epistles to his Anworth flock and to the Non-conformists of Scotland. When his countrymen rose against the attempted imposition of a new holy Romish service-book on their churches, he escaped to his people, and soon after appeared in Edinburgh and signed the covenant with the assembled ministers. Thirteen years later, after Cromwell's death and the accession of Charles II. the wrath of the prelates fell on him at St. Andrews, where the Presbytery had made him rector of the college. The King's decree indicted him for treason, stripped him of all his offices, and would have forced him to

the block had he not been stricken with his last sick. ness. When the officers came to take him he said, "I am summoned before a higher Judge and Judicatory, and I am behooved to attend them." He died soon after, in the year 1661.

The first, and a few other of the choicest stanzas of the hymn inspired by his life and death are here given:

The sands of time are sinking,

The dawn of heaven breaks,
The summer morn I've sighed for—

The fair, sweet morn—awakes.
Dark, dark hath been the midnight,

But dayspring is at hand;

And glory, glory dwelleth

In Immanuel's land.

Oh! well it is for ever―

Oh! well for evermore:
My nest hung in no forest

Of all this death-doomed shore;

Yea, let this vain world vanish,
As from the ship the strand,
While glory, glory dwelleth
In Immanuel's land.

The little birds of Anworth-
I used to count them blest;
Now beside happier altars

I go to build my nest;
O'er these there broods no silence
No graves around them stand;
For glory deathless dwelleth
In Immanuel's land.

I have borne scorn and hatred,

I have borne wrong and shame,
Earth's proud ones have reproached me
For Christ's thrice blesséd name.
Where God's seals set the fairest,
They've stamped their foulest brand;
But judgment shines like noonday
In Immanuel's land.

They've summoned me before them,
But there I may not come;
My Lord says, "Come up hither;"
My Lord says, "Welcome home;"
My King at His white throne
My presence doth command,
Where glory, glory dwelleth,
In Immanuel's land.

A reminiscence of St. Paul in his second Epistle to Timothy (chap. 4) comes with the last two

stanzas.

THE TUNE.

The tender and appropriate choral in B flat, named "Rutherford" was composed by D'Urhan, a French musician, probably a hundred years ago. It was doubtless named by those who long afterwards fitted it to the words, and knew whose spiritual proxy the lady stood who indited the hymn. It is reprinted in Peloubet's Select Songs, and in the Coronation Hymnal. Naturally in the days of the hymn's more frequent use people became accustomed to calling "The sands of time are sinking," "Rutherford's Hymn." Rutherford's own