Swiftly thus our fleeting days
Bear we down life's rapid stream,
Upward, Lord, our spirits raise;
All below is but a dream.
A grave occasion, whether unexpected or periodical, will force reflection, and so will a grave 556 / 494 truth; and when both present themselves at once, the truth needs only commonplace statement. If the statement is in rhyme and measure more attention is secured. Add a tune to it, and the most frivolous will take notice. Newton's hymn sung on the last evening of the year has its opportunity—and never fails to produce a solemn effect; but it is to the immortal music given to it in Samuel Webbe's “Benevento” that it owes its unique and permanent place. Dykes' “St. Edmund” may be sung in England, but in America it will never replace Webbe's simple and wonderfully impressive choral.
Charles Wesley's hymn is the antipode of Newton's in metre and movement.
Come, let us anew our journey pursue,
Roll round with the year
And never stand still till the Master appear.
His adorable will let us gladly fulfil