So Famine waits, and War with greedy eyes,
Till some repenting heart be ready for the skies.
They saw in the ingatherings to their scattered Societies the
assurance of abounding blessing
Lo, the promise of a shower
Drops already from above;
But the Lord will shortly pour
All the spirit of His love.
Keble saw no such visions, dreamed no such dreams. All he dares to ask
is
Lord, ere our trembling lamps sink down and die,
Touch us with chastening hand, and make us feel Thee nigh.[173]
Yet, when he forgets the depression of the time, and turns to the
consolations of eternity, he shows how firmly he believed his own
motto, ‘In quietness and in confidence shall be your strength.’ He has
the sure trust and confidence of all God’s chosen, and at times
kindles into holy rapture. The prevailing tone, however, is of
sadness—the depression of the saint, not the perplexity of the
doubter.
In 1839 Keble published, also anonymously, his metrical version of the
Psalms. He had intended it to be a substitute for Tate and Brady, and
had hoped to secure episcopal sanction for its use in the dioceses of
Oxford and Winchester. It is, however, more interesting from the
standpoint of the expositor than the hymnologist, very few of its
versions being adapted to congregational use. The _Lyra Innocentium_,
published anonymously in 1846, is vastly inferior to his great work,
and has little to recommend it to those who are not in sympathy with
the High Church Movement.
After Heber and Keble all that there was of justice in Montgomery’s
sarcastic complaint, that hymns had been written by ‘all sorts of
persons except poets’[174] is gone. They were poets first,
hymn-writers afterwards. Keble’s greatest hymn is taken from his
‘Verses for Evening,’ which begins as a poem, and rises from
meditation to praise and prayer. The earlier verses are not suitable
for a hymn-book, but the beauty of the later lines is only fully
realized when they are remembered.
’Tis gone, that bright and orbèd blaze,
Fast fading from our wistful gaze;
Yon mantling cloud has hid from sight
The last faint pulse of quivering light.
In darkness and in weariness
The traveller on his way must press,
No gleam to watch on tree or tower,
Whiling away the lonesome hour.
Sun of my soul, Thou Saviour dear,
It is not night if Thou be near:
O may no earth-born cloud arise
To hide Thee from Thy servant’s eyes.
There is surely no more beautiful illustration of the way in which the
Christian rises from Nature up to Nature’s God.
As in the case of so many hymns, the part is greater than the whole.
The six verses universally selected are not improved by the addition
of others—though they have much to commend them.
John Henry Newman (1801-90) belongs to Anglican hymn-writers in virtue
of his ‘Lead, kindly Light,’ though it may almost be described as his
farewell to the Church of England. It marks at least the beginning of
his long-drawn-out parting from the Establishment. Few hymns have won
a wider popularity, and no doubt it has done much to accustom
Nonconformist Churches to sympathize with the poetic and emotional
side of the Oxford Movement. This hymn and the _Christian Year_ made
absolute want of sympathy with the new devotion impossible. Moreover,
the tone of perplexity, the confession of bewilderment, the sense of
‘encircling gloom,’ fell in with the prevailing spirit of religious
emotion. To many men of his own school the hymn meant something very
different from what it means to the average worshipper, who finds in
it a comfortable sedative for vague religious depression. I confess
that personally the hymn does not seem to me as great as its
reputation, but it has brought help and comfort to myriads. Dr. Wm.
Barry says—
This most tender of pilgrim songs may be termed the March of the
Tractarian Movement. It is pure melody, austere yet hopeful,
strangely not unlike the stanzas which Carlyle has made familiar to
the whole English race, the Mason-Song of Goethe, in its sublime
sadness and invincible trust. Both are psalms of life, Hebrew or
Northern, chanted in a clear-obscure where faith moves onward
heroically to the day beyond.[175]
Newman’s other great hymn, ‘Praise to the Holiest in the height,’
which owes its popularity largely to Mr. Gladstone’s affection for
it—though it is in itself a fine hymn—belongs to his Romanist days.
There was room for the new teaching. Perhaps Methodism was a little
too buoyant, Evangelicalism too contented, and the Church was ready
for a fresh upheaval.
