ore travestied, (if we may use so strong a word), in popular religious
airs, than this golden hymn which has made Isaac Watts a benefactor to
every prisoner of hope. Not to mention the fancy figures and refrains
of camp-meeting music, which have cheapened it, neither John Cole's
"Annapolis" nor Arne's "Arlington" nor a dozen others that have borrowed
these speaking lines, can wear out their association with "Auld lang
Syne." The hymn has permeated the tune, and, without forgetting its own
words, the Scotch melody preforms both a social and religious mission.
Some arrangements of it make it needlessly repetitious, but its pathos
will always best vocalize the hymn, especially the first and last
stanzas--

When I can read my title clear
To mansions in the skies
I'll bid farewell to every fear
And wipe my weeping eyes.

* * * * *

There shall I bathe my weary soul
In seas of heavenly rest,
And not a wave of trouble roll
Across my peaceful breast.

"VITAL SPARK OF HEAVENLY FLAME."

This paraphrase, by Alexander Pope, of the Emperor Adrian's death-bed
address to his soul--

Animula, vagula, blandula,
Hospes, comesque corporis,

--transfers the poetry and constructs a hymnic theme.

An old hymn writer by the name of Flatman wrote a Pindaric, somewhat
similar to "Adrian's Address," as follows:

When on my sick-bed I languish,
Full of sorrow, full of anguish,
Fainting, gasping, trembling, crying,
Panting, groaning, speechless, dying;
Methinks I hear some gentle spirit say,
"Be not fearful, come away."

Pope combined these two poems with the words of Divine inspiration, "O
death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?" and made a
pagan philosopher's question the text for a triumphant Christian anthem
of hope.

Vital spark of heavenly flame,
Quit, oh quit this mortal frame.
Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying,
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.

Hark! they whisper: angels say,
"Sister spirit, come away!"
What is this absorbs me quite,
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirit, draws my breath,
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?

The world recedes: it disappears:
Heaven opens on my eyes; my ears
With sounds seraphic ring.
Lend, lend your wings! I