A par­ty of young friends ov­er whom I was watch­ing with anx­ious hope at­tend­ed a meet­ing in which de­tails were giv­en of a re­viv­al work in Ire­land. They came back great­ly im­pressed. My fear was lest their own fleece re­main dry, and I pressed up­on them the priv­i­lege and re­spon­si­bil­i­ty of gett­ing a share in the out­poured bless­ing.

On the Sun­day fol­low­ing, not be­ing well enough to get out, I had a time of qui­et com­mun­ion. Those child­ren were still on my heart, and I longed to press up­on them an ear­nest in­di­vid­u­al ap­peal. With­out ef­fort words seemed to be giv­en to me, and they took the form of a hymn, which as it was passed from one to an­oth­er of the young peo­ple, be­came a word of pow­er, and I then pub­lished it as a leaf­let.

Of its fu­ture his­to­ry I can on­ly say the Lord took it quite out of my own hands. It was read from pul­pits, cir­cu­lat­ed by tens of thou­sands, and blessed in a re­mark­a­ble de­gree. Ev­ery now and then some sweet to­ken was sent to cheer me in a some­what iso­lat­ed life, of its in­flu­ence up­on souls.

Now it would be tid­ings from afar of a young of­fi­cer dy­ing in Ind­ia and send­ing home his Bi­ble with the hymn past­ed on the fly­leaf as the pre­cious me­mo­ri­al of that which brought him to the Lord.

Then came the sto­ry of a poor out­cast ga­thered in­to the fold by the same means.

Then came to me a let­ter gi­ven me by Mr. E. P. Ham­mond, which he had re­ceived, and in which were the words:

‘Thank you for sing­ing that hymn Even Me, for it was the sing­ing of that hymn that saved me. I was a lost wo­man, a wick­ed mo­ther. I have stol­en and lied and been so bad to my dear, in­no­cent child­ren. Friendless, I at­tend­ed your in­qui­ry meet­ing; but no one came to me be­cause of the crowd. But on Sa­tur­day af­ter­noon, at the First Pres­by­ter­i­an Church, when they all sang that hymn to­ge­ther, those beau­ti­ful words, Let some drops now fall on me, and al­so those, Bless­ing oth­ers, O bless me, it seemed to reach my ve­ry soul. I thought, Je­sus can ac­cept me—even me, and it brought me to his feet, and I feel the bur­den of sin re­moved. Can you won­der that I love those words and I love to hear them sung?’

The orig­in­al ren­der­ing has in a va­ri­e­ty of in­stan­ces been de­part­ed from. To some al­ter­a­tions I have con­sent­ed, but al­ways pre­fer that the words re­main un­changed from the form in which at first God so rich­ly blessed them.

The point of the hymn, in its close and in­di­vi­du­al ap­pli­ca­tion, is in the Ev­en me at the end of the verse. I thank­ful­ly com­mit them to who­ev­er de­sires to use them in the ser­vic­es of our bless­ed Mas­ter:

Lord, I hear of showers of blessing,
Thou art scattering full and free;
Showers the thirsty land refreshing;
Let some drops now fall on me;
Even me, even me,
Let some drops now fall on me.

Pass me not, O God, my Father,
Sinful though my heart may be;
Thou mightst leave me, but the rather;
Let Thy mercy light on me;
Even me, even me,
Let Thy mercy light on me.

Pass me not, O gracious Savior,
Let me live and cling to Thee;
I am longing for Thy favor;
Whilst Thou’rt calling, O call me;
Even me, even me,
Whilst Thou’rt calling, O call me.

Pass me not, O mighty Spirit!
Thou canst make the blind to see;
Witnesser of Jesus’ merit,
Speak the Word of power to me;
Even me, even me,
Speak the Word of power to me.

Have I been in sin long sleeping,
Long been slighting, grieving Thee?
Has the world my heart been keeping?
O forgive and rescue me;
Even me, even me,
O forgive and rescue me.

Love of God, so pure and changeless,
Blood of Christ, so rich and free;
Grace of God, so strong and boundless
Magnify them all in me;
Even me, even me,
Magnify them all in me.

Pass me not; but pardon bringing,
Bind my heart, O Lord, to Thee;
Whilst the streams of life are springing,
Blessing others, O bless me;
Even me, even me,
Blessing others, O bless me.