Coincidently with the rise of the Oxford Movement came, as we have
seen, the rolling away of the reproach of hymn-singing. Even the
strongholds of the Establishment capitulated, and hymns formed an
important part in the new propaganda. Stanch Churchmen had disliked
hymn-singing. To quote Canon Ellerton—
It came to us from an unwelcome source—from the Dissenters,
eminently from the Methodists. It was first adopted by those of the
clergy who sympathized most with them; for many long years it was
that dreaded thing, a party badge.[176]
The Evangelicals adopted the custom easily, and with delight. Cowper,
Newton, Toplady, Hervey, Watts, Doddridge, and even Wesley, were no
strangers to them. But for the Calvinistic trouble, they all minded
the same things. They had no difficulty in regard to fellowship with
Nonconformists in worship or in work. It has been the fashion to
disparage the Evangelicals, and to regard the ‘Clapham Sect’ as a
coterie of ill-informed, self-satisfied Pharisees; but for solid,
practical Christianity it would be difficult to find any ‘school’ that
outrivals them. The ‘Clapham Sect’ knew little and cared less for
priestly rights or the niceties of ritual. They may have been slack in
the observance of fast and vigil, but they kept the fast of God,
breaking the bonds of wickedness and letting the oppressed go free.
The men who were the backbone of the anti-slavery movement, who were
nursing fathers to the Bible Society, and established the Church
Missionary Society, were not narrow-minded bigots, but held the true
Catholic Faith concerning the kingdom of God.
Henry Francis Lyte (1793-1847), whose highest preferment was the
Perpetual Curacy of Lower Brixham, ranks, as a hymn-writer, with Ken
and Keble. While ministering to his ‘dear fishermen,’ he wrote many a
lovely hymn, and one of unsurpassed beauty. ‘Abide with me’ was his
swan-song. He died, like Toplady, of consumption, and felt the pain
and pathos of death in the prime of life. In a most tender poem he has
recorded that common but infinitely pathetic grief. It is interesting
to contrast the subdued sadness, the patient submission of Lyte with
the triumphant ecstasy of Toplady’s ‘Deathless principle, arise.’
Shudder not to pass the stream,
Venture all thy care on Him.
Not one object of His care
Ever suffered shipwreck there.
Saints in glory perfect made
Wait thy passage through the shade;
Ardent for thy coming o’er,
See they throng the blissful shore.
Such the prospects that arise
To the dying Christian’s eyes.
Such the glorious vista, Faith
Opens through the shades of death.[177]
This was the view of death taken by the Evangelicals in the eighteenth
century. The gospel of the great Revival brought life and immortality
to light, robbed death of all its terrors, and made heaven seem, even
to young men, far better than earth. The nineteenth century had not
the glowing rapture of the earlier time. Moreover, its interest in
works of Christian philanthropy, its awakening to the great missionary
call, made the life and work of the day infinitely important and
interesting. Christian men began to realize that heaven lay beyond the
golden glory of the sunset sky, and felt, with those of the older
dispensation, that it was a calamity for the sun to go down while it
was yet day. Lyte felt with Anne Brontë—
I hoped that with the brave and strong
My portioned task might lie.
Lyte’s sorrow was not that he feared to change the earthly for the
heavenly, but that he longed to have done enduring work e’er the night
fell.
Why do I sigh to find
Life’s evening shadows gathering round my way,
The keen eye dimming, and the buoyant mind
Unhinging day by day?
Is it the natural dread
Of that stern lot, which all who live must see?
The worm, the clay, the dark and narrow bed,—
Have these such awe for me?
Can I not summon pride
To fold my decent mantle round my breast,
And lay me down at Nature’s Eventide,
Calm to my dreamless rest?
As nears my soul the verge
Of this dim continent of woe and crime,
Shrinks she to hear Eternity’s long surge
Break on the shores of Time?
I want not vulgar fame—
I seek not to survive in brass or stone;
Hearts may not kindle when they hear my name,
Nor tears my value own;
But might I leave behind
Some blessing for my fellows, some fair trust
To guide, to cheer, to elevate my kind,
When I was in the dust;
Within my narrow bed
Might I not wholly mute or useless be;
But hope that they, who trampled o’er my head,
Drew still some good from me;
Might verse of mine inspire
One virtuous aim, one high resolve impart;
Light in one drooping soul a hallowed fire,
Or bind one broken heart;—
Death would be sweeter then,
More calm my slumber ’neath the silent sod,—
Might I thus live to bless my fellow-men,
Or glorify my God!
