(Mal. iii. 2, 3.)
He that from dross would win the precious ore
Bends o’er the crucible an earnest eye,
The subtle, searching process to explore,
Lest the _one_ brilliant moment should pass by
When in the molten silver’s virgin mass
He meets his pictured face as in a glass.
Thus in God’s furnace are His children tried;
Thrice happy they who to the end endure!
But who the fiery trial may abide?
Who from the crucible come forth so pure,
That He, whose eyes of flame look through the whole,
May see His image perfect in the soul?
Not with an evanescent glimpse alone,
As in that mirror the refiner’s face,
But, stampt with heaven’s broad signet, there be shown
Immanuel’s features, full of truth and grace—
And round that seal of love this motto be,
‘Not for a moment, but eternity!’
Thomas Kelly (1769-1854), who was in Ireland what Williams of
Pantycelyn was in Wales, wrote nearly 800 hymns, the vast majority of
which belong to the same class as the masses of the forgotten hymns of
pious Dissenting pastors in the eighteenth century. They are often
redeemed from absolute dullness only by his love for curious rhymes,
e.g. ‘hers is’ and ‘mercies.’ He illustrates abundantly how easy it is
to have rhyme and rhythm without a suggestion of poetry, as in this
verse—
Spread abroad the joyful sound,
Fly in all directions;
Speak to all the world around,
Men of all complexions.
It is amazing that a man who could at times write so well should, as a
rule, write so feebly. Yet Kelly’s hymns have had a great popularity,
and a few are firmly fixed in all our hymn-books. His best are—‘Look,
ye saints, the sight is glorious,’ ‘Through the day Thy love hath
spared us,’ ‘We sing the praise of Him who died,’ ‘The Head that once
was crowned with thorns,’ and that most inspiring and comforting
missionary valediction, ‘Speed Thy servants, Saviour, speed them.’
Josiah Conder (1789-1855) was a poet and an expert editor. His
_Congregational Hymn-book_ (1836) marks a new era in the devotional
service of Nonconformity. He was in some cases a grievous sinner in
regard to alterations, and was often very unhappy in his
emendations.[194] Some of his original poems are very beautiful,
especially his short hymns and his versions of Prayer-book collects,
e.g. ‘Bread of heaven on Thee I feed,’ and the beautiful paraphrase of
the Collect for the Fifth Sunday after Trinity, with which the
_Methodist Hymn-book_ closes. Conder belongs to both centuries. His
hymns are often of the dull didactic type of the earlier time, but he
caught something of the spirit of the later day. Of his longer hymns
the following is a good specimen. It is found in many hymnals.
How shall I follow Him I serve?
How shall I copy Him I love?
Nor from those blessèd footsteps swerve,
Which lead me to His seat above?
Privations, sorrows, bitter scorn,
The life of toil, the mean abode,
The faithless kiss, the crown of thorn,—
Are these the consecrated road?
’Twas thus He suffered, though a Son,
Foreknowing, choosing, feeling all;
Until the perfect work was done,
And drunk the bitter cup of gall.
Lord! should my path through suffering lie,
Forbid it I should e’er repine;
Still let me turn to Calvary,
Nor heed my griefs, remembering Thine.
Oh, let me think how Thou didst leave
Untasted every pure delight,
To fast, to faint, to watch, to grieve,
The toilsome day, the homeless night:—
To faint, to grieve, to die for me!
Thou camest not Thyself to please:
And, dear as earthly comforts be,
Shall I not love Thee more than these?
Yes! I would count them all but loss,
To gain the notice of Thine eye:
Flesh shrinks and trembles at the cross,
But Thou canst give the victory.
Thomas Toke Lynch (1818-71), an Independent minister, whose delicate
health often interrupted his labours, published in 1855 a little book
of poems which roused an extraordinary storm. It is difficult to
understand how such an inoffensive book as _The Rivulet_ could make
any great sensation, but the theological mind was more sensitive, if
not more restless, than it is to-day. The ‘Rivulet Controversy,’ in
which the redoubtable Dr. John Campbell was the prime mover, is long
forgotten, but a few of the hymns survive. The best known is,
‘Gracious Spirit, dwell with me.’[195] Lynch is an important
contributor to Congregational and Baptist hymnals, but he is
practically unknown to Anglican books, and is not represented in the
_Presbyterian Church Hymnary_.
Lynch was of the new and broader school of thought, and his hymns,
which he is said to have designed as a supplement to Watts, are of an
entirely different cast from those of the earlier day, though their
teaching is familiar enough in our time. I make a brief quotation,
which is more likely to be welcome to-day than it was half a century
ago.
If love in any heart arise,
And stir the tongue, and light the eyes,
And speed the foot, and fill the hand;
Then, Christian, thou must understand
That, though unthought of, God is there;
So of denying Him beware.
