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"Sleep on, beloved, sleep, and take thy rest;
Lay down thy head upon thy Saviour's breast;
We loved thee well, but Jesus loves thee best --
Good-night! Good-night!

"Calm is thy slumber as an infant's sleep;
But thou shall wake no more to toil and weep:
This is a perfect rest, secure, and deep --
Good-night! Good-night!

"Until the shadows from this earth are cast;
Until He gathers in His sheaves at last;
Until the twilight gloom be overpast --
Good-night! Good-night!

"Until the Easter glory lights the skies;
Until the dead in Jesus shall arise,
And He shall come, but not in lowly guise --
Good-night! Good-night!

"Until made beautiful by Love Divine,
Thou in the likeness of thy Lord shalt shine,
And He shall bring that golden crown of thine --
Good-night! Good-night!

"Only 'Good-night,' beloved -- not 'farewell!'
A little while, and all His saints shall dwell
In hallowed union indivisible --
Good-night! Good-night!

"Until we meet again before His throne,
Clothed in the spotless robe He gives His own,
Until we know even as we are known --
Good-night! Good-night!"

Then he gave me a message for the same purpose.

"I wish you to convey to all my friends," said Mr. Sankey, "the assurance of my love; and that I hope to meet them all by-and-by in the land where there is no more sorrow nor pain, and where God shall wipe away all tears from our eyes. Tell them that God is Love and that I have ordered those words to be cut on my tomb-stone in Greenwood, that future generations may know the faith in which I died."

Later he wrote:

"Dear Fanny, co-laborer in the blessed service of Sacred Song for so many years:

"I wish that when you get to heaven (as you may before I will) that you will watch for me at the pearly gate at the eastern side of the city; and when I get there I'll take you by the hand and lead you along the golden street, up to the throne of God, and there we'll stand before the Lamb, and say to Him: And now we see Thee face to face, saved by Thy matchless, boundless grace, and we are satisfied.

"Yours, till the day dawn and the shadows flee away,

"Ira D. Sankey."

CHAPTER XVII
OTHER LITERARY AND MUSICAL FRIENDSHIPS

IN general I have been always willing to agree with authors as to the merits of their own poems. That often is the safer plan, and in the end may save a vast deal of ill feeling. One funny instance comes to mind now. Fifty or more years ago I knew a man who thought he had a genius for poetry; and when I was calling at his house he recited one of his own productions, of which I recall only this stanza:

"I am what is called a sinner
By those who think they are right;
But then I hope to go where
The blind receive their sight."

I said, "Why, Mr. Brown, did you write that?" en-deavoring to look as demure as possible. He seemed to be much flattered, and said, "I have been thinking that you and I could write a book together." Sum-moning all the gravity I could, I exclaimed, "Wouldn't that be splendid!" The book, however, was never written.

An irregular line frequently makes a poem unsuited to music. In my work I have seldom undertaken even the slightest revision in the poems of others, without being perfectly sure that it was wished. Once, when I departed from this rule, to gratify the wish of the editor of a certain New York magazine, I repented at leisure. Someone had sent in a piece entitled "Charlie and I"; I revised it; and a few days after the magazine was pub-lished the author came down to interview me. Not until some time later did she become fully reconciled and then only through the friendly offices of my colleague, the late Mrs. Mary A. Kidder. Then we became firm friends; but the lesson taught me by such an unpleasant incident has saved me from like repetitions.

Miss Josephine Pollard and Mrs. Kidder also wrote many hymns for Mr. Bradbury, and his successors, the Biglow and Main Company; and the three of us worked together so well that they were in the habit of calling us "the trio."

Philip P. Bliss was introduced to me in 1874. His talent for music was inherited, though his early advan-tages were few. When he was ten years of age he heard a piano for the first time; and, becoming enraptured by the music, he sought the source of it which proved to be the parlor of an entire stranger. But the boy was so enchanted that he did not think of that; and so entered; and there found a young lady seated at the piano, but she ordered him out. This same boy, however, mostly through his own efforts, had become so proficient in music, after a very few years that he was asked to lead large chorus classes.

The death of Mr. Bliss at the beginning of what seemed a career of great promise cast a cloud over the spirits of all his friends. The night before that terrible railroad accident at Ashtabula, Ohio, in which he lost his life in a vain attempt to save that of his beloved wife, he said to his audience, "I may not pass this way again"; then he sang a solo, "I'm Going Home To-morrow." This indeed proved prophetic of his own home going.