O Thou! whose touch can lend
Life to the dead, Thy quickening grace supply,
And grant me, swanlike, my last breath to spend
In song that may not die!
Was ever faithful prayer more abundantly answered? ‘He asked life of
Thee, and Thou gavest it, even length of days for ever and ever.’
Christopher Wordsworth (1807-85), Bishop of Lincoln, nephew of the
poet, was of set purpose a writer of hymns for congregational use. He
taught that hymns should express the feeling of the Church, and not of
the individual worshipper. He thought it ‘inexpressibly shocking’ that
‘Jesu, Lover of my soul’ should be sung in Westminster Abbey, at
least, so I understand his reference to ‘a large, mixed congregation
in a dissolute part of a populous and irreligious city.’[178] His
hymns are objective, and the best—e.g. ‘O day of rest and gladness,’
‘See the Conqueror mounts in triumph’—are very fine. Bishop Wordsworth
did not ‘translate any ancient hymns, but attempted to infuse
something of their spirit into’ his own.
The _Holy Year_ was a distinct contribution to the literature of the
Anglican Revival. Very inferior in strength and beauty to the
_Christian Year_, it was more useful to editors of hymn-books, and it
helped to concentrate interest upon the selection of hymns suited to
the Church year. Bishop Wordsworth kept closely to the Prayer-book
ideal of devotion, and some of his less-known poems are illustrative
of its special teaching. A good example is the hymn for the Second
Sunday in Advent, which he inscribed, ‘Christ ever coming in Holy
Scripture.’
Lord, who didst the Prophets teach
To prepare Thy way of old;
And by Thine Apostles preach
Truths of wisdom manifold;
Teach us to behold Thee, Lord,
Present in the sacred page,
Living Word in written word
Coming thus to every age.
Coming in King David’s Psalms,
In Isaiah’s trumpet-call,
Coming in St. John’s deep calms,
Coming in the fires of Paul.
Coming brightly from afar
To the lands with darkness dim,
On the Evangelic car
Of Thy fourfold cherubim.
Thus, O blessèd Lord, when we
On Thy Holy Scriptures look,
May we ever worship Thee,
Coming in Thy sacred Book.
So, when as a scroll is past
Heaven, and earth with all its strife,
We may see our names at last
Written in the Book of Life.
But the Anglican hymn-writers of the nineteenth century are too many
for detailed comment in my fast-failing space. It is a glorious choir,
including Joseph Anstice, who had so powerful an influence over Mr.
Gladstone in his Oxford days;[179] Dean Alford, Dr. Monsell, Sir H. W.
Baker, Dean Stanley, Bishops Mant, How, and Bickersteth, Canon Bright,
Godfrey Thring, Canon Ellerton, S. J. Stone, Canon Twells, Laurence
Tuttiett, S. Baring-Gould, among the clergy; Mrs. Alexander, Charlotte
Elliott, Frances Ridley Havergal, Sir R. Grant, W. Chatterton Dix,
among the laity.
Sir Henry Williams Baker (1821-77) wrote the lovely sacramental
version of Ps. xxiii.: ‘The King of love my Shepherd is.’ One verse he
repeated with his dying breath—
Perverse and foolish oft I strayed,
But yet in love He sought me,
And on His shoulder gently laid,
And home, rejoicing, brought me.
He is one of the simplest and most attractive of hymn-writers, and the
inclusion of his hymns in Nonconformist hymnals is a great gain. His
greatest service to Anglican hymnody was the editing of _Hymns Ancient
and Modern_—a truly epoch-making (or perhaps epoch-marking) book.
