Letters from Friends
(Zo M. V. G. Havergal.)
PERRY VILLA, Fanuary 5, 1880.
My DEAR FRIEND, —
I cannot refuse your natural desire for a few particulars concerning your beloved sister’s work in connection with the Hymnal, ‘“« Songs of Grace and Glory.”* In June, 1870, she came to reside with us at Perry Villa, and to render her valuable assistance in the joint editing of ‘‘ Songs of Grace and Glory,” sometimes composing hymns and sometimes tunes, and taking the warmest interest in the perfecting of that work, which forms the most comprehensive hymnal in the Church of England. It was a real happiness to be working together for Christ, and to have seen and known much of the hidden history of her life, and traced those deep springs from whence welled forth her glorious productions in poetry, prose, and music. It pleased God to bless our friendship, and to make use of the preaching of the full gospel to instruct and refresh her soul. New light dawned in upon her; until, at length, a full and blessed assurance of her present and everlasting salvation in Christ Jesus irradiated her whole being. The former intense longings — “Oh that I could enjoy that sweet sense of pardon and the happiness you have in Christ,” were, at length, most fully realized! She had passed through deep waters, and the fiery ordeal had purged the dross and purified the gold. Great and lasting changes now took place; richer and fuller views of Christ, clearer discernment in the deep mysteries of the covenant of grace, doctrinal truths more accurately learned and more firmly grasped. ‘‘ Full assurance of faith’ was reached, Christ became daily more precious, joy in the Lord abounded, faith and hope and love grew exceedingly.
Your late beloved father, Canon Havergal, had previously shown a warm and genial interest in arranging for the supply of tunes to meet the requirements of ‘‘Songs of Grace and Glory.” Indeed,
* Referred to on page 103 and elsewhere, the last of his own beautiful compositions was written expressly for this volume, only a few days before his sudden removal. It is a fine tune, and I have since, by permission, named it ‘‘ Havergal.”
Visiting his late residence, ‘‘ Pyrmont Villa,” after his death, a curious kind of instinct seemed to impress my mind with the firm persuasion that his youngest daughter could supply his place, and carry on the work as musical editor. After events fully verified all this, and showed the father’s mantle had fallen with double blessing upon his child. It was at this period she came over to reside with us, and from time to time, as required, she was guided and enabled to write her most beautiful tunes and hymns. She would frequently remark: ‘‘It is only as, and when, God sees fit to give me a hymn, that I can ever write one.” In and through all, the Divine Spirit was sought, and most gratefully acknowledged, in answer to prayer.
We were now engaged upon one of the largest hymnals in the Church of England; restoring the hymns to their originals; discovering authors’ names and dates; selecting texts and tunes; and arranging more than a thousand hymns under their proper themes and subjects. Some of this material I had been collecting during thirty years, desiring to represent every doctrine of Holy Scripture, every varying phase of the Christian life, and all the sacred seasons of the year.
In assisting me to carry out, through the press, this great work, we had many difficulties, but also many answers to prayer. On more occasions than one, when the proof sheets were waiting, and the next hymn, upon some important and difficult subject, had scarcely reached the high standard desired, we paused for prayer, and, spreading the matter before the Lord, asked for His Divine Spirit to guide her pen; and, ere a brief hour or so had passed away, the much needed guidance was vouchsafed, and a beautiful hymn produced, in well balanced rhyme and rhythm, and sweetly flowing verse.
The history connected with many of our hymns would form an. instructive volume, indicating the tidal wave in the Christian church, and depicting the ebb and flow of ripening experience and doctrine. So, with your sister, her exquisite compositions have their special history, while at the same time they mark the wondrous growth in faith and love and Scripture doctrine.
After many years’ experience in the study of hymnology, I do not hesitate to affirm that the hymnal compositions of Frances Ridley Havergal must ever rank among the finest in the English language, and portray the fullest and ripest fruits of the Christian character. Further, upon the most difficult of all themes, ‘‘ The Attributes of Deity,” those written by her upon ‘‘The Infinity of God,” and upon ‘‘ The Eternity of God,” have seldom been surpassed, if ever equalled.
