AMERICAN HYMNODY
The First American Hymn
I love Thy Zion, Lord,
The house of Thine abode;
The Church our blest Redeemer saved
With His own precious blood.
I love Thy Church, O God;
Her walls before Thee stand,
Dear as the apple of Thine eye,
And graven on Thy hand.
For her my tears shall fall;
For her my prayers ascend:
To her my cares and toil be given,
Till toils and cares shall end.
Beyond my highest joy
I prize her heavenly ways,
Her sweet communion, solemn vows,
Her hymns of love and praise.
Jesus, Thou Friend divine,
Our Saviour and our King,
Thy hand from every snare and foe
Shall great deliverance bring.
Sure as Thy truth shall last,
To Zion shall be given
The brightest glories earth can yield,
And brighter bliss of heaven.
Timothy Dwight, 1800.
THE BEGINNINGS OF HYMNODY IN AMERICA
The rise of hymnody in America ran parallel with the development of
hymn-singing in England. The Puritans who came from Holland in the
Mayflower in 1620 were "separatists" from the Church of England, hence
they used a psalm-book of their own, published by Henry Ainsworth at
Amsterdam in 1612. This was the book that cheered their souls on the
perilous crossing of the Atlantic and during the hard and trying years
that followed their landing at Plymouth.
Amid the storm they sang,
And the stars heard and the sea;
And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang
With the anthems of the free.
This was also the book that comforted Priscilla, when John Alden stole in
and found that
Open wide on her lap lay the well-worn psalm-book of Ainsworth.
The later Puritans who came directly from England, on the other hand,
were not "separatists," hence they brought with them the psalm-book of
Sternhold and Hopkins, which was the version of the Psaltery approved at
that time by the Established Church.
The wretched paraphrases of the Psalms in both the Ainsworth and the
"orthodox" version of Sternhold and Hopkins eventually led to an
insistent demand among the New England Puritans for an entirely new
psalm-book which should also adhere more closely to the Hebrew original.
The result was the famous "Bay Psalmist" of 1640, which was the first
book printed in British America.
The Puritan editors of this first attempt at American psalmody cared no
more for poetic effect than did their brother versifiers across the
waters. This they made quite plain in the concluding words of the Preface
to the "Bay Psalmist": "If therefore the verses are not always so smooth
and elegant as some may desire or expect; let them consider that God's
Altar needs not our pollishings: Ex. 20, for wee have respected rather a
plaine translation, than to smooth our verses with the sweetness of any
paraphrase, and soe have attended to Conscience rather than Elegance,
fidelity rather than poetry, in translating the hebrew words into english
language, and David's poetry into english meetre: that soe wee may sing
in Sion the Lords songs of praise according to his own will; untill hee
take us from hence, and wipe away all our tears, & bid us enter into our
masters joye to sing eternall Halleluiahs."
The editors scarcely needed to apprise the worshiper that he should not
look for artistic verses, for a glimpse within its pages was sufficient
to disillusion any one who expected to find sacred poetry. The metrical
form given the 137th Psalm is an example of the Puritan theologians'
contempt for polished language:
The rivers on of Babilon
there when wee did sit downe:
yea even then wee mourned, when
wee remembred Sion.
Our Harps wee did hang it amid,
upon the willow tree.
Because there they that us away
led in captivitee,
Required of us a song, & thus
askt mirth: us waste who laid,
sing us among a Sions song,
unto us then they said.
The lords song sing can wee? being
in strangers land. Then let
loose her skill my right hand, if I
Jerusalem forget.
Let cleave my tongue my pallate on,
if minde thee doe not I:
if chiefe joyes o'er I prize not more
Jerusalem my joye.
