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 214 THE METHODIST HYMN-BOOK ILLUSTRATED

promise. And taking pen and paper from the table, she deliberately set down in writing, for her own comfort, &quot;the formulae of her faith.&quot; Hers was a heart which always tended to express its depths in verse. So in verse she restated to herself the gospel of pardon, peace, and heaven. &quot; Probably without difficulty or long pause &quot; she wrote the hymn, getting comfort by thus definitely &quot;recollecting&quot; the eternity of the Rock beneath her feet. There, then, always, not only for some past moment, but &quot;even now&quot; she was accepted in the Beloved &quot;Just as I am.&quot;

When her sister-in-law stepped in with news of the bazaar, she found the hymn lying on the table. The same year; Miss Elliott printed the Invalid s Hymn-book, originally compiled by Miss Kiernan, of Dublin, and added twenty-three of her own hymns. In later editions the number of her own hymns was increased. Just as I am appeared in the 1836 edition, headed by the text, Him that cometh unto Me, I will in no wise cast out. The same year it was given in her Hours of Sorrow Cheered and Comforted^ with the added verse, Just as I am, of that free love.

It has been translated into many languages. Miss Elliott s brother, the Rev. H. V. Elliott, said, In the course of a long ministry, I hope I have been permitted to see some fruit of my labours ; but I feel far more has been done by a single hymn of my sister s. Miss Elliott wrote 120 hymns. ; My God ! is any hour so sweet, and Leaning on Thee, my Guide, my Friend/ will always be treasured. Her life was one of much pain, and her hymns will never cease to comfort those who pass through deep waters. More than half a century of patient suffering went to the making of her hymns. She often said that she clung to Christ as the limpet clings to the rock. She lived to be more than eighty-two, and felt that such an age as hers required great faith, great patience, and great peace.

The hymn was sent by a friend to Wordsworth s one and matchless daughter, Dora, Mrs. Quillinan, in her last illness. Her weakness was so great that she was scarcely able to have it read to her, but it came as a heavenly messenger. That is the very thing for me. Her husband says, At least ten times a day she asked me to repeat it to her. Every morning she asked for it Now my hymn and would repeat it after her husband, line for line, many times, in the day and night. Her grave in Grasmere churchyard has a lamb engraved on the

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