While Baker was at work in his Herefordshire vicarage, John Ellerton
(1826-93) was writing hymns and essays on hymns in his rural or
semi-rural parsonages. Ellerton had a rare gift in writing for special
occasions. His great funeral hymn, ‘Now the labourer’s task is o’er,’
has a sombre strength which is full of comfort and trust. ‘Behold us,
Lord, a little space’ is an ideal hymn for a week-day service, and ‘In
the Name which earth and heaven’ is the grandest of all hymns for the
laying of the foundation-stone of a church.[180] Without being a
High-Churchman, Ellerton was a thorough-going Anglican, and his poetry
has the restraint, the good taste, and the dignity which beseem a
great Church.
S. J. Stone (1839-1900), unlike most clerical hymn-writers, was not a
country parson, though his best hymns were written before he began his
work in East London. But even in its dreary wastes he found the true
poetry of life, and some of his obscure parishioners at Haggerston are
richly shrined in his memorial verses. I feel all the more moved by
the triumphant tones of ‘The Church’s one foundation,’ all the more
tenderly impressed by ‘Weary of earth, and laden with my sin,’ when I
remember how dear to his heart were the struggling, toiling masses of
his dull East London parish. His best hymns are well known, so I quote
a sonnet which expresses his love for those who live in the crowded
city.
_From Windermere, To the Congregation and Children of St. Paul’s,
Haggerston._
Moored by a green isle of Winandermere—
Listening the gentlest lapping of the wave
On the rock margin, and the blackbirds’ brave
Soldierly antiphons, afar and near,
And the wind’s whispered evensong—I hear
A sound beyond, and sweeter as more grave
Than ever paradise of nature gave,
Dear to my heart of old, and now more dear:
_The roar of London_—the deep undersong,
The myriad music of immortal souls
High-couraged, much-enduring, midst the long
Drear toil and gloom and weariness. It rolls
Over me with all power, for in its tone
The hearts I love in Christ beat with my own.
Bishop Bickersteth demands mention, not only for his own beautiful
hymns, but for his successful editing of the _Hymnal Companion to the
Book of Common Prayer_. Edward Bickersteth’s _Christian Psalmody_ was,
in its day, one of the best and most catholic hymnals. In the _Hymnal
Companion_, his son provided for a later generation the more complete
and worthy hymn-book which the growth of hymnody made possible. Of
Bishop Bickersteth’s own hymns, a few are amongst those universally
accepted. His Communion Hymn, to the regret of many, is absent from
the _Methodist Hymn-book_.
’Till He come!’ O let the words
Linger on the trembling chords;
Let the ‘little while’ between
In their golden light be seen;
Let us think how heaven and home
Lie beyond that ’Till He come.’
When the weary ones we love
Enter on their rest above,
Seems the earth so poor and vast,
All our life joy overcast?
Hush, be every murmur dumb;
It is only till He come.
Clouds and conflicts round us press;
Would we have one sorrow less?
All the sharpness of the cross,
All that tells the world is loss,
Death, and darkness, and the tomb
Only whisper, ’Till He come.’
See! the feast of love is spread;
Drink the wine, and break the bread:
Sweet memorials, till the Lord
Call us round His heavenly board,
Some from earth, from glory some,
Severed only till He come.[181]
This aspect of the Lord’s Supper, the proclamation of the Lord’s death
’till He come,’ must ever be present to the mind of the devout
communicant. The hymn—especially in its last verse—is full of the
gracious, subdued trustfulness which befits the Christian as he
commemorates the Atoning Sacrifice and looks forward to glad, eternal
communion with those who have gone before, when once again our Lord
Himself shall break the bread and drink the wine with His disciples in
the Father’s kingdom.
Dean Stanley (1815-81) was not a poet, though he wrote the best
English hymn on the Transfiguration. I mention him here, however, to
quote some verses of his stirring national hymn, worthy of a Dean of
Westminster. It is of a type that, I think, ought to be represented in
our hymnals, and especially those intended for school use. Why should
not such hymns as this and Mr. Gill’s ‘Lift thy song among the
nations’ stir and consecrate the patriotism of our up-growing girls
and boys? Dean Stanley’s hymn is very long. I quote less than half. In
the _Westminster Abbey Hymn-book_ it is assigned to the Accession.
Let us with a gladsome mind
Praise the Lord, for He is kind!
Long our island throne has stood,
Planted on the ocean flood;
Crowned with rock, and girt with sea,
Home and refuge of the free:
For His mercies aye endure,
Ever faithful, ever sure.