Nevertheless, strange as it may seem, the "Bay Psalmist" passed through
twenty-seven editions, and was even reprinted several times abroad, being
used extensively in England and Scotland. Gradually, however, psalmody
began to lose its hold on the Reformed churches, both in Europe and
America, and hymnody gained the ascendancy. The publication in 1707 of
the epoch-making work of Isaac Watts, "Hymns and Spiritual Songs," was
the first step in breaking down the prejudice in the Calvinistic churches
against "hymns of human composure." In America the Great Awakening under
Jonathan Edwards, which began in 1734 and which received added impetus
from the visit of John Whitefield in 1740, also brought about a demand
for a happier form of congregational singing. Then came the influence of
the Wesleyan revival with its glorious outburst of song.
Jonathan Edwards himself, stern Puritan that he was, was finally forced
to confess that it was "really needful that we should have some other
songs than the Psalms of David." Accordingly hymn singing grew rapidly in
favor among the people.
The first attempt to introduce hymns in the authorized psalm-books was
made by Joel Barlow, a chaplain in the Revolutionary War. Instructed by
the General Association of Congregational Churches of Connecticut to
revise Watts' "Psalms of David" in order to purge them of their British
flavor, he was likewise authorized to append to the Psalms a collection
of hymns. He made a selection of seventy hymns, and the new book was
published in 1786.
It was received with delight by the Presbyterians, but the
Congregationalists who had sponsored it were thoroughly dissatisfied. As
an example of the morbid character of Puritan theology, Edward S. Ninde
has called attention to the fact that while Barlow failed to include
Wesley's "Jesus, Lover of my soul" or Watts' "When I survey the wondrous
cross," he did select such a hymn by Watts as "Hark, from the tombs, a
doleful sound," and another beginning with the lines,
My thoughts on awful subjects roll,
Damnation and the dead.
A second attempt to make a complete revision of Watts' "Psalms of David"
was decided upon by the Congregational churches, and this time the task
was entrusted to Timothy Dwight, president of Yale College. Dwight, who
was a grandson of Jonathan Edwards, was born in 1752. He entered Yale at
the age of thirteen and graduated with highest honors in 1769. At the
outbreak of the Revolutionary War he was commissioned a chaplain and
throughout the conflict he wrote songs to enthuse the American troops. In
1795 he was elected president of Yale College, in which position he
served his Alma Mater for twenty years.
Dwight exhibited a spirit of bold independence when he added to the
revised "Psalms" by Watts a collection of two hundred and sixty-three
hymns. Of these hymns, one hundred and sixty-eight were also by Watts,
indicating the hold which that great hymnist retained on the
English-speaking world. Other hymn-writers represented in Dwight's book
included Stennett, Doddridge, Cowper, Newton, Toplady, and Charles
Wesley. Only one of the latter's hymns was chosen, however, and Toplady's
"Rock of Ages" was not included!
Dwight himself wrote thirty-three paraphrases of the Psalms, but they
were so freely rendered that they are properly classified as original
hymns. Among these is his splendid version of the 137th Psalm, "I love
Thy Zion, Lord," which may be regarded as the earliest hymn of American
origin still in common use today. It is usually dated 1800, which is the
year when Dwight's work was published.
Dwight, who will always be remembered as the outstanding figure in the
beginnings of American hymnody, died in 1817. The story of his life is an
inspiring one, illustrating how his heroic qualities conquered despite a
"thorn in the flesh." A chronicler records that "during the greater part
of forty years he was not able to read fifteen minutes in the twenty-four
hours; and often, for days and weeks together, the pain which he endured
in that part of the head immediately behind the eyes amounted to
anguish."
The Hymn of a Wounded Spirit
I love to steal awhile away
From every cumbering care,
And spend the hour of setting day
In humble, grateful prayer.
I love in solitude to shed
The penitential tear,
And all His promises to plead
Where none but God can hear.
I love to think of mercies past,
And future good implore,
And all my cares and sorrows cast
On Him whom I adore.
I love by faith to take a view
Of brighter scenes in heaven;
The prospect doth my strength renew,
While here by tempests driven.
Thus when life's toilsome day is o'er,
May its departing ray
Be calm as this impressive hour
And lead to endless day.
