ning to end this hymn is a picture of the modern city with its
sins and sorrows and spiritual hunger. We see the city as the meeting
place of all races and tongues; we hear the din and noise of selfish
striving; we behold the haunts of poverty and sin and wretchedness; we
catch a glimpse of the sufferings of helpless childhood, of woman's
secret griefs and man's ceaseless toil. And all these multitudes are
hungering for Christ!

North has, consciously or unconsciously, made a striking distinction
between mere social service work, which aims at the alleviation of human
need and suffering, and inner mission work, which seeks to help men
spiritually as well as physically. "The cup of water" is never to be
despised, but when it is given in Christ's Name it has double value; for
it is Christ Himself, after all, that men need, and it is only Christ who
can truly satisfy. Social service can never take the place of salvation.

What a beautiful prayer is that contained in the fifth stanza, where the
Master is entreated to "tread the city's streets again!" And then, as a
fitting climax to this whole remarkable poem, comes the triumphant
thought expressed in the final lines of the coming of the New Jerusalem
from above--"the city of our God."

North was well qualified to write such a hymn. He himself was a child of
the city, having been born in America's greatest metropolis in 1850. His
early education, too, was received in New York City and after his
graduation from Wesleyan University in 1872 he served several
congregations in the city of his birth. In 1892 he was made Corresponding
Secretary of the New York City Church Extension and Missionary Society
and in 1912 he was elected a Corresponding Secretary of the Methodist
Episcopal Board of Foreign Missions. Thus, almost his whole life has been
devoted to missionary activities at home and abroad.

It was in 1905, in response to a request from the Methodist hymnal
committee, that North wrote his celebrated hymn. He tells the story in
the following words:

"My life was for long years, both by personal choice, and official duty,
given to the people in all phases of their community life. New York was
to me an open book. I spent days and weeks and years in close contact
with every phase of the life of the multitudes, and at the morning, noon
and evening hours was familiar with the tragedy, as it always seemed to
me, of the jostling, moving currents of the life of the people as
re