On that island throne have sate
Alfred’s goodness, Edward’s state;
Princely strength and queenly grace,
Lengthened line of royal race:
Round that throne have stood of old
Seers and statesmen, firm and bold;
Burleigh’s wisdom, Hampden’s fire,
Chatham’s force in son and sire.
Let us with a gladsome mind
Praise the Lord, for He is kind:
Him, in homely English tongue,
Epic lay and lyric song,
Shakespeare’s myriad-minded verse,
Milton’s heavenward strains, rehearse:
For His mercies aye endure,
Ever faithful, ever sure.
Hither in our heathen night
Came of yore the gospel light;
By the Saviour’s sacred story,
‘Angles’ turned to angels’ glory.
Breaking with a gracious hand
Ancient error’s subtle band;
Opening wide the sacred page,
Kindling hope in saint and sage.
Give us homes serene and pure,
Settled freedom, laws secure;
Truthful lips and minds sincere;
Faith and love that cast out fear.
Grant that light and life divine
Long on England’s shores may shine;
Grant that people, Church, and throne
May in all good deeds be one.[182]
Of the eighteenth century, Miss Steele and Mrs. Barbauld are almost
the only women whose hymns survive to-day. In the nineteenth century,
however, there are not a few women whose songs are likely to endure.
Charlotte Elliott, Cecil Frances Alexander, Anna Lætitia Waring, have
written immortal hymns, and it will be long ere Frances Ridley
Havergal is absent from the songs of the Church. It is safe to
prophesy that ‘Just as I am,’ ‘There is a green hill far away,’ and
‘Father, I know that all my life,’ will be sung through many
generations—as long, indeed, as English Christianity endures.
Charlotte Elliott (1791-1871), who belonged to a famous evangelical
Church family, is one of many who learnt in suffering what she taught
in song. Her greatest hymn, ‘Just as I am,’ was first published in the
_Invalid’s Hymn-book_ (1836), and, without her knowledge, was
reprinted and widely circulated. In no other hymn has the sinner’s way
to the Saviour been made more plain. Through the penitential
self-despair of its earlier verses countless numbers of the weary and
heavy-laden have found rest unto their souls, and entered into the
joyous confidence of its closing lines. Wordsworth’s daughter, Dora,
received the hymn in her last illness, and her husband wrote to the
authoress, ‘At least ten times that day she asked me to repeat it to
her,’ and every morning she asked for it again till the end came.
After her death it formed part of her mother’s ‘daily solitary
prayer.’
Miss Elliott is the truest and the best representative of the early
evangelical Church hymn-writers. Many of her little-known hymns are
very beautiful. I quote two pieces, notwithstanding a breath of
Calvinism in them both, for it is a Calvinism that has good Scripture
warrant.
‘My soul followeth hard after Thee’ (Ps. lxiii. 8).
I look to Thee, I hope in Thee,
I glory in Thy name!
I make Thy righteousness my plea,
Thou all-atoning Lamb!
Methinks even death will welcome be,
That I, through death, may pass to Thee.
Thou art my portion, saith my soul,
My all in earth or heaven;
None but Thyself can make me whole,
No name but Thine is given
At which the gates of pearl fly wide—
The passport of the justified.
I know Thy voice—I strive to keep
Thy word within my heart;
Though the most worthless of Thy sheep,
Still Thou my Shepherd art;
Firm as a rock that word shall stand,
None, none shall pluck me from Thy hand.
Without repentance are Thy gifts;
This thought my hope sustains,
In deep distress my soul uplifts,
When sin the victory gains;
My faith, though weak, shall never fail,
Thy prayer shall even for me prevail.
When I Thy glory shall behold,
And see Thee face to face,
Sheltered in Thy celestial fold,
A sinner saved by grace.
What will it be Thy love to adore,
Assured I shall go out no more?
The following lines are evidently in part suggested by her own great
hymn. The text is ‘Into Thine hand I commit my spirit: Thou hast
redeemed me, O Lord God of truth’ (Ps. xxxi. 5)—
God of my life! Thy boundless grace
Chose, pardoned, and adopted me;
My rest, my home, my dwelling-place!