Phoebe Hinsdale Brown, 1818.
AMERICA'S FIRST WOMAN HYMNIST
Less than twenty years after Timothy Dwight's hymns were published, a
very poor and unpretentious American woman began to write lyrics that
have been treasured by the Church until this present day, nor will they
soon be forgotten. Her name was Phoebe Hinsdale Brown, and the story of
her life is the most pathetic in the annals of American hymnody.
"As to my history," she wrote near the end of her life, "it is soon told;
a sinner saved by grace and sanctified by trials."
She was born at Canaan, N. Y., May 1, 1783. Both parents died before she
was two years old and the greater part of her childhood was spent in the
home of an older sister who was married to a keeper of a county jail. The
cruelties and privations suffered by the orphaned child during these
years were such that her son in later years declared that it broke his
heart to read of them in his mother's diary. She was not permitted to
attend school, and could neither read nor write. She was eighteen years
old before she escaped from this bondage and found opportunity to attend
school for three months. This was the extent of her education within
school walls.
In 1805, at the age of twenty-two, she married Timothy H. Brown, a house
painter. He was a good man, but extremely poor. Moving to Ellington,
Mass., they lived in a small, unfinished frame house at the edge of the
village. Four little children and a sick sister who occupied the only
finished room in the house added to the domestic burdens of Mrs. Brown.
In the summer of 1818 a pathetic incident occurred that led to the
writing of her most famous hymn.
There being no place in her crowded home where she might find opportunity
for a few moments of quiet prayer and meditation, she would steal away at
twilight to the edge of a neighboring estate, where there was a
magnificent home surrounded by a beautiful garden.
"As there was seldom any one passing that way after dark," she afterwards
wrote, "I felt quite retired and alone with God. I often walked quite up
to that beautiful garden ... and felt that I could have the privilege of
those few moments of uninterrupted communion with God without encroaching
upon any one."
But her movements had been watched, and one day the lady of the mansion
turned on her in the presence of others and rudely demanded: "Mrs. Brown,
why do you come up at evening so near our house, and then go back without
coming in? If you want anything, why don't you come in and ask for it?"
Mrs. Brown tells how she went home, crushed in spirit. "After my children
were all in bed, except my baby," she continues, "I sat down in the
kitchen, with my child in my arms, when the grief of my heart burst forth
in a flood of tears. I took pen and paper, and gave vent to my oppressed
heart in what I called 'My Apology for my Twilight Rambles, addressed to
a Lady.'" The "Apology," which was sent to the woman who had so cruelly
wounded her began with the lines:
Yes, when the toilsome day is gone,
And night, with banners gray,
Steals silently the glade along
In twilight's soft array.
Then continued the beautiful verses of her now famous "Twilight Hymn:"
I love to steal awhile away
From little ones and care,
And spend the hours of setting day
In gratitude and prayer.
Seven years later, when Dr. Nettleton was preparing his volume of
"Village Hymns," he was told that Mrs. Brown had written some verses. At
his request she brought forth her "Twilight Hymn" and three other lyrics,
and they were promptly given a place in the collection. Only a few slight
changes were made in the lines of the "Twilight Hymn," including the
second line, which was made to read "From every cumbering care," and the
fourth line, which was changed to "In humble, grateful prayer." Four
stanzas were omitted, otherwise the hymn remains almost exactly in the
form of the "Apology."
One of the omitted stanzas reveals a beautiful Christian attitude toward
death. Mrs. Brown wrote:
I love to meditate on death!
When shall his message come
With friendly smiles to steal my breath
And take an exile home?
One of the other hymns by Mrs. Brown included in "Village Hymns" is a
missionary lyric, "Go, messenger of love, and bear." This was written a
year earlier than her "Twilight Hymn." Her little son Samuel was seven
years old at the time, and the pious mother's prayer was that he might be
used of the Lord in His service. It was the period when the
English-speaking world was experiencing a tremendous revival of interest
in foreign missions, and in her heart she cherished the fond hope that
her own boy might become a messenger of the gospel. Then came the
inspiration for the hymn:
Go, messenger of love, and bear
Upon thy gentle wing
The song which seraphs love to hear,
The angels joy to sing.
