KEBLE. SUN of my soul! thou Saviour dear, When the soft dews of kindly sleep Abide with me from morn till eve, If some poor wandering child of thine Watch by the sick; enrich the poor Come near and bless us when we wake, We lose ourselves in heaven above. This hymn is from Keble's "Christian Year," a book that embodies many choice Christian experiences, which have been recognized with gratitude by the universal church, although especially written for those whose worship follows the set forms of the Church of England. Mr. Keble lived a quiet, retired life, and drank from spiritual fountains in secluded places; but his rare gifts were devoted to the service of others, and he has won by the affectionate purity and the deep spiritual insight of his poetic writings, a large place in the heart of the Christian world. We condense from an English periodical some account of his uneventful yet ever-fruitful life. As beautiful and venerable a reputation as any treasured up in the annals of the English church, is that of the author of the "Christian Year," for upwards of thirty years vicar of Hursley and rector of Otterbourne. It is not too much to say that when he breathed his last at seventy-four years of age, in the spring of 1866, he not only did so, within the recognition of men of every kind of Christian belief, in the odor of sanctity, but that he had enjoyed already for half a century what was thenceforth embalmed by death into an exquisite memory, the blended fame of a saint and a poet. His whole life, it may be said quite truly, was passed within the shadow of the sanctuary. For fifty years together, his father, who survived until his ninetieth year, was the vicar of Coln Saint Aldwyn. There it was, under the roof-beams of the old parsonage, that John Keble was born, on the 25th April, 1792. On the 20th May, 1813, Keble had taken his degree of M. A. Parochial work began for him immediately upon his ordination. It ceased only with his life-fifty years afterwards. In 1823 Keble withdrew from a conspicuous and lucrative position as tutor and examiner at the University of Oxford, and retired to the seclusion of Fairford, entering upon duties as curate of three small parishes; an act of Christian humility whose golden rewards were yet unseen. The three curacies together did not include a population of three thousand. The entire receipts accruing to him in connection with them all, did not amount to more than about £100 a year. He was happy in his surroundings, however, and in his avocations, but above all thrice happy in his sacred calling. Covertly, too, he was wandering all this while, since as far back as in 1819, in a green and flowery pleasaunce of his own, in which his serene fancy made a sunshine in the shadiest place, and where his spirit secretly heard the plash and tinkling of celestial fountains. Little by little, one by one, he was composing at Oxford, at Fairford, by the Isis, by the Coln, in the gardens, in the meadows, unknown except to the inner circle of his most intimate friends, those beautiful lyrics which, under the title of the "Christian Year," when completed, some four years after the date at which we have arrived, sprang at once into such resplendent celebrity, achieving a success that has been maintained undiminished ever since, and that is simply and absolutely unparalleled. Another temptation was held out to Keble early in 1824. William Hart Coleridge had just then been selected to fill one of the two newly-created sees in the West Indies, as Bishop of Barbadoes. A couple of archdeaconries were in his gift, each worth £2,000 a year, and one of these he urgently pressed upon Keble's acceptance. Dazzled though he may have been for a passing moment by this offer to advance him per saltum to the position of archdeacon of Barbadoes, the gifted but simple-minded curate of Southrop, Eastleach, and Burthorpe declined it, nevertheless, unhesitatingly. His home-ties, his father's increasing age and infirmities, his tender regard for his two sisters-his different affection for whom he prettily typified by speaking of his "wife" Margaret and his “sweetheart" Mary Anne-held him securely, by preference, to his lowlier position as a working curate in Gloucestershire. The song-bird that soars highest towards heaven among the dews and sunbeams, makes its nest, by preference, not in an eyrie or in the tree-top, but among the grass or between the furrows of a cornfield. During eight years altogether—that is, from 1819 to 1827-Keble had been gradually preparing what at length made its appearance as his masterpiece: "The Christian Year." It had germinated, grown, and expanded under his hand very gradually and at first almost imperceptibly. It was with no affected reluctance that he at length, yielding to the importunity of those immediately around him, consented to its appearance. His father, who was every day, it seemed, descending nearer and nearer towards the entrance of the Valley of the Shadow, expressed an eager solicitude to witness its publication. The manuscript passed into the printer's hands, and the proofs, one by one, found their way to Fairford for the author's timid and ever-wincing correction. His own preference would have been that they should have appeared posthumously. Against his judgment, however, it was decided otherwise by those to whose opinions he deferred On the 23d June, 1827, the "Christian Year" was first published. It stole its way into the public heart instant ly. It influenced all it came across with a spell of fascination. Its success was emotional rather than a matter of reasoning and of criticism. Keble's readers were like those who listened to some sweet and delicious melody chanted by a singer who was hidden from view in the twilight. Their hearts were moved, their nerves thrilled, their eyes glistened, they were charmed by a voice that was at once new and yet familiar. Before the December of that year was out, a second edition had been required. In 1828, the third made its appearance. One followed another in rapid succession. When but a little more than a quarter of a century had elapsed, forty-three editions had been exhausted, 108,000 copies had already even then passed into circulation. Before its author's life was completed and crowned by a death so serene and caim that it was a veritable euthanasia, the astonish ing number of ninety-two editions of the "Christian Year" had passed from the hands of his publishers. HORATIUS BONAR, D. D. HORATIUS BONAR, whose hymns are among the sweet minor tones that are yearly growing in the love of the church, was born in Edinburgh, in 1808, and was educacated at Edinburgh University. Religious impressions were early made upon his mind, and his mental conflicts ended in the peace of Christ: "I heard the voice of Jesus say, 'Come unto me and rest: Lay down, thou weary one, lay down |