_Funeral Music_
The Christian assurance of immortality brings its message of consolation
most appropriately in life's darkest hours when death invades the family
circle. No one has pierced the veil between the present and the future
life, but there is a sense of the fitness of things which has convinced
men of divers creeds that a life beyond is a reality. It is the desire
for completion and not merely for continuance which quickens in our
breast the hope of life everlasting. It is moreover certified to us by
the fact of the living Christ through whom we commune with God. This
experience convinces us that our earthly pilgrimage is the prelude to
the heavenly life of spiritual attainment and satisfaction.
Thus when the physical remains of our loved ones are consigned to the
earth, we have the assured confidence of a reunion in the land that is
fairer than day. Since Jesus Christ has brought life and immortality to
light through the Gospel, we know that death does not sever the ties
which bind us to those who have crossed the flood. We shall meet again
when the day dawns and these shadows flee away. This is the outlook of
faith which comforts and cheers us.
"For what e'er befalls, Love conquers all,
And Death shall not prevail."
The thought deepest in the soul often finds expression at a crisis. This
fact is what led to the
Hymn of Martyred President Sung by the Nation
"Good-bye, good-bye, all," said President William McKinley as he lay
dying in Buffalo, a few days after he was shot on September 6, 1901. "It
is God's way. His will, not ours, be done," he added soon afterwards.
Toward the end in the presence of his wife and intimate friends, his
lips moved again and with a light on his worn face, his inner soul
expressed itself in the lines of his favorite hymn:
"Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee!
E'en though it be a cross--"
A moment of silence followed and then in a whisper he said, "That has
been my inextinguishable prayer."
The funeral services at the Capitol began with "Lead, Kindly Light,"
sung by the choir, and concluded with "Nearer, My God, to Thee." The
final service was held in the First Methodist Episcopal Church, Canton,
Ohio, of which he was a member.
During those days of sadness the nation sang this familiar hymn which
profoundly moved the popular heart. Possibly in all the history of the
United States, the nation has never so unitedly joined in singing a
particular hymn as during those days. It was a national tribute to a
fallen leader.
In the City of Utica, New York, the home of Vice-President James S.
Sherman, as soon as word was received of his death, October 30, 1912,
the leader of the orchestra in the chief hotel asked the company in the
dining room to stand, while "Nearer, My God, to Thee" was played. Thus
the song which was sung for a fallen President was likewise rendered in
his home town when a Vice-President passed thence.
It is a hallowed custom to sing a person's favorite hymn at his funeral.
Thus it was that there was sung at his funeral,
President Wilson's Favorite Hymn
Visitors at the Chautauqua Assembly, especially in the days of its
founder, Bishop J. H. Vincent, can never forget the Sunday evening
vesper services. One hymn in particular was always sung: "Day is Dying
in the West," written by Mary A. Lathbury, at Bishop Vincent's request.
This happened to be President Wilson's favorite hymn. His remains were
carried to Bethlehem Chapel on the cathedral grounds in Washington, D.
C. Over the outer door of this chapel the inscription in the stone work
is "The Way of Peace." During the service the men's voices of the choir
led by a clear tenor gave the favorite hymn an infinitely sweet appeal,
especially the lines:
"Gather us who seek Thy face
To the fold of Thy embrace,
For Thou art nigh."
It has been well said that some tunes and hymns are so closely united
that one recalls the other. Thus it was that
Bells Played Hymns When Taft Was Buried
The service was held in the quaint little Unitarian Church in
Washington, D. C. Floral wreaths and sprays abounded, representing the
deep affection and high respect for a former President of the United
States and later the Chief Justice. The dirge notes of Chopin's Funeral
March, a flourish of trumpets saluting a President, and the tolling of
the great bell of All Souls' Church, as has been the practice since 1822
at the passing of Presidents, constituted parts of this impressive
service. No hymns were sung but there was the soft music of the bells
which pealed forth the strains of "Abide With Me." The words were not
spoken but the familiar verses ran through the minds of the
congregation:
"Abide with me! Fast falls the eventide,
The darkness deepens--Lord, with me abide!
When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O, abide with me."
Few hymns have had so many remarkable associations as, "Peace, Perfect
Peace," written by Bishop Edward H. Bickersteth. It has brought comfort
to many and on one occasion, as stated below, the author himself was
Comforted by His Own Hymn
An informed contributor to _The Churchman_ writes as follows of this
hymn's vogue: "It has been sung at the obsequies of princes and
statesmen as well as at the funerals of the poor. It has afforded
consolation to the mourner in the palace as well as to the
grief-stricken peasant in the cottage. It was a favorite hymn with the
good old Queen of England, and it was sung in her death chamber at
Osborne. It has sustained the lonely soul of Bishop Hannington when he
was a caged prisoner in Central Africa awaiting execution from the hand
of a heathen king. They were the sweet stanzas that bound up the broken
heart of General Roberts when his only son was placed in a soldier's
grave in South Africa. It has been sung at the interment of authors,
actors and statesmen in Westminster Abbey and St. Paul's. When in the
cemetery of the village of Chislebon, Wiltshire, England, the early
harvest was being gathered and shepherds were folding their flocks, the
venerable prelate stood at the head of his eldest son's open grave as
this hymn, so often quoted in the hour of death and sung on the day of
burial, struck a note of Christian hope to the bereaved spirit of its
author. On this side of the Atlantic the hymn is sung at almost every
funeral service conducted in church, and Mr. Coldbeck's appropriate
tune, 'Pax Tecum,' is singularly adapted to its soothing and inspiring
strains."