Go to the heart with sin oppressed,
And dry the sorrowing tear;
Extract the thorn that wounds the breast,
The drooping spirit cheer.
Go, say to Zion, "Jesus reigns"--
By His resistless power
He binds His enemies with chains;
They fall to rise no more.
Tell how the Holy Spirit flies,
As He from heaven descends;
Arrests His proudest enemies,
And changes them to friends.
Her prayer was answered. The son, Samuel R. Brown in 1838 sailed as a
missionary to China, and eleven years later, when Japan was opened to
foreigners, he was transferred to that field. He was the first American
missionary to the Japanese.
Mrs. Brown died at Henry, Illinois, October 10, 1861. She was buried at
Monson, Mass., where some thirty years of her life had been spent. Her
son, the missionary, has written this beautiful tribute to her memory:
"Her record is on high, and she is with the Lord, whom she loved and
served as faithfully as any person I ever knew; nay, more than any other.
To her I owe all I am; and if I have done any good in the world, to her,
under God, it is due. She seems even now to have me in her hands, holding
me up to work for Christ and His cause with a grasp that I can feel. I
ought to have been and to be a far better man than I am, having had such
a mother."
A Triumphant Missionary Hymn
Hail to the brightness of Zion's glad morning!
Joy to the lands that in darkness have lain!
Hushed be the accents of sorrow and mourning,
Zion in triumph begins her glad reign.
Hail to the brightness of Zion's glad morning,
Long by the prophets of Israel foretold!
Hail to the millions from bondage returning!
Gentiles and Jews the blest vision behold.
Lo, in the desert rich flowers are springing,
Streams ever copious are gliding along;
Loud from the mountain-tops echoes are ringing,
Wastes rise in verdure, and mingle in song.
Hark, from all lands, from the isles of the ocean,
Praise to Jehovah ascending on high;
Fallen the engines of war and commotion,
Shouts of salvation are rending the sky.
Thomas Hastings.
THOMAS HASTINGS, POET AND MUSICIAN
High among the names of those who in the early days of America labored to
raise the standard of hymnody must be inscribed the name of Thomas
Hastings, Doctor of Music. Poet and musician by nature, Hastings may
truly be said to have devoted his entire life to the elevation of sacred
song.
The story of his life is typical of the struggles and hardships of many
American pioneers who conquered in spite of the most adverse
circumstances. Born at Washington, Conn., October 15, 1784, young
Hastings removed with his parents to Clinton, N. Y., when he was only
twelve years old. The journey was made in ox-sleds through unbroken
wilderness in the dead of winter.
The frontier schools of those days offered little opportunity for
education, but the eager lad trudged six miles a day to receive the
instruction that was given. A passionate fondness for music was first
satisfied when he secured a musical primer of four pages costing six
pence. The proudest moment in his life came when he was named leader of
the village choir.
It was not until he was thirty-two years old that Hastings was able to
secure employment as a music teacher, but from that time until his death,
in 1872, he devoted all his energies to the work he loved.
Hastings was ever tireless in contending that good music should have a
recognized place in religious worship. From 1823 to 1832, during which
time he edited the Western Recorder, in Utica, N. Y., he had an excellent
opportunity to spread his views on music. In the latter year twelve
churches in New York City jointly engaged his services as choir director,
and for the remainder of his life Hastings made the great American
metropolis his home.
Though seriously handicapped by eye trouble, Hastings produced a
prodigious amount of work. It is claimed that he wrote more than one
thousand hymn tunes. He also published fifty volumes of church music.
Some of the finest tunes in our American hymnals were composed by him.