Her Birthday and New Year hymns; her Consecration hymns; the popular Missionary hymn; the Second Advent hymn; the Sacramental hymns; the hymn of praise, ‘‘ Worthy of all Adoration”; and such hymns as ‘‘O Saviour, precious Saviour,” and ‘‘ Our Saviour, our King,” ‘‘Is it for me, dear Saviour?” and ‘‘ From glory unto glory,” and others of this same character, have laid the whole church of Christ under great obligations, by this volume. And we have been much cheered with many testimonies, from all parts, of the Divine blessing upon our work. ‘‘She being dead yet speaketh,” and we thank God the last nine years of her eventful life manifested such ripening in knowledge and in grace, in extended usefulness, in entire consecration, in holy, happy, and honoured service for her Saviour and her King. So that, in all my ministerial experience of thirty years, I have never witnessed such growth and such marvellous progress, still less such talents, laid so humbly at the Master’s feet, and so entirely consecrated to His glory!
I have just been looking over a number of interesting documents, comprising letters and manuscript originals of her beautiful tunes, as well as hymns, written about this time, all of which bear the same impress as that stated above.
Doubtless the joint editing of so many beautiful hymns and tunes exerted their happy influence, and brought a reflex blessing upon her own soul. The hymns themselves, expressive of the brightest hopes of the church of Christ, would naturally lift the mind from the regions of uncertainty and doubt to the higher atmosphere of communion and fellowship with God.
I remain, my dear Friend, yours faithfully in Christ Jesus,
CHARLES B. SNEPP.
(From her friend EvizABETH Cuay.)
AmoNncG the most distinct recollections of my childhood is my first sight of dear F. R. H. On my return to school at Belmont, after the summer holidays, in 1850, I was taken into the large room, where all the teachers and pupils had just assembled for tea. Seated amongst a group of little ones, at the bottom of a long table, was anew pupil, with long golden curls falling around her head. Her appearance at once attracted me, for I remember that as I joined the party my thought was, ‘‘I should like her for my friend.” Little did I imagine that before the close of that half-year a friendship would have commenced between us which resulted in the closest intimacy, uninterrupted until her entrance into glory twenty-eight and a half years afterwards. It was from the beginning based on an earnest desire to know and to follow the Saviour. During the first holidays we visited one another’s homes, and had Bible reading and prayer together. For some years she had not the settled peace and joy in the Lord which were so characteristic of her after life; she seemed to seek in vain for any assurance of salvation. In later years her impression was that her trying and painful early experience was permitted, partly, that it might be evident that her after joy had nothing to do with her naturally happy buoyant temperament.
One night in March, 1859, when we were sharing the same room, after rising from prayer, she told me that the words we had read together earlier in the evening about the woman in Mark v. 27, who ‘‘ came in the press behind” and touched Jesus, had brought comfort to her, heart, and that she could now trust that He would not turn her away either. This bright gleam of light never passed away, but gradually increased and brightened, shining ‘‘ more and more unto the perfect day.” She always seemed fully to act up to the light given her, and thus, doubtless, it was that some who started with her, or before her, found themselves left behind as she pressed on in the upward path. Her poetical power impressed me even in childhood. I well remember one summer evening walk we took together when she was visiting us in the summer of 1851, and her rapidly composing some sweet lines on the lovely sunset and* surrounding scene.
Letter from Miss ApDA LEIGH.
77, AVENUE WAGRAM, Paris, Fume 1879.
IT is five years ago since I met F. R. H. at the Mildmay Conference: our first and last meeting face to face, yet not in spirit, for the words she wrote were treasured, falling with the dew of loving sympathy, pure and fresh, because God-given after the toil and heat of a weary day.... Just after the first meeting at Mildmay for our Paris Homes, when I was feeling the chill which creeps over one after a great effort, and in my weakness fearing that it had all been a failure, F..R. H. came, threw her arms round my neck, her eyes filled with tears, and offered me a handful of her jewellery for my work; as she expressed it, ‘‘such as I have to give.”
The next day, after partaking of the Holy Communion in St. Jude’s Church, the last day of the Conference, 1874, we met again. The rain was descending in torrents, making one yearn for showers of blessings on souls. I said I could cry aloud, in the burden and loneliness of my heart, for showers such as these. ‘‘ Could you,” she answered, stopping in the rain, and looking lovingly in my face, “could you? then be comforted, God will do great things for you.” The solemn power and sympathy of her words have never been forgotten; and often, when the burden of souls has lain heavy, the path narrow, lonely, and rugged, the spirit weak and sore with fightings within and fears without, comes back the echo of those gentle words of one who well knew what heart dealing with the Master was, and His way of dealing with the hearts He would make all His own. ‘‘ Be comforted, God will do great things for you.”