"A good hymn is the most difficult thing to write," said Alfred, Lord
Tennyson. It was not until his eighty-first year that he succeeded in
writing his single great hymn, "Crossing the Bar," although stanzas from
his _In Memoriam_ are sung as hymns. It was, therefore, most fitting
that its first public use was as an anthem at the poet's funeral in
Westminster Abbey on October 12, 1892. The description of the scene,
written by the daughter of the Dean of Westminster, is here quoted in
part of the singing of
Tennyson's Hymn at His Funeral
"In the intense and solemn silence which followed the reading of the
lesson were heard the voices of the choir singing in subdued and tender
tones Tennyson's 'Crossing the Bar'--those beautiful words in which the
poet, as it were, prophetically foretold his calm and peaceful deathbed.
In the second line the clear, thrilling notes of a boy's voice sounded
like a silver trumpet call amongst the arches, and it was only at
intervals that one distinguished Dr. Bridge's beautiful organ
accompaniment, which swelled gradually from a subdued murmur as of the
morning tide into a triumphant burst from the voices, so blended
together were words and music."
One of the best hymns of fervent devotion is
"Take my life, and let it be
Consecrated, Lord, to Thee."
Illness and suffering had been the lot of its author. She worked under
difficulties and might well have said with the Apostle Paul, "Most
gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power
of Christ may rest upon me." Her characteristic confidence was, however,
expressed in the
Text Selected by Miss Havergal for Her Tombstone
Her last days found her at Caswell Bay, Swansea, Wales, where she had
gone for a rest. When informed that she was approaching the end of her
sufferings, she is said to have answered, "If I am going, it is too good
to be true." Death came on June 3, 1879, in the forty-third year of her
age; and she was laid to rest in the Astley churchyard beside her
father, and close to the church and home of her childhood. By her own
desire her favorite text was carved on her tombstone: "The Blood of
Jesus Christ His Son Cleanseth Us From All Sin."
It was an unusual scene, according to _The Standard_, that comforted the
bereaved mother as well as the few persons present
When Parepa Sang at Annie's Funeral
This famous singer, through a friend, attended the funeral of Annie, the
only daughter of a poor widowed mother, in the East End of London. This
friend's description is worth quoting:
"The undertaker came and bustled about. He looked at myself and Parepa,
as if to say, 'It's time to go. The wretched funeral service is over.'
"Without a word, Parepa rose and walked to the head of the coffin. She
laid her white scarf on an empty chair, threw her cloak back from her
shoulders, where it fell in long, soft, black lines from her noble
figure like the drapery of mourning. She laid her soft, fair hand on the
cold forehead, passed it tenderly over the wasted, delicate face, looked
down at the dead girl a moment, and moved my flowers from the stained
box to the thin fingers, then lifted up her head, and, with illumined
eyes, sang the glorious melody:
"'Angels ever bright and fair,
Take, oh, take me to thy care.'
"Her magnificent voice rose and fell in all its richness and power and
pity and beauty. She looked above the dingy room and the tired faces of
the men and women, the hard hands and the struggling hearts. She threw
back her head and sang till the choirs of paradise must have paused to
listen to the music of that day. She passed her hand caressingly over
the girl's soft, dark hair, sang on and on; 'Take, oh, _take her_ to Thy
care.'
"The mother's face grew rapt and white. I held her hands and watched her
eyes. Suddenly she threw my hands off and knelt at Parepa's feet, close
to the wooden trestles. She locked her fingers together, tears and sobs
breaking forth. She prayed aloud that God would bless the angel singing
for Annie. A patient smile settled about her lips, and the light came
back into her poor, dulled eyes, and she kissed her daughter's face with
a love beyond all interpretation of human speech. I led her back to her
seat as the last glorious notes of Parepa's voice rose triumphant over
all earthly pain and sorrow.
"And I thought that no queen ever went to her grave with a greater
ceremony than this young daughter of poverty and toil, committed to the
care of angels."