Who has not found inspiration in singing that sweet and haunting melody
known as "Ortonville"? And how can we ever be sufficiently grateful for
the tune called "Toplady," which has endeared "Rock of Ages" to millions
of hearts? Besides these there are at least a score of other beautiful
hymn tunes that have been loved by the singing Church for nearly a
century, any one of which would have won for the composer an enduring
name.
Through the composing of tunes, Hastings was led to write words for
hymns. More than six hundred are attributed to him, although many were
written anonymously. "Hail to the brightness of Zion's glad morning" is
generally regarded as his best hymn. It strikingly reflects the spirit of
the missionary age in which Hastings lived.
Another very popular and stirring missionary hymn, written by Hastings in
1831, is a song of two stanzas:
Now be the gospel banner
In every land unfurled;
And be the shout, Hosannah!
Reechoed through the world;
Till every isle and nation,
Till every tribe and tongue,
Receive the great salvation,
And join the happy throng.
Yes, Thou shalt reign forever,
O Jesus, King of kings!
Thy light, Thy love, Thy favor,
Each ransomed captive sings:
The isles for Thee are waiting,
The deserts learn Thy praise,
The hills and valleys, greeting,
The songs responsive raise.
A hymn with the title, "Pilgrimage of Life," though very simple, is
singularly beautiful and very tender in its appeal. The first stanza
reads:
Gently, Lord, O gently lead us,
Pilgrims in this vale of tears,
Through the trials yet decreed us,
Till our last great change appears.
Hastings did not cease writing and composing hymns until three days
before his death. It is said that more of his hymns are found in the
standard church hymnals of America than those of any other American
writer. Their survival through almost a century is a testimony to their
enduring quality.
Key's Hymn of Praise
Lord, with glowing heart I'd praise thee
For the bliss Thy love bestows,
For the pardoning grace that saves me,
And the peace that from it flows.
Help, O God, my weak endeavor;
This dull soul to rapture raise;
Thou must light the flame, or never
Can my love be warmed to praise.
Praise, my soul, the God that sought thee,
Wretched wanderer, far astray;
Found thee lost, and kindly brought thee
From the paths of death away;
Praise, with love's devoutest feeling,
Him who saw thy guilt-born fear,
And, the light of hope revealing,
Bade the blood-stained cross appear.
Lord, this bosom's ardent feeling
Vainly would my lips express;
Low before Thy footstool kneeling,
Deign Thy suppliant's prayer to bless;
Let Thy grace, my soul's chief treasure,
Love's pure flame within me raise;
And, since words can never measure,
Let my life show forth Thy praise.
Francis Scott Key, 1823.
FRANCIS SCOTT KEY, PATRIOT AND HYMNIST
Francis Scott Key is known to every American child as the author of our
national anthem, "The star spangled banner"; but his fame as a Christian
hymnist has not gone abroad to the same degree. And yet, as the author of
"Lord, with glowing heart I'd praise Thee," he ranks among the foremost
of American hymn-writers.
Key lived during the stirring days of our country's early history. His
father was an officer in the Continental army who fought with distinction
during the Revolutionary War. Francis was born at Frederick, Maryland,
August 1, 1779. After receiving a legal education he began to practice
law in Washington, and served as United States district attorney for
three terms, holding that office at the time of his death.
The story of how he came to write "Star spangled banner" scarcely needs
to be repeated. It was during the War of 1812 that Key was authorized by
President Madison to visit the British fleet near the mouth of the
Potomac in order to obtain the release of a friend who had been captured.
The British admiral granted Key's request, but owing to the fact that an
attack was about to be made on Fort McHenry, which guarded the harbor of
Baltimore, Key and his party were detained all night aboard the
truce-boat on which they had come.
It was a night of great anxiety. A fierce bombardment continued during
the hours of darkness, and as long as the shore fortifications replied to
the cannonading, Key and his friends were certain that all was well.
Toward morning, the firing ceased, and they were filled with dark
forebodings. The others went below to obtain some sleep, but Key
continued to pace the deck until the first streaks of dawn showed that
the "flag was still there."