Father! I come to Thee.
Jesus, my hope, my rock, my shield!
Whose precious blood was shed for me,
Into Thy hands my soul I yield;
Saviour! I come to Thee.
Spirit of glory and of God!
Long hast Thou deigned my Guide to be;
Now be Thy comfort sweet bestowed!
My God! I come to Thee.
I come to join that countless host
Who praise Thy name unceasingly.
Blest Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!
My God! I come to Thee.
Frances Ridley Havergal (1836-79) was full of the gladness of God’s
chosen, and her songs illustrate Faber’s verse—
If our love were but more simple,
We should take Him at His word,
And our lives would be all sunshine
In the sweetness of our Lord.
After her conversion she knew nothing of Wesley’s experience of the
‘howling wilderness’; to her the night was never dark, as it was to
Newman, and she was never far from home. Her hymns overflow with
exultant faith.
Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green,
Thy sky is ever clear,
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,
No winter in thy year.[183]
It would, perhaps, be unsafe to predict that any of Miss Havergal’s
hymns will rank among the songs that cannot die, but they will
certainly be long loved and sung. Her consecration hymns, especially
‘Lord, speak to me that I may speak,’ are solemn and impressive, and
are, perhaps, her best. But her triumphant songs are often very fine,
though they are not always well sustained. Her Advent hymn has the
triumphant rapture of the soul that goes out to meet her Lord.
Thou art coming, O my Saviour,
Thou art coming, O my King,
In Thy beauty all-resplendent,
In Thy glory all-transcendent;
Well may we rejoice and sing;
Coming! in the opening east
Herald brightness slowly swells;
Coming! O my glorious Priest,
Hear we not Thy golden bells?
Thou art coming; at Thy table
We are witnesses for this;
While remembering hearts Thou meetest
In communion clearest, sweetest,
Earnest of our coming bliss,
Showing not Thy death alone,
And Thy love exceeding great,
But Thy coming and Thy throne,
All for which we long and wait.
Cecil Frances Alexander (1823-95) may almost be called the first
writer of real children’s hymns. Dr. Watts was not happy in his
_Divine and Moral Songs_, and some of Charles Wesley’s most horrible
verses are to be found in his _Hymns for Children_. It is true that
Watts wrote some simple lyrics which seem to have suited our prim
little ancestors, and that Charles Wesley wrote ‘Gentle Jesus, meek
and mild,’ but even the manners and beliefs of the devout souls of
that time cannot altogether excuse some of his hymns, which must have
frightened many a poor little Methodist out of his wits.
Anne and Jane Taylor’s _Hymns for Infant Minds_ are _too_ infantile,
though they served their generation well, and led on from Watts to
Mrs. Alexander. The Taylors had a happy knack of conveying Scripture
history and teaching in simple verse. I do not know a better
definition of repentance than—
Repentance is to leave
The sins I loved before,
And show that I in earnest grieve
By doing so no more.
But Mrs. Alexander combines with the winsome simplicity which charms
and instructs a little child, the power to speak to the child in the
heart of the man. Never has the gospel story been told to children and
to child-like souls more attractively than in ‘Once in royal David’s
city’ and ‘There is a green hill far away.’ Since our Church hymnals
began to include a section for children, Mrs. Alexander has been a
large contributor. Even yet, when we have a considerable number of
good children’s hymns, there are none better than hers. Of course she
wrote other hymns, but these are her glory, her most precious
contribution to the hymn-book of the modern Church. ‘Her character,’
says Archbishop Alexander, ‘was based and moulded upon the best
teaching of the original Oxford movement,’[184] but she had little
sympathy with mere ritualism. Well known and loved as many of her
hymns are, her collected _Poems_ include, among the less familiar
pieces, much of value and interest. She made for the _Irish Church
Hymnal_ a fine translation of the _Breastplate_ of St. Patrick, a hymn
which belongs to the Celtic, not to the Roman Church.
I bind unto myself to-day
The strong Name of the Trinity,
By invocation of the same,
The Three in One and One in Three.
I bind unto myself to-day
The power of God to hold and lead,
His eye to watch, His might to stay,
His ear to hearken to my need.
