_The Music of Submerged Lives_
Hope is the great gift of Christianity. It pierces through the darkness
and rejoices in the light beyond. It looks through the cloud and is
assured that the sun is shining in the heavens. It insists on looking at
the bright side even when it knows that there is a dark side. The
English artist, George Frederick Watts, painted Hope as a blindfolded
figure sitting on the top of a globe above a yawning abyss, playing upon
a lyre with only one string, in harmony with the music of the Evangel,
while in the distance a star is shining. Fanny Crosby, the blind hymn
writer who died at the age of ninety-four, once said: "Hope's star
shines clearer on my pathway today than it did fifty years ago." It is
this same spirit of hope which Gilmour of Mongolia had when he declared
that the future is as bright as the promises of God.
So long as we are thus inspired we cannot be soured by cynicism, because
we are sweetened by the confidence which insists that "the day must dawn
and darksome night be past." This is the triumph of lives handicapped by
harsh circumstances but rising above what would submerge them because of
their assurance that hope is the anchor of their soul, sure and
steadfast. Here are some illustrations of this truth from unexpected
quarters.
A letter giving the impression of a radio service by Dr. S. Parkes
Cadman tells how
A Cripple Stood on Crutches
The writer related that he was greatly stirred by the singing of
"Stand up, stand up for Jesus!
Ye soldiers of the cross."
He then added: "I have been on crutches for more than twelve years but
today when you sang 'Stand up for Jesus' I got up from my bed and stood
on crutches out of respect for the Master."
Another somewhat like the above is about the
Song of the Man with the Wooden Leg
"Adah Vachell of Bristol" is the story of a brave, gifted, delicate lady
who devoted her life to the blind, deaf, crippled poor of the city of
Bristol. Her contact with the maimed and halt was made in the ceaseless
round of slum visitation, dens of filth and want, sometimes revealing a
brave endeavor to triumph over adverse conditions.
A guild was formed with a startling motto, _Lætus sorte mea_, "Happy is
my lot." Indissolubly linked with it was the tug of war hymn, "The Son
of God Goes Forth to War." "I can picture him so well, sitting close to
the fire ... the wooden leg stretched out, his rough rugged old face
softened as he sang in husky voice:
'Who best can drink his cup of woe,
Triumphant over pain,
Who patient bears his cross below,
He follows in his train.'"
Here is a story of a famous hymn which was
Sung for the Scrub Woman
While the choir was waiting for the delayed organist, a celebrated
soprano recounted one of her experiences. She said: "I have sung before
all the greatest folk in America. I sang before a company of titled
folks from Europe who were visiting here in this country. But the
greatest thrill I ever got in my life was singing before one lone woman,
and she a scrubwoman." "Tell us about it," said the tenor. "We were
getting ready for a great musical event, and had been in the church
rehearsing. As I passed out on my way home, the scrubwoman, with duster
in hand, stopped me and said, 'Lady, you sing so beautifully--I wonder
if some day you would sing "Face to Face" for me,--it isn't asking too
much, is it, lady?' I told her I would be glad to do so some day. When I
got to the doorstep something said to me, 'Do it now,' so I turned back.
The organist was still there, and I asked him to play. When the
scrubwoman heard the strains of the organ on the familiar tune, she came
into the church and sat on the very front seat with the duster in her
lap, and her eyes intensely upon me with a strange light in them. I
never had such a thrill in all my life of song. I never felt so lifted
up, for there in that front seat sat the Lord Jesus Himself listening to
me sing to Him.
'And I shall see Him face to face
And tell the story--Saved by grace.'"
Another of the annals of the poor is
What the Washerwoman Sang
During his early ministry, Bishop William Burt was a pastor in Brooklyn.
From that period he carried the memory of a woman who earned her living
by taking in washing. Sometimes when making his round of pastoral calls
the young pastor would hear the woman, as she was working at her daily
task at the washtub, singing snatches of hymns which were used at the
services of the church and the prayer meeting. But one which
particularly impressed him was the day when he was approaching her
humble rooms and heard her voice, as she sang:
"I'm the child of a King."
Assurance was in her voice, and there was a note of triumphant certainty
on the part of this humble daughter of toil that she was the King's
child, and therefore heir to all the promises made in the Bible.
Billy Bray, the Cornish miner, had the same happy consciousness.
Frequently he would exclaim, "I'm the King's son!"