If Little-more makes haste to bless
His troubled neighbour Little-less,
And poor men to the poorer give,
Weak ones the weaker help to live,
The sad those sadder still console;
Then God is working in the soul.
If the grown man forgoes his bread
That little mouths may first be fed;
And patient women serve the men
Who care for them but now and then,
And love keeps warm without a fire;
O, then, the grace of God admire.
Two strangers ocean may divide
Who yet shall bridegroom be and bride,
And God unknown to souls may be
Who love Him will eternally;
But all true hearts our Father knows,
And will to them His truth disclose.
George Rawson (1807-89) has won a wider recognition than any other
English Nonconformist hymn-writer of the century, except Montgomery.
He was a solicitor in Leeds, and took part in the preparation of the
_Leeds Hymn-book_. His Communion hymn, ‘By Christ redeemed, in Christ
restored,’ his Evening hymn, ‘God the Father, be Thou near,’ and his
Litany of the Holy Spirit, ‘Come to our poor nature’s night,’ are his
most beautiful contributions to our hymnals, but several of his
less-known poems are bright, simple, and melodious. His version of Ps.
lxxxiv. would have been better known if Lyte’s had not been written.
Thomas Hornblower Gill’s (b. 1819) is a very distinct voice in the
choir. He will, I fear, have but a small place in the hymn-books of
the future, though there is an individuality and force in many of his
hymns which make them singularly attractive. Unfortunately, he often
uses an unusual word or phrase which diverts the worshipper’s mind
from what is said to the form in which it is expressed. Again, he is
too fond of the epithets ‘dear’ and ‘sweet,’ which is the more to be
regretted, as his hymns are never what Wesley called ‘namby-pambycal,’
but have a fine, robust tone, and often a stirring rhythm. He has much
of the Puritan spirit. One of his best hymns, ‘Lord, in the fulness of
my might,’[196] has for its text Cromwell’s saying, ‘How good it is to
close with Christ betimes.’ In the Congregational and Baptist books
Mr. Gill is largely represented. I hope the inclusion of a few of his
hymns in the _Methodist Hymn-book_ will make him known to a still
wider circle. I have marked many of his hymns for quotation, for they
have been dear to me from my boyhood, when I made acquaintance with
them through George Dawson’s hymn-book. Those I quote are chosen, not
because they are specially suitable for use in public worship, but
because there is so much of force and freshness in both thought and
expression. The hymn on ‘Free Grace’ has also a motto from Cromwell—‘I
have had plentiful wages beforehand, and I am sure I shall never earn
the least mite.’
Lord! dost Thou ne’er Thy servants bless
Until their work is done?
Dost Thou withhold Thy tenderness
Till they the meed have won?
Lord! dost Thou reckon with Thine own
Like taskmasters below?
First must the handiwork be shown?
Wilt Thou the wages owe?
Nay, Lord! to Thy dear servants fall
The wages long before;
The Taskmaster Celestial
Hath paid them o’er and o’er.
How can they reckon up the grace
Each hour, each minute brings?
How store Thy gifts? how find a place
For all their precious things?
Hath not the Son their ransom paid,
And brought them near to God?
Yes! hath not the sweet Spirit made
Their souls His dear abode?
O boundless treasure all unearned!
O wages given for nought!
Bestowed ere once their hearts have yearned,
Ere once their hands have wrought.
With eager love these souls may burn,
These hands their utmost strain;
Still, Lord, one mite they cannot earn;
Thy love doth grace remain.
O! mourn Thy servants that there fall
No earnings to their lot?
Because Thy grace hath given them all,
Lord, can they give Thee nought?
Thine own no heavenly burden spare!
Withhold no task divine,
And let our eager love declare
The unbought grace of Thine.
My last quotation is made for the sake of its quaint, sturdy,
half-humorous Independency. The text is, ‘Render unto Caesar the
things that are Caesar’s.’
Lord! Thy gracious voice hath spoken,
Lord! Thy faithful ones obey;
Not by us be rudely broken
Christ’s command or Caesar’s sway!
God too greatly cannot task us,
Tribute glad we bring the Lord;
Service slight must Caesar ask us,
Tribute small can we afford.
Yet each holier soul desireth
Nobler Caesars to appear;
Each diviner hour requireth
Powers and thrones more glorious here.
All our tribute, all our treasure,
We would spend where we can love;
Jesus! come and be our Caesar!
Sovereign here as Lord above.
Low before Thy kingdom’s splendour
Make the world’s poor kingdoms bow!
Lord, to Thee our all we render—
Thou our gracious Caesar, Thou!
Thy mild monarchy victorious
Half Thy word shall needless make,
Our least service shall be glorious—
All our tribute God shall take.