The wisdom of my God to teach,
His hand to guide, His shield to ward,
The word of God to give me speech,
His heavenly host to be my guard.
Christ be with me, Christ within me,
Christ behind me, Christ before me,
Christ beside me, Christ to win me,
Christ to comfort and restore me,
Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,
Christ in hearts of all that love me,
Christ in mouth of friend and stranger.[185]
This hymn is extensively used in Ireland on St. Patrick’s day.
To these hymn-writers we may add the poetesses Christina G. Rossetti
and Jean Ingelow. Miss Rossetti wrote very little that is really
adapted for use in public worship. There is much, however, to justify
the inclusion in a hymn-book of such verses as, ‘None other Lamb, none
other Name,’[186] though they are more fitting for private prayer than
for social worship. The same is not equally true of Miss Ingelow’s
poem, ‘And didst Thou love the race that loved not Thee?’ for the
verses usually selected form a true hymn. The last verse is—
Come, lest this heart should, cold and cast away,
Die ere the Guest adored she entertain;
Lest eyes which never saw Thine earthly day
Should miss Thy heavenly reign.[187]
Of laymen I can mention only a few names here. Mr. W. Chatterton Dix
has written more good hymns than those known to our hymn-books.
Francis Turner Palgrave (1824-97), whose _Treasury of Sacred Song_ is
our best anthology, also wrote hymns which, it seems to me, deserve a
wider use than they have attained. His best-known hymn, without being
of the popular type, is of the class which is appreciated by many in
these days of perplexity and unrest.
Thou say’st, ‘Take up thy cross,
O man, and follow Me’:
The night is black,
The feet are slack,
Yet we would follow Thee.
But oh, dear Lord, we cry,
That we Thy face could see!
Thy blessèd face
One moment’s space:
Then might we follow Thee!
Dim tracts of time divide
Those golden days from me;
Thy voice comes strange
O’er years of change:
How can we follow Thee?
Comes faint and far Thy voice
From vales of Galilee;
The vision fades
In ancient shades:
How should we follow Thee?
Ah, sense-bound heart and blind!
Is naught but what we see?
Can time undo
What once was true?
Can we not follow Thee?
Within our heart of hearts
In nearest nearness be:
Give Thou the sign:
Say, ‘Ye are Mine’;
Lead, and we follow Thee.[188]
Other hymns by Professor Palgrave are, ‘O thou not made with hands,’
‘Star of morn and even,’ ‘Thou that once on mother’s knee.’
I close this section of my lecture with a few verses which have, as
far as I know, not yet found a place in any hymnal. They are from a
Communion hymn by Mr. Gladstone. They may rightly be included in the
hymns of the Anglican Revival.
‘Mr. Gladstone’s mind and heart,’ says Mr. G. W. E. Russell, ‘were
already attuned to the new teaching, and prepared to receive it, even
though he had not paid much attention to the controversy. It was in
1836 that he wrote his hymn on the Holy Communion.’ Mr. Russell gives
the following verses—
Here, where Thine angels overhead
Do warn the Tempter’s powers away,
And where the bodies of the dead
For life and resurrection stay;
And many a generation’s prayer
Hath perfumed and hath blest the air;
Oh, lead my blindness by the hand,
Lead me to Thy familiar Feast,
Not here or now to understand,
Yet even here and now to taste,
How the eternal Word of Heaven
On earth in broken bread is given.
We, who this holy precinct round
In one adoring circle kneel,
May we in one intent be bound,
And one serene devotion feel;
And grow around Thy sacred shrine
Like tendrils of the deathless Vine.
We, who with one blest Food are fed,
Into one body may we grow,
And one pure life from Thee, the Head,
Informing all the members flow;
One pulse be felt in every vein,
One law of pleasure and of pain.
Oh, let the virtue all divine,
The Gift of this true Sabbath morn,
Stored in my spirit’s inner shrine,
Be purely and be meekly borne;
Be husbanded with thrifty care,
And sweetened and refreshed with prayer.[189]
It is at once necessary and almost superfluous to say that I know how
much has been left unsaid, how many names there are deserving mention,
how many hymns that might be referred to, but in such a fruitful land
the gleanings are richer than the vintage of former years.
V
Nineteenth-century Hymns