The ability to rise above depressing circumstances is seen in this
incident
Before Worship
A few had gathered at the Goodwill Chapel service fifteen minutes before
the time to begin. The leader often allowed his audience to select the
opening hymn. And these early comers were making their choices.
"Here's a hymn I like," said one. "It's 'We're Marching to Zion.'" "I
like it, too," said another, "but why do you like it?"
"Well," replied the first speaker, "there's nothing uncertain about that
hymn. It knows where it's going. A person can stand a whole lot of
hardship if she knows the end is worth it. Yes, I like that hymn. If Mr.
Dawson asks us what we want to sing, this morning, I am going to ask for
this one." And so they talked happily among themselves.
Others came in and took their seats, a motley company of depressed old
age wearing the marks of poverty and sorrow. The leader entered and this
time he gave out the hymn. "I don't care. I like this just as well,"
observed the one who had chosen "We're Marching to Zion." Well might she
and the others, for it expressed faith and hope in the lines:
"Be not dismayed whate'er betide,
God will take care of you;
Beneath his wings of love abide,
God will take care of you."[18]
Thus encouraged they went from that service to the humdrum routine of
daily drudgery.
The power of the Gospel to reach those on the outskirts of civilization
is evidenced
When Lumberjacks Sang "Jesus, Lover of My Soul"
Thomas D. Whittles tells of many an interesting incident in his book,
_The Parish of the Pines_[19]--the story of Frank Higgins, the
Lumberjacks' Sky Pilot.
One morning after breakfast the men went to the bunkhouse to wait for
the word of the "push" ordering them to "the works." While they waited a
rich tenor struck up the hymn,
"Jesus, Lover of my soul,
Let me to Thy bosom fly!"
One by one the men joined in and the solo passed into the chorus of a
hundred voices. Out through the twilight the melody rolled, waking the
sleeping pines, crossing the frozen lakes. The men in the stables,
harnessing their horses, heard the song and softly whistled it; the
cook, busy with the pots and pans, hummed it in unison and the swearing
cookee closed his profane mouth and listened in astonished silence. Over
in the office where the officials slept, the song caused silent
amazement, for it was unlike the morning hour when oaths and curses
break the stillness.
"Other refuge have I none;
Hangs my helpless soul on Thee."
sang the men, unconscious of aught save the song.
"Leave, ah! leave me not alone"--
and it came from the hearts of those who knew the weight of lonely weeks
and months. The Sky Pilot in the office turned his face to the wall and
prayed while they sang this hymn which the men had sung at the service
the night before.
"All out," cried the "push."
From the shack streamed forth the men, singing the song of comfort. Into
groups they separated, each going his appointed way, but the hymn
continued in all parts of the forest until the sweet melody died to
tender murmurs and was lost in the distant evergreens. In all that North
Star State no happier body of men went forth to toil, for with them went
the spirit of song.
Here is an instance of gratitude expressively shown in the words,
"Pass It On"
Henry Burton's famous hymn, "Pass It On," was inspired by a story
relating to the early life of the Rev. Mark Guy Pearse, noted as a
preacher and a writer, and who died just a few months before Dr. Burton.
The latter married a sister of Mr. Pearse. How he came to write this
hymn was related in _The British Weekly_.
"Returning from school in Holland, Pearse once found himself on a steam
packet bound from Bristol to Hayle in Cornwall, having had a hearty
supper, and later finding that he had reached the limit of his finances.
The steward was inclined to be severe, but on hearing the lad's name he
changed his tone. Pearse's father had recently helped the steward's
mother in a difficulty, now the opportunity had come for the old debt to
be repaid. The steward paid the supper bill with the remark, 'Now pass
this on to some one else.'"
This furnished the inspiration for the appealing lines:
"Have you had a kindness shown?
Pass it on!
'Twas not given for thee alone--
Pass it on!
Let it travel down the years,
Let it wipe another's tears,
Till in heaven the deed appears,
Pass it on!
Did you hear the loving word?
Pass it on!
Like the singing of a bird?
Pass it on!
Let its music live and grow,
Let it cheer another's woe,
You have reaped what others sow--
Pass it on!
. . . . . . . . .
Love demands the loving deed!
Pass it on!
Look upon thy brother's need,
Pass it on!
Live for self, you live in vain;
Live for Christ, you live again;
Live for Him, with Him you reign--
Pass it on!"[20]