together with the opinion of a number of the early Fathers on the subject of congregational singing. We have selected of course according to our own taste, they are as honey from the rock falling into our soul; they shall speak for themselves for they are all of age; they carry the gray hairs of more than a century. Let every hair be turned into a harpstring. Learn them by heart, brethren. Teach them to your children; sing them at your morning and evening sacrifice, sing them at your campmeetings, sing them at your love feasts, sing them at your prayer and classmeetings and social circles; sing lustily sing with your whole soul, and you will find that sinners will again crowd your prayer meetings as they did forty years ago, to hear Methodist singing, and melt under its power and give their hearts to God and with pure and holy hand strike the bold anthems unto him that loved us out of every kindred tongue and nation under heaven, and let all the people clap their hands and shout aloud AMEN.

G. W. HENRY.

Frankfort, 1854

SPIRITUAL SONGS.

HYMN 1.

Come parents, children, bond and free,
And play on the golden harp,
Say, will you go to Heaven with me,
To play on the golden harp?
CHORUS. O play on the golden harp,
Play on the golden harp.

I want to go where Jesus is,
To play on the golden harp.

It is religion makes the soul—
It makes the wounded spirit whole.

Hear, ye worldlings, hear my song-
'Tis the language of my tongue

I know the time, I know the day-
When Jesus washed my sins away.

My soul feels happy while I sing-
I feel that I am on the wing.

Who then will march to win the prize-
And take the kingdom in the skies?

O how I long on Canaan's land

To join the holy, happy band.

THE MARRIAGE OF CANA.

1 Come thou who didst turn the water to wine,
*And fill with thy love this poor heart of mine;
I am not contented with what is gone past,

I know by experience the best wine runs last. CHORUS.-Hallelujah to Jesus! who died on a tree. And purchased this wine of the kingdom for me.

2 Thou know'st I desire thy fullness to prove,
The height and the depth of thy dying love;
My sins, which were many; behind thee are cast,
But still I want cleansing, the best wine runs last.

3 Thou, Lord, art the source; the channel, thy Son,
Through him by the Spirit to us doth it run;
By faith we receive it, how sweet to the taste;
And now it is flowing, the best wine runs last.

4 In Christ we believe his blood is applied,
Then onward we press to be full sanctified.
This is the best blessing of all which are past,
But glory is promised, the best wine runs last.

NEGRO SONG.

Tune-Oh, that will be joyful.

Negro walk de golden street,
Cast his crown at Jesu feet,
And sing de happy song.

Oh! dat will be joyful.

Negro friends hab cross'd de flood,

Join'd dat army bought with blood-
Dem looking out for me.

God will wipe poor negro tears,
Banish all his doubts and fears,

Den we in heaben shall dwell.

Den me weep and die no more,
Negro shout his conflict's o'er,
And join his friends again.

Buckra massa me shall see,
Tell him Jesu die for me,
He tell me dis on earth.

Negro wear a starry crown,
And on massa's throne sit down,
Oh, happy, happy place.

You get home ere negro do,
Tell dem negro coming too,
Him on his happy way.

Should poor negro first get home,
He come to meet you when you come,
Den fly with you to heaben.

Me tink poor negro almost dere,
Me happy now mid toil and care,
Thank God me on my way.

But I must bid you all adieu,
May Jesu massa be wid you.
Me bid you all farewell.

But when we meet in heaben above,
To sing of Jesu dying love,

Our bliss no tongue can tell.

Oh, dat will be joyful.

JOHN STAMP.

SONG OF THE PIOUS SLAVE.

Tune-Highland Mountains.

De poor negro he will go-some one day,
Over de mountains, over de snow-far away.
Over de mountains big and high-some one day,
To dat country in de sky-far away.

De poor negro will be free-some one day,
Jesu say, come reign wid me-far away;
Jesu massa, call me home-some one day;
Yes, him smile and bid me come-far away.

Sin no more make my heart rove-some one day,
When landed wid the host above-far away:
Driver lash my back no more-some one day,
When wafted to dat happy shore-far away.

Wife and children not be sold-some one day;
Negro walk yon streets of gold-far away;
My good massa say well done—some one day,
Den me dwell wid de Holy One-far away.

De poor negro wear a crown-some one day,
And on massa's throne sit down-far away;
Oh! how happy me shall be-some one day,
Come poor white man, come wid me-far away

Den me meet my friends again-some one day,
Praise de Lamb for negro slain—far away,
Den me rest my weary soul-some one day,
Where endless joys in torrents roll-far away.