Letter to M.V.G.H. from “B.M.,” authoress of “Ezekiel,” “Elijah,” and other poems. September 24, 1879. My pEAR MADAM, — It is indeed a pleasure to recall the few simple incidents of my intercourse with your beloved one, and to record them now for you. Our friendship was so sweet, so perfect, and, alas for me, so short, pee
that it seems almost now like a very lovely dream when one awaketh. But no dream, however bright, could have left such a light behind it.
The first communication which passed between us was her note, two years ago, asking permission to publish part of ‘‘ One by One” with her own music. This note lies before me now, and is very characteristic of the writer. It begins formally, as to a total stranger, but her own loving spirit looks out in the closing words, “* My heart is indeed with thy heart. Yours most cordially, Frances Ridley Havergal”; and the little postscript runs, ‘* With the voice together shall they sing, for they shall see eye to eye.”
My first sight of her was, as you know, last year, when she passed near our home by rail. I went to our station to meet a ‘friend, who had travelled accidentally in the same carriage, and pointed me out to her as they drew up. There was a bustle that day at our little station, and the train was a long one; as it moved off I saw a bright face leaning out a good way down, and an eager hand kissed to me again and again, but I did not quite know till afterwards that it really was to me, for the bright face was that of a stranger, and there were many people standing about. It gives me a little pang still, to think that the sweet impulsive greeting was unreturned.
Soon after this we met, as you know; and then came the two happy days she spent with us. None of the time was lost in “making acquaintance”; we knew each the heart of the other, though only till then in cold print, and commenced on the level of that knowledge. We asked each other countless questions and compared many notes, as to how ‘‘ things” occurred to us, how they changed and began to live and grow and take possession of us, and how finally they ‘‘ got written.” She said once or twice, ‘‘ I have never had exactly this kind of intercourse with any one, how deliciously igteresting it is.” She told me that she almost always completed each “‘ thing” that occurred to her, and was not haunted by hints and dreams of possible poems which never shaped themselves. Also, that she seldom felt a chill of disappointment with what she had written, but hoped for the best. knew she had done what she could with the material given her, and went on content to another bit of work. In this I felt that she took indeed, at once, the lowliest and the highest view of her vocation. She said,in one of these happy talks, ‘‘I am so glad you call Him ‘the Master,’ it was one of the first things that made me love what you wrote. Is it nota dear name?” We spoke of death, and she said, ‘‘I can’t say I am exactly in a hurry to go, are you? We need not wish to be taken away in the midst of our days, for there is so much delightful work to do here, and in any case we shall have time, — eternity, for the. glory and the rest.”
On one of her two evenings with us, she offered to have a Bible reading for our maid servants and a few others, which was much appreciated. The other evening she played and sang to us in the drawing-room, moving our hearts. In all she did one could see that the Master was always with her and her eyes unto Him, the “secret of His presence” had been revealed to her, and was the joy and rejoicing of her heart. An instance of this continual sense of His real presence rises before me. We had been talking of strange and dark events in the world, and I expressed an unguarded wonder that such: things were permitted. Instantly I felt her hand on my arm, and she said quickly, ‘*‘ Dear, dear B. M., don’t, He does not like to hear us say these things.”” It was just the hurried movement and word, with which one might recall toa friend the forgotten presence of a Third, yet done with solemnity as ‘‘ touching the King.”
In reference to the above, I should tell you that she degved to call me by my initials, which she said had been so long dear to her. She persuaded me at once to call her by her own sweet Christian name, and was so glad that I preferred Frances to Fanny.
Observing the little pillar post which stands in our hall, and on which the hour of despatch is printed, with ‘‘ No delivery or despatch on Sunday,” she said in her bright way, ‘‘ Capital! that’s as it should be.”” To our coachman’s wife, touching her baby’s cheek with a gentle hand, she said softly, ‘‘ Is it not nice to think that He took up young children in His arms, laid His handsten them, and blessed them?” HE was in all her thoughts.
Her words when we parted lingered in my heart: ‘*Oh, is it not sweet of the Master to give us such days as these? It is not merely ‘all our weed,’ but delicious extra things too, such treats as this has been, He planned it all for us.”:
To us both, this had seemed the beginning of a long friendship. We spoke of future visits in the years to come, and of publishing songs together, and of other plans. But her time was at hand. Our brief friendship held only that one parting, which was to lead to no earthly meeting. One birthday (her’s), one exchange of Christmas greetings, a few of her bright loving letters, and she was gone, — gone to the land that is gathering to itself, day by day, our best and loveliest.
