This happiness in part is mine,
Already saved from low design,

From every creature-love;
Blest with the scorn of finite good,
My soul is lightened of its load,
And seeks the things above.

The things eternal I pursue,
My happiness beyond the view
Of those who basely pant;
The things by nature felt and seen,
Their honors, wealth, and pleasures mean,
I neither have nor want.

There is my house and portion fair;
My treasure and my heart are there,
And my abiding home;

For me my elder brethren stay,
And angels beckon me away,
And Jesus bids me come.

I come, thy servant, Lord replies;
I come to meet thee in the skies,

And claim my heavenly rest!
Soon will the pilgrim's journey end;
Then, O my Saviour, Brother, Friend,

Receive me to thy breast!

This hymn, which we give as we find it in many collections, but which is greatly extended by the narration of personal circumstances in the original, was written by John Wesley, at the most stormy and tempestuous period of his life, when his lot from a worldly point of view would have been deemed anything but happy.

On February 17, 1746, when days were short and weather far from favorable, he set out on horseback from

Bristol to Newcastle, a distance between three and four hundred miles. The journey occupied ten weary days. Brooks were swollen, and in some places the roads were impassable, obliging the itinerant to go round through the fields At Aldrige Heath, in Straffordshire, the rain turned to snow, which the northerly wind drove against him, and by which he was soon crusted over from head to foot. At Leeds, the mob followed him, and pelted him with whatever came to hand. He arrived at Newcastle, February 26, "free from every anxious thought," and "every worldly fear."

It was amid such scenes as these that the hymn was written, though we have not the exact date.

The hymn in the original is autobiographical. Wesley had at the time of writing it no wife, and he held no property, having made over his estates to trustees. He says,

"I have no abes to hold me here,
But children more sincerely dear
Than mine I humbly claim,
Better than daughters or than sons,
Temples divine of living stones,
Inscribed in Jesus' name.

"No foot of land do I possess,
No cottage in the wilderness;
A poor wayfaring man,
I lodge awhile in tents below,
Or gladly wander to and fro,
Till I my Canaan gain."

John Wesley was disposed to lightly regard all of the scenes of distressing self-sacrifice associated with his