And the heavens with the burden of Godhead are bowed.

* * * * *

The Judgment! the Judgment! the thrones are all set,
Where the Lamb and the white-vested elders are met;
There all flesh is at once in the sight of the Lord,
And the doom of eternity hangs on His word.

The name "Williams" or "J. Williams" is attached to various editions of
the trumpet-like tune, but so far no guide book gives us location, date
or sketch of the composer.

"COME, MY BRETHREN."

Another of the "unstudied" revival hymns of invitation.

Come, my brethren, let us try
For a little season
Every burden to lay by,
Come and let us reason.

What is this that casts you down.
What is this that grieves you?
Speak and let your wants be known;
Speaking may relieve you.

This colloquial rhyme was apt to be started by some good brother or
sister in one of the chilly pauses of a prayer-meeting. The air (there
was never anything more to it) with a range of only a fifth, slurred the
last syllable of every second line, giving the quaint effect of a bent
note, and altogether the music was as homely as the verse. Both are
anonymous. But the little chant sometimes served its purpose wonderfully
well.

"BRETHREN, WHILE WE SOJOURN HERE."

This hymn was always welcome in the cottage meetings as well as in the
larger greenwood assemblies. It was written by Rev. Joseph Swain, about
1783.

Brethren, while we sojourn here
Fight we must, but should not fear.
Foes we have, but we've a Friend,
One who loves us to the end;
Forward then with courage go;
Long we shall not dwell below,
Soon the joyful news will come,
"Child, your Father calls, 'Come home.'"

The tune was sometimes "Pleyel's Hymn," but oftener it was sung to a
melody now generally forgotten of much the same movement but slurred in
peculiarly sweet and tender turns. The cadence of the last tune gave
the refrain line a melting effect:

Child, your Father calls, "Come home."

Some of the spirit of this old tune (in the few hymnals where the hymn
is now printed) is preserved in Geo. Kingsley's "Messiah" which
accompanies the words, but the modulations are wanting.

Joseph Swain was born in Birmingham, Eng. in 1761. Bred among mechanics,
he was early apprenticed to the engraver's trade, but he was a boy of
poetic temperament and fond of writing verses. After the spir