Two days after her birthday she wrote: “How kind of you, darling friend, to recollect my day, and send me such a charming book.* I do like it so much. I want along chat with you most sorely, but can’t make time just now without confirming a growling headache. I have just been relieving my mind by writing a little poem ‘The Key Found.’+ I have been wishing for a long time to have a very direct shot at this dreary, misty, semi-unbelief, that some people pride themselves on, Oh, if they would but ‘come and see’ our Lord Jesus! Your ever loving Frances.”
Her last letter, written so shortly before her death, is also before me now. ‘Dearest B. M. Thanks many for your dear note... Ihave no respite, I must make a little lull in life. Whilst most thankful for success, I am almost alarmedly wondering whereunto this work will grow. Yet oh, how one wants Him to make the very most of all we have and are. Remember me warmly to Mr. M. I am going to send you ‘Kept’ as soon as published. Your loving friend, F. R. H.”
Before I had time to reply to this letter, she was gone to Him whom her soul so fervently loved. I was struck by an expression you used in your first note to me, that “‘surely she must enjoy heaven more than most.” I know exactly what you mean, and I
‘find it singularly easy to realize her there, to picture her bright
spirit at home in the Father’s house, and to imagine the sacred ecstasy with which she serves Him day and night in the temple. Is it not sweet also, and comforting, to think of her tender greeting by
* “The Romance of Astronomy.” By Professor Kalley Miller, M.A., F.R.A.S. Macmillan and Co. + See ‘‘ Under His Shadow,” page 186.
and by; of the joyful grace with which she will welcome her dear ones to share the blessed rest? And it is an inspiring thought that even such as she, gifted with noble imaginations, and fervent hearts, and unutterable longing after God, have found the place prepared for them, and, above all, the open vision of the King Himself transcends without measure their most glorious hope.
With true sympathy in your grief and in your gratitude, Believe me, Dear Madam,
Affectionately yours,
B. M.
“NEARER NOW THAN WE THINK.”
“*T have no respite, I must make a little lull in life.”’ (Last letter, received May 16th, 1879.)
SHE stood in the glorious shadow
Of the Father’s house of love,
But she saw not the shining threshold
Where the Angel-Watchmen move;
She heard not their garments faintly stir
As they opened the golden gates for her,
She had toiled in the blessed Vineyard,
And as she toiled she sang,
Till far through the sunny distance
That sweetest music rang;
And her fellow-workers, far and near,
Gave thanks to God for her words of cheer.
We heard her sing in the dawning, -«
When the mists hung low and chill;
In the heavy heat of the noontide
Her clear voice cheered us still;
And when evening shadows were closing round,
We folded our hands to that tender sound.
ne
And those who were watching at- midnight,
Watching in pain or fear, —
Heard oft in that sorrowful stillness
One sweet voice ringing clear,
For God her Maker, her God and King,
Had given her songs in the night to sing.
And the souls that were passing in silence
To the River dreary and dim,
Heard, down by its desolate margin,
A sweet voice sing of Him,
Who will welcome His children ‘‘ one by one”
To the smiling city beyond the sun.
Far off on the desert mountains
To wandering souls it came,
That sound of a tender message,
That pleading in Christ’s dear name;
It followed the sorrowful path they trod,
Till the wandering spirits were turned to God.
And she sang to the little children,
Of the children’s God and King;
When heart and voice were weary
She sang, unfaltering;
And her fervent spirit leapt to see
The little ones gather, sweet Lord, to Thee.
But at length she longed for a ‘‘ respite,”’
To gather in silence, alone,
New strength for her mighty harvest,
For the great work yet to be done;
She prayed for a ‘‘lull” in the labour of life,
A breathing space in the glorious strife, —
For only a little shadow
From the red sun’s fiery glow,
One hour’s brief rest by the fountains
Where the waters of comfort flow,
Where the flowers are blowing, so pale and sweet,
In the tender gloom by the Master’s feet.
AA
Yet, — could she have rested ever
Where the cool soft shadows lie,
Whilst weary and faint in the noontide
One soul went wandering by ? — Nay; one sad step on the dreary road
Would have troubled her heart as it leant on God:
So willing to toil and travel,
To suffer and watch for all,
So near in heart to the Master,
So eager to follow His call, — She spent her soul in the service sweet,
And only in Death could rest at His feet.
