"It is good to be here," and look forth on the flowers,
The stars, and the sunset of eve;

"It is good to be here," and from this world of ours
Glowing thoughts of a better receive.

"It is good to be here !" O then "here let us raise"
Memorials of the thanks to the Giver,

And then, fill'd with His love, and inspired with His praise,
Go to bask in His brightness for ever!

SAMUEL PEARCE.

THE REV. SAMUEL PEARCE was born at Plymouth, on the 20th July, 1766. He became a preacher of the Baptist Church in November, 1786. Having attended the theological academy at Bristol, he was invited to the ministry of the Baptist Church, Cannon Street, Birmingham, in August, 1790. Consequent on incessant literary and ministerial labours, he contracted an illness, which terminated in consumption. He died on the roth October, 1799, in his 33rd year. Memoirs of his life were published by the Rev. Andrew Fuller. The following hymn of Samuel Pearce has hitherto appeared in the Collections in an incorrect form. The present version is transcribed from the copy included by Mr. Fuller in the author's memoir. Another lyric from his pen, beginning "The fabric of nature is fair," was composed in the immediate prospect of dissolution.

HYMN IN A STORM.

IN the floods of tribulation,
While the billows o'er me roll,

Jesus whispers consolation,

And supports my fainting soul:
Thus the lion yields me honey,
From the eater food is given;
Strengthened thus, I still press forward,
Singing as I wade to heaven—

Sweet affliction ! sweet affliction,

That brings Jesus to my soul.

'Mid the gloom the vivid lightnings
With increasing brightness play;

'Mid the thorn-brake beauteous flow'rets
Look more beautiful and gay:

So, in darkest dispensations
Doth my faithful Lord appear,
With His richest consolations,
To reanimate and cheer:

Sweet affliction! sweet affliction,
Thus to bring my Saviour near!

Floods of tribulation heighten,

Billows still around me roar ;
Those that know not Christ, ye frighten,
But my soul defies your pow'r :
In the sacred page recorded,

Thus His word securely stands

"Fear not, I'm in trouble near thee,

Nought shall pluck thee from my hands."

Sweet affliction! sweet affliction,
That to such sweet words lay claim!

All I meet I find assists me

In my path to heavenly joy;
Where, though trials now attend me,
Trials never more annoy :
Wearing there a weight of glory,
Still the path I'll ne'er forget;
But, reflecting how it led me
To my blessed Saviour's seat,
Cry, "affliction, sweet affliction !
Haste, bring more to Jesus' feet !”

EDWARD PERRONET.

THE REV. EDWARD PERRONET was the son of the Rev. Vincent Perronet, vicar of Shore. ham, Kent. For some time an associate of the Wesleys, he subsequently abandoned their intercourse, and was employed by Lady Huntingdon, at Canterbury and Norwich. He differed with her ladyship by his strong opposition to the Church of England, and became pastor of a dissenting congregation. His death took place at Canterbury, in 1792. In 1785, he published a small volume, entitled "Occasional Verses, Moral and Social." This work is now extremely rare; a copy is preserved in the library of the British Museum. The following hymn from his pen has been assigned to different authors.

CHRIST THE LORD OF ALL.

ALL hail the power of Jesu's name!
Let angels prostrate fall;
Bring forth the royal diadem,
To crown Him Lord of all.

Let high-born seraphs tune the lyre,
And as they tune it, fall

Before His face, who tunes their choir,
And crown Him Lord of all.

Crown Him, ye morning stars of light,
Who fix'd this floating ball;
Now, hail the strength of Israel's might,
And crown Him Lord of all.

Crown Him, ye martyrs of your God,
Who from His altar call;

Extol the Stem of Jesse's rod,

And crown Him Lord of all.

Ye seed of Israel's chosen race,
Ye ransom'd of the fall,

Hail Him who saves you by His grace,
And crown Him Lord of all.

Hail Him, ye heirs of David's line,
Whom David Lord did call ;
The God incarnate, man Divine,
And crown Him Lord of all.

Sinners! whose love can ne'er forget
The wormwood and the gall,
Go-spread your trophies at His feet,
And crown Him Lord of all.

Let every tribe and every tongue
That bound creation's call,
Now shout in universal song,

The crowned Lord of all.

MRS. MARY PETERS.

THE subject of this notice was a native of Cirencester, and daughter of Richard Bewley, Esq., who long resided in that place. She married the Rev. Mc William Peters, rector of Quennington, Gloucestershire. She died at Clifton, Gloucestershire, on the 29th July, 1855. Mrs. Peters composed an elegant work, in seven duodecimo volumes, entitled "The World's

History from the Creation to the accession of Queen Victoria." In 1846, she published "Hymns intended to help the Communion of Saints." London, 1849. This little volume

contains 58 compositions.

THE NAME OF JESUS.

JESUS, how much Thy name unfolds
To every open'd ear!

The pardon'd sinner's memory holds
None other half so dear.

"Jesus," it speaks a life of love,

And sorrows meekly borne;
It tells of sympathy above,
Whatever makes us mourn.

It speaks of righteousness complete,
Of holiness to God;

And, to our ears, no tale so sweet
As His atoning blood.

Jesus, the one who knew no sin,
Made sin to make us just ;
Worthy art Thou our love to win,
And worthy all our trust.

Thy name encircles every grace
That God as man could show ;
There only can the Spirit trace
A perfect life below.

The mention of Thy name shall bow
Our hearts to worship Thee;
The chiefest of ten thousand, Thou,
The chief of sinners, we.

ALL IS WELL.

THROUGH the love of God our Saviour,
All will be well;

Free and changeless is His favour,

All, all is well.

Precious is the blood that heal'd us;

Perfect is the grace that seal'd us;

Strong the hand stretch'd forth to shield us;

All must be well.

Though we pass through tribulation,

All will be well;

Ours is such a full salvation,

All, all is well.

Happy still, to God confiding,

Fruitful, if in Christ abiding,

Holy through the Spirit's guiding,-
All must be well.

We expect a bright to-morrow,

All will be well;

Faith can sing, through days of sorrow,

All, all is well.

On our Father's love relying,

Jesus every need supplying,

Or in living or in dying,

All must be well.