An unusual funeral service was held when, instead of the family sitting
in silence,
Each Member of the Family Sang a Verse
The description must be quoted in full as it appeared in _The Christian
Advocate_:
"When I was in Rome a friend came to me asking if I would be a
pallbearer at the funeral of a young American girl. Her family wished
only Americans present at the little service. I went to the room where
the casket stood and presently the family entered--a noble lady,
evidently the mother, a daughter and two sons, the eldest leading a
little girl. They surrounded the casket and softly repeated the
Apostles' Creed. Then the mother's voice, uncertain and trembling,
began:
"'Shall we gather at the river
Where bright angel feet have trod,
With its crystal tide forever
Flowing by the throne of God?'
"All joined her in the chorus. Then the eldest son, a grown man, sang:
'On the margin of the river,
Washing up its silver spray,
We will walk and worship ever,
All the happy golden day.'
"After the chorus there was silence--a choking silence that benumbed me.
Then my friend whispered, 'It is their family prayer service and it is
her verse.' Then the little girl was lifted in her father's arms, and
sweet and clear and wonderingly came:
'Ere we reach the shining river
Lay we every burden down,
Grace our spirits will deliver
And provide a robe and crown.'
"I do not know how I endured it, the emotion of that moment. In a broken
manner they sobbed through the chorus and then the younger brother, a
lad of fourteen, sang:
'At the smiling of the river,
Mirror of the Saviour's face
Saints whom death will never sever
Lift their songs of saving grace.'
"His voice was so confident that it steadied all present and the chorus
rang out clearly. Then all together they sang:
'Soon we'll reach the silver river,
Soon our pilgrimage will cease,
Soon our happy hearts will quiver
With the melody of peace.'
"And the chorus was strong, clear and almost exultant. After repeating
the Lord's Prayer, the minister read the service and we went to the
grave. On the way my friend told me of the many times he had been
present at this same little family service in the Michigan home when
each sang his verse in the old hymn. 'The last verse was father's, and
after his death they all sang it for him, and now the little
granddaughter had picked up the broken thread of song for her sweet
young auntie.'
'What a wonderful glorification of a poor little hymn!'
"'Truly so,' he agreed. 'I never before had much respect for that
piece.'"
The faith and loyalty of a noble Christian were remembered when his
daughter
Played Her Father's Favorite Hymn at a Memorial Service
This service conducted by the North Dakota Conference of the Methodist
Episcopal Church for Judge Charles S. Pollock was impressively
beautiful. Held for a layman, it yet followed the ordination of young
men for the ministry. Judge Pollock, a faithful follower of Jesus Christ
and a courageous advocate of civic righteousness, had dutifully carried
heavy responsibilities at the session of the General Conference in May,
1928, and not long thereafter was summoned into the courts of heaven. On
that autumn day at this service the judge's daughter played on the organ
her father's favorite hymn:
"O Master, let me walk with Thee
In lowly paths of service free;
Tell me Thy secret; help me bear
The strain of toil, the fret of care.
. . . . . . . . .
In hope that sends a shining ray
Far down the future's broadening way;
In peace that only Thou canst give,
With Thee, O Master, let me live."
The assurance of reunion was well advertised by
Songs at a Missionary's Grave
The great missionary, James Gilmour, of Mongolia, lost his beloved wife
at Peking. In a letter to his children's uncle in Scotland, to whom Mr.
Gilmour had decided to entrust the two boys after their mother's death,
he wrote: "Oh, it is hard to think of them going off over the world in
that motherless fashion! We were at mamma's grave yesterday for the
first time since September 21. We sang 'There's a Land That Is Fairer
Than Day,' in Chinese, and also a Chinese hymn we have here with a
chorus, which says, 'We'll soon go and see them in our heavenly home,'
and in English, 'There is a happy land.' The children and I have no
reluctance in speaking of mamma, and we don't think of her as here or
buried, but as in a fine place, happy and well."
As the Rev. Mark Guy Pearse approached the end of his great career as
minister and author he said to a brother minister concerning his funeral
service: "There must be no mourning, no tears, no misery, no gloom. I go
not into the gloom but into the dawn. Start the service with 'Praise
God.' Take all the stops out of the organ and let everybody thunder it
out." Thus it was that there were sung the
Hallelujah Chorus and Doxology at the Funeral Service
His wishes were met, and the memorial service at Kingsway Hall, the
headquarters of the West London Mission, was unusual. The organist
played "I Know That My Redeemer Liveth" as the people assembled. Then
came, "Praise God, From Whom All Blessings Flow." The triumphant
"Hallelujah Chorus" pealed forth at the close.
The hymns were:
"Come let us join our cheerful songs
With angels around the throne."
"Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee."
"For all the saints, who from their labors rest,
Who Thee by faith before the world confessed,
Thy name, O Jesus, be forever blessed.
Hallelujah, Hallelujah!"
"Jerusalem the golden,
With milk and honey blest."
The last lines of the fourth hymn were a powerful wish which the saint
had realized:
"Jesus, in mercy bring us
To that dear land of rest;
Who art, with God the Father,
And Spirit, ever blest."