His joy was so unbounded that he seized a piece of paper, and hastily
wrote the words of his famous anthem. It was not completed until later in
the day, when he reached Baltimore and joined in the victorious joy that
filled the city.
While "Star spangled banner" is not a Christian hymn, there are noble
sentiments in it that reveal the writer at once as a devout Christian,
and this was eminently true of Key.
As a member of the Protestant Episcopal Church he held a lay reader's
license, and for many years read the service and visited the sick. He
also conducted a Bible class in Sunday school. Although he lived in a
slave state, he was finally moved by conscientious scruples to free his
slaves. He also did much to alleviate conditions among other unfortunate
blacks.
When the Protestant Episcopal Church in 1823 appointed a committee to
prepare a new hymn-book for that body, Key was made a lay member of it.
Another member of the committee was Dr. William Muhlenberg, who in that
same year had published a little hymnal for use in his own congregation.
It was in this hymnal, known as "Church Poetry", that Key's beautiful
hymn, "Lord, with glowing heart I'd praise Thee," was first published.
In Dr. Muhlenberg's hymn-book the hymn had only three stanzas, and that
is the form in which it has since appeared in all other hymnals. In 1900,
however, Key's autograph copy of the hymn was discovered, and it was
found that the hymn originally had four stanzas. The missing one reads:
Praise thy Saviour God that drew thee
To that cross, new life to give,
Held a blood-sealed pardon to thee,
Bade thee look to Him and live.
Praise the grace whose threats alarmed thee,
Roused thee from thy fatal ease,
Praise the grace whose promise warmed thee,
Praise the grace that whispered peace.
Another excellent hymn, "Before the Lord we bow", was written by Key in
1832 for a Fourth of July celebration.
A bronze statue of Key, placed over his grave at Frederick, Md., shows
him with his hand outstretched, as at the moment when he discovered the
flag "still there," while his other hand is waving his hat exultantly.
Bryant's Home Mission Hymn
Look from Thy sphere of endless day,
O God of mercy and of might!
In pity look on those who stray
Benighted, in this land of light.
In peopled vale, in lonely glen,
In crowded mart, by stream or sea,
How many of the sons of men
Hear not the message sent from Thee!
Send forth Thy heralds, Lord, to call
The thoughtless young, the hardened old,
A scattered, homeless flock, till all
Be gathered to Thy peaceful fold.
Send them Thy mighty Word to speak,
Till faith shall dawn, and doubt depart,
To awe the bold, to stay the weak,
And bind and heal the broken heart.
Then all these wastes, a dreary scene
That makes us sadden, as we gaze,
Shall grow with living waters green,
And lift to heaven the voice of praise.
William Cullen Bryant, 1840.
AMERICA'S FIRST POET AND HIS HYMNS
William Cullen Bryant, America's first great poet, was also a
hymn-writer. Although he did not devote much of his thought and genius to
sacred lyrics, he wrote at least two splendid hymns that merit a place in
every hymn collection. The one, "Thou, whose unmeasured temple stands,"
is a church dedication hymn of rare beauty; the other, "Look from Thy
sphere of endless day," is unquestionably one of the finest home mission
hymns ever written.
Born at Cummington, Mass., November 3, 1794, he was educated at Williams
College to be a lawyer. It was his writing of "Thanatopsis" as a boy of
seventeen years that gave the first notice to the world that America had
produced a great poet.
It is said that when the lines of "Thanatopsis" were submitted to Richard
H. Dana, editor of the "North American Review," he was skeptical.
"No one on this side of the Atlantic," he declared, "is capable of
writing such verses."
Bryant was brought up in a typical New England Puritan home. Family
worship and strict attendance at public worship was the rule in the
Bryant household. Every little while the children of the community would
also gather in the district schoolhouse, where they would be examined in
the Catechism by the parish minister, a venerable man who was loved by
old and young alike.