So ¢his is the needed respite,
Her shadow from noonday sun
Falls dark, from the wing of the Angel,
Who comes when our work is done,
To bring no ‘‘lull” in the hurry of life,
But the Conqueror’s Rest after toil and strife.
And now, in the King’s own Palace,
She sings to her harp of gold,
With the seal of God on her forehead,
In her spirit His peace untold,
Where never a sorrowful step nor cry
Shall break on the lull of Eternity.
(Lines by the late Miss Jutta KiRCHHOFFER, and
explanatory Letter, to F. R. H. See page 197.)
Ask her to come and sing to me,
For day by day I long,
With a craving never known before,
For the magic of a song —
”T were like a sweet, stray wanderer
From heaven’s choral throng,
— — — — — — “You hardly ever spoke to her,
So little know of her!”
But read her verses once:
“Sing to them sweet and low,
And the pain-dimmed eye will brighten,
As the soothing verses flow.”
You see she feels the gift of song
A holy, high bequest,
Then how could she refuse to grant
A poor sick child’s request!
Methinks ’t would soothe this constant pain,
And lull me into rest.
I want ‘‘The old, old story,”
How Jesus set us free;
-Or the riven ‘‘ Rock of Ages,”
Or else ‘‘ Abide with Me”;
Or what we used to sing at night,
‘* Nearer, my God, to Thee.”
Then tell her how I’m lying here,
In weariness and pain,
And how I long to feel the charm
Of music’s voice again!
I know she’ll come and sing for me
Some old familiar strain,
Nov., 1870.
‘*The time these verses refer to was before my confirmation. I was very ill, and no one thought I could get through such an exertion. I used to lie all day long, feeling pretty wretched. Then came a passionate longing for music, which no one here could gratify. You were the only person I knew of, but none of us had ever spoken to you.... That is the story of these verses; perhaps it may encourage you sometimes in the ministry of song. It would be hard to tell all that your book has been for me. When in the holidays at home I was in great pain and suffering, my sister used to sit on the bed, and read out your poems to soothe me, — JULIA KIRCHHOFFER.”
Letter of Dr. ALEXANDER, Bishop of Derry.
TueE Committee of preparation for the Church Congress at Swansea had invited my dear sister to write a paper on hymnology. At their meeting in October, 1879, touching allusion was made to the beauty of her hymns and her lamented removal from the church below.
Dr, Alexander, Bishop of Derry, wrote to me:
‘*T am to speak Jbriefly at the Swansea Congress upon the use and abuse of hymnology. The exquisitely pathetic hymns of your sister, F. R. H., the subtle and loving music of their versification, I shall esteem it a privilege and a duty to mention to my auditors. The beautiful circumstance of her dying song will afford me the most affecting and most touching of illustrations. I shall certainly quote from her hymns. Whether fifteen minutes will give me time to read a whole hymn, I very much doubt; but I wish to quote some of her noble Advent hymn: ‘Thou art coming, O my Saviour.’”
Letter From the SECRETARY OF WoMAN’sS FOREIGN MISSIONARY SOCIETY.
1334, CHESTNUT ST., PHILADELPHIA, July 15, 1879.
My pDEAR Miss HAVERGAL, —
I feel a delicacy in intruding upon the sacredness of your grief at this time; and yet I cannot forbear sending a few words of sympathy to the sister of F.R.H. In thinking of her here, she was not afar off writer to us, but a woman of the highest type, and a friend whom we had learned to love. Every word she wrote me came as from a dear friend, and I had hoped some day to see her face to face; I hope so still, but in a far more glorious meeting. We have always appreciated her writing for our little magazine, in the midst of her many cares and of her physical weakness and pain; and we éxow that it has done a work for the Master here which He will own and bless; how much good we cannot know until the hereafter. I have part of her ‘‘ Marching Orders” still to publish, and feel that they are a sacred legacy to the readers of our magazine, and pray that their sweet, forcible, scriptural words may go to the hearts of the thousands they will reach. How many, many words of your dear one will go on and on, in their mission of love, while there are mortals to need their stimulus and comfort! She is well known and loved by a large circle of friends in America, whom she has helped by her writings and by the knowledge of her devoted life. How blessed is her rest, and how truly do her works follow her! In reading of her last triumphant moments, one longs for the time for meeting on the other shore, and of leaving for ever this sin-stained, tempest-tossed world. While we rejoice with her over the victory won, the dear ones left must bear the pain, and still press on in the conflict of life. This is such a hard part of life; but oh, the Master’s strength and love are sufficient for even this, and how tenderly does He ever lead us through the deep waters. May He place round about you His everlasting arms in this your time of sorrow!
