Farewell, dear friend and brother, true yokefellow in the service of Jesus Christ. The path is often lonely without you, and as they sing the songs you used to sing, and we listen in vain for the voice so wedded to the music, and music so wedded to the words, our hearts ache as the echoes die away, and a strange silence is on the air, as if the song itself mourned for the singer. No resting place beneath the sod can receive the tears we would shed, or the flowers we would bring to tell how we loved thee. We turn from the earthly memories to the heavenly realities. The days are fast passing by; soon upon the other shore we shall greet you, and you shall lead our praises to Him who hath redeemed us from our sins by His shed blood, and in His risen life hath given us resurrection hope, and to whom, even Jesus Christ our Lord, we now give all the praise for every sweet memory and for every precious anticipation of future joy connected with you.

CHAPTER XII.

MR. BLISS' HYMNS- PRESS FORWARD"-" HAIL, HAPPY MORNING -"PETER'S DENIAL"-"LORD SAVE ME ONCE MORE WITH MOURNFUL STEP "—

BETHESDA

NAUGHT TO CHARGES FALSE"-"THE ASCENSION "THERE'S A LIGHT IN THE VALLEY "-" HOSANNA, HOSANNA "—" SAFE WITH THE MASTER -"THE BEGGAR BY THE WAYSIDE"-"I MUST ABIDE WITH THEE AND YET THERE IS ROOM REMEMBERED "FOLLOW ME -" LOOK AND LIVE ONLY BELIEVE "-"LOOK NOT UPON THE WINE '—“THE SPIRIT TREE"-" BEAUTIFUL RAIN."

THE

HE following, of Mr. Bliss' compositions, were published in "The Prize," a collection of Sunday School hymns, etc., by George F. Root, issued in 1870, and the words are used by permission of the publishers, Messrs. John Church & Co., Cincinnati, Ohio:

PRESS FORWARD.

Press forward, press forward, press forward to the prize;
While life's bright morn, with rosy hue,

Bedecks the flowers that, bathed with dew,
Salute thy waking eyes,

Press forward to the prize,

Forward, forward, press forward to the prize,
Forward, forward, press forward to the prize.

Press forward, press forward, press forward to the prize;
When in the morn of life thy heart

From heaven's high calling would depart,
And doubts and fears arise,

Press forward to the prize.

Press forward, press forward, press forward to the prize;
When morn and noon of life are past,

And evening shadows lengthen fast,

And swift the daylight flies,

Press forward to the prize.

Press forward, press forward, press forward to the prize; Though sweet the songs we sing below,

A richer Prize will heaven bestow,

And there our treasure lies,

Press forward to the prize.

LORD, SAVE ME.

Though life's stony pathway
Be with dangers fraught,
Let my falt'rings never

Say, "I know Him not."

Though long years of sorrow
Be my earthly lot,
Let my murm'rings never
Say, "I know Him not."

In the dark temptation,
Vows and prayers forgot,
Let my yielding never
Say, "I know Him not."

So, in toil or pleasure,

Deed or word or thought,

Let me never, never

Say, "I know Him not."

LORD, SAVE ME.

Winds are boist'rous, waves are high,
Midnight gloom o'erspreads the sky;
Fearful, sinful, sinking down,
Peter's prayer I make my own.

CHORUS.--Mountain waves of sin I see,

In Thy mercy, "Lord, save me,"
Mountain waves of sin I see,
In Thy mercy, "Lord, save me."

Lord, Thou bidst me come to Thee,
Thou alone my help must be ;
On the treach'rous waves I stand,
Savior, hold me by Thy hand.

Lord, my feeble faith forgive,
Help divine may I receive;
All my guilty fears remove,
Wherefore can I doubt Thy love.