ive than his original work. "Refuge"
is not a manufacture but an inspiration.]

For general congregational use, Mason's "Whitman" has wedded itself to
the hymn perhaps closer than any other. It has revival associations
reaching back more than sixty years.

"WHEN MARSHALLED ON THE NIGHTLY PLAIN."

Perhaps no line in all familiar hymnology more readily suggests the name
of its author than this. In the galaxy of poets Henry Kirke White was a
brief luminary whose brilliancy and whose early end have appealed to the
hearts of three generations. He was born at Nottingham, Eng., in the
year 1795. His father was a butcher, but the son, disliking the trade,
was apprenticed to a weaver at the age of fourteen. Two years later he
entered an attorney's office as copyist and student.

The boy imbibed sceptical notions from some source, and might have
continued to scoff at religion to the last but for the experience of his
intimate friend, a youth named Almond, whose life was changed by
witnessing one day the happy death of a Christian believer. Decided to
be a Christian himself, it was some time before he mustered courage to
face White's ridicule and resentment. He simply drew away from him. When
White demanded the reason he was obliged to tell him that they two must
henceforth walk different paths.

"Good God!" exclaimed White, "you surely think worse of me than I
deserve!"

The separation was a severe shock to Henry, and the real grief of it
sobered his anger to reflection and remorse. The light of a better life
came to him when his heart melted--and from that time he and Almond were
fellows in faith as well as friendship.

In his hymn the young poet tells the stormy experience of his soul, and
the vision that guided him to peace.

When, marshalled on the nightly plain,
The glittering host bestud the sky,
One star alone of all the train
Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.
Hark, hark! to God the chorus breaks,
From every host, from every gem,
But one alone the Saviour speaks;
It is the Star of Bethlehem.

Once on the raging seas I rode:
The storm was loud, the night was dark;
The ocean yawned, and rudely blowed
The wind that tossed my foundering bark.
Deep horror then my vitals froze,
Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem,
When suddenly a star arose;
It was the Star of Bethlehem.

It was my guide, my light, my all,
It bade