Yours in true sympathy, and in the love and service of the one Master,
(Miss) JULIA C. THOMPSON,
Editor ‘* Woman’s Work for Woman.”
[From “Fattu anp Works” Magazine]
THE DEATH OF FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL,
Wuar a flood of sorrow swept over many hearts in America, when the news flashed over the wires that Frances Ridley Havergal was dead! We had so long loved the sweet outgushings of her poetic nature; always ringing to the one beloved theme — a Saviour’s love. And now the voice is hushed, the lyre unstrung, ere it had lost any of its early force; taken from her family and from the world ir the prime of her life, just when she seemed about to gather fresh strength in rest from her labours of love; known to many in this western world only by the sweet interchanges of correspondence, and the writings so highly valued, she leaves a void not soon to be filled. And yet who can read the accounts of her last illness, and its triumphant close, without echoing her own words, ‘‘So glorious to go home.”
Her little books, ‘‘ My King,” *‘ Royal Commandments and Royal Bounty,” with ‘‘ Daily Thoughts on Coming to Christ,” are the constant companions of a very large number of Christians here, whilst ‘‘ Little Pillows” and “Morning Bells” are dear to many a child’s heart. Even on the Christmas and birthday cards the ever loved ‘‘F. R. H.” is always eagerly sought, as sure to be appended to the sweetest sentiments. It has long been the writer’s privilege to number Miss Havergal amongst her friends; during a period of six years, the hope had been growing in both our hearts, that we might meet; but God has ordered it otherwise. To the one for whom many years of loving work seemed in store, He has said,
-** Friend, come up higher”; whilst to the other, nearing the allotted space, it is His pleasure to say, ‘‘Tarry awhile.” Oh, may all * who sorrow, ‘‘ yet not as others,” over this most unexpected stroke, so read the lessons drawn from her beautiful life that her heart’s wish may be theirs; ““Take my life, and let it be, Ever, only, all for Thee.” JANE M’CREADY.
%
PHILADELPHIA, uly 1879.
Lines by the Rev. F. JErrery. To F, R.H., AFTER READING ‘‘UNDER THE SURFACE.”
How restless seems man’s outward life,
Like billows of the sea,
With every jarring wind at strife,
From dangers never free!
(SS Se
; Yet, safe beneath its storm-lashed face,
See ocean’s treasures lie;
So rests the heart secured by grace
In deep tranquillity.
The summer sun lit up the bay,
No breath its bosom curled,
When youth and pleasure launched away
Upon their océan world.
Foul slimy monsters lurk within,
Below those waters fair;
And so the smiling life of sin
Hides death and fell despair.
aa
December 13, 1875.
REPLIED TO BY F.R. H. ON A POST CARD.
RIGHTLY you have read my song!
Who in Jesus liveth,
*Neath life’s turmoil strange and strong
Knows the peace He giveth.
Peace that overflows our days,
Silently victorious;
Peace that blossoms into praise,
Hidden, yet most glorious,
December 16, 1875.
OF course many pages might be filled with reviews and eulogies from English and American sources; far more grateful to my dear sister was the record, which often greeted her, how God had blessed her word and work, Whilst it is quite unnecessary here to extract or repeat any of these appreciative notices (quite a hundred might be given from America alone), it may be interesting to some to read the following extracts from letters of the late Rev. CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER, of Grasby Vicarage (the poet), 1870.
Since I looked critically at ‘‘ The Ministry of Song,” I have been surprised and delighted with the great beauty and power of a good proportion of the poems, and the sweetness of the residue. I particularly like ‘On the Last Leaf,” ‘‘ How should they Know Me?” and ‘ Making Poetry.’ I have not often met with such vital truth illustrated by an imagination so subtle and so true as the two last evince.
Nor is the metre apart from this estimate, being very charming and spirited.... ‘* Wounded” is very charming, and so is ‘‘Faith and Reason.” I cannot say these are the very best in the book, for there are equals; but the ‘‘ How should they Know Me?” and “Making Poetry” are before all others.
Extract from another letter from the same, 1870.
I quite agree with you that ‘Life Crystals” is very thoughtful — and beautiful, but I continue to like those I mentioned best of all.
Miss Havergal, Sappho, and Mrs. Browning constitute my present female trio. There may be others lying Zerduwes to me in foreign languages, but I know at present of none equal to these.