While yet a little child Bryant began to pray that he might receive the
gift of writing poetry. No doubt he had been influenced to a large degree
in this desire by the fact that his father was a lover of verse and
possessed a splendid library of the great English poets. The youthful
Bryant was taught to memorize the noble hymns of Isaac Watts, and when he
was only five years old he would stand on a chair and recite them to
imaginary audiences.
Early in life Bryant came under the influence of the Unitarian doctrines
which were then sweeping through New England as a reaction against the
stern, harsh teachings of Puritanism. When he was only twenty-six years
old he was invited to contribute to a volume of hymns then in course of
preparation by the Unitarians. He responded by writing five hymns. Six
years later he wrote "Thou, whose unmeasured temple stands" for the
dedication of the Second Unitarian Church of New York City. He usually
attended the First Congregational Unitarian Church of that city.
About thirty years later, however, when Bryant was sixty-four years old,
a profound change occurred in his religious convictions. During a trip
abroad his wife became critically ill in Naples. At first her life was
despaired of, but when she finally was on the road to recovery Bryant
sent for a warm friend of the family, Rev. R. C. Waterston, who was in
Naples at the time. The latter tells of his meeting with the aged poet in
the following words:
"On the following day, the weather being delightful, we walked in the
royal park or garden overlooking the Bay of Naples. Never can I forget
the beautiful spirit that breathed through every word he (Bryant)
uttered, the reverent love, the confiding trust, the aspiring hope, the
rooted faith.... He said that he had never united himself with the
Church, which, with his present feeling, he would most gladly do. He then
asked if it would be agreeable to me to come to his room on the morrow
and administer the communion, adding that, as he had never been baptized,
he desired that ordinance at the same time.
"The day following was the Sabbath, and a most heavenly day. In
fulfilment of his wishes, in his own quiet room, a company of seven
persons celebrated together the Lord's Supper.... Previous to the
breaking of bread, William Cullen Bryant was baptized. With snow-white
head and flowing beard, he stood like one of the ancient prophets, and
perhaps never, since the days of the apostles, has a truer disciple
professed allegiance to the divine Master."
Twenty years after this experience, in the last year of the poet's life,
he made some contributions to the Methodist Episcopal hymnal. A revision
of one of the hymns which he had written in 1820 for the Unitarian hymnal
reveals his changed attitude toward the Lord Jesus Christ. For the
Unitarian book he had written:
Deem not that they are blest alone
Whose days a peaceful tenor keep;
The God who loves our race has shown
A blessing for the eyes that weep.
For the Methodist hymn-book he changed the third line to read:
The anointed Son of God makes known.
The hymn was sung in its changed form at the poet's funeral, as well as
another beautiful hymn entitled "The Star of Bethlehem," written in 1875
for the semi-centennial of the Church of the Messiah in Boston.
An Exquisite Baptismal Hymn
Saviour, who Thy flock art feeding
With the shepherd's kindest care,
All the feeble gently leading,
While the lambs Thy bosom share.
Now, these little ones receiving,
Fold them in Thy gracious arm;
There, we know, Thy word believing,
Only there secure from harm.
Never, from Thy pasture roving,
Let them be the lion's prey;
Let Thy tenderness, so loving,
Keep them through life's dangerous way.
Then, within Thy fold eternal,
Let them find a resting place,
Feed in pastures ever vernal,
Drink the rivers of Thy grace.
William Augustus Muhlenberg, 1826.
THE HYMN-WRITER OF THE MUHLENBERGS
William Augustus Muhlenberg, one of America's early hymn-writers, came
from a most distinguished family. His great grandfather, Henry Melchior
Muhlenberg, was the "patriarch of the Lutheran Church in America," having
come to these shores from Germany in 1742, and being the founder in that
year of the first permanent Lutheran organization in the new world.
A son of the patriarch and grandfather of the hymn-writer bore the name
of Frederick Augustus Muhlenberg. He, too, was a Lutheran minister, but
during the stirring days of the Revolutionary period he entered into the
political affairs of the struggling colonies. He was president of the
convention which ratified the Constitution of the United States and also
served as first speaker of the new House of Representatives. His brother,
Rev. Peter Muhlenberg, was also a distinguished patriot. When the
Revolution broke out, he was serving a congregation at Woodstock, Va. It
was he who stood in the pulpit of his church and, throwing aside his
clerical robe, stood revealed in the uniform of a Continental colonel.
"There is a time to preach and a time to pray," he cried, "but these
times have passed away. There is a time to fight, and that time has now
come!"
Thereupon he called upon the men of his congregation to enlist in his
regiment. Before the war ended he had risen to the rank of major general.
William Augustus Muhlenberg, the hymn-writer, was born in Philadelphia in
1796. Since the German language was then being used exclusively in the
German Lutheran churches, he and his little sister were allowed to attend
Christ Episcopal Church. In this way William Augustus drifted away from
the Church of his great forbears, and when he grew up he became a
clergyman in the Episcopal communion.
It is evident that Muhlenberg brought something of the spirit of the
"singing church" into the church of his adoption, for in 1821 he issued a
tract with the title, "A Plea for Christian Hymns." It appears that the
Episcopal Church at this time was using a prayer-book that included only
fifty-seven hymns, and no one felt the poverty of his Church in this
respect more keenly than did Muhlenberg.
Two years later the General Convention of the Episcopal body voted to
prepare a hymn-book, and Muhlenberg was made a member of the committee.
One of his associates was Francis Scott Key, author of "Star spangled
banner."
As a member of the committee Muhlenberg contributed four original hymns
to the new collection. They were "I would not live alway," "Like Noah's
weary dove," "Shout the glad tidings, triumphantly sing," and "Saviour,
who Thy flock art leading." The latter is a baptism hymn and is one of
the most exquisite lyrics on that theme ever written. Although Muhlenberg
never married, he had a very deep love for children. No service seemed so
hallowed to him as the baptism of a little child. It is said that shortly
after his ordination, when asked to officiate at such a rite, Muhlenberg
flushed and hesitated, and then asked a bishop who was present to baptize
the babe. The latter, however, insisted that the young clergyman should
carry out the holy ordinance, and from that day there was no duty that
afforded Muhlenberg more joy.
Muhlenberg often expressed regret that he had written "I would not live
alway." It seems that the poem was called into being in 1824, following a
"heart-breaking disappointment in the matter of love." Muhlenberg was a
young man at the time, and in his later years he sought to alter it in
such a way that it would breathe more of the hopeful spirit of the New
Testament. He contended that Paul's words, "For me to live is Christ"
were far better than Job's lament, "I would not live alway." However, the
hymn as originally written had become so fixed in the consciousness of
the Church, that all efforts of the author to revise it were in vain.
Nearly all the hymns of Muhlenberg that have lived were written during
his earlier years. His later ministry centered in New York City, where he
was head of a boys' school for a number of years, and later rector of the
Church of the Holy Communion. He soon became an outstanding leader in the
great metropolis. After having founded St. Luke's hospital, the first
church institution of its kind in New York City, he spent the last twenty
years of his life as its superintendent.
His death occurred when he was past eighty years. It is said that when
the end was drawing near, the hospital chaplain came to his bedside to
pray for his recovery.
"Let us have an understanding about this," said the dying Muhlenberg.
"You are asking God to restore me and I am asking God to take me home.
There must not be a contradiction in our prayers, for it is evident that
He cannot answer them both."
The Way, the Truth, and the Life
Thou art the Way; to Thee alone
From sin and death we flee,
And he who would the Father seek,
Must seek Him, Lord, by Thee.
Thou art the Truth; Thy Word alone
Sound wisdom can impart;
Thou only canst inform the mind,
And purify the heart.
Thou art the Life; the rending tomb
Proclaims Thy conquering arm;
And those who put their trust in Thee
Nor death nor hell shall harm.
Thou art the Way, the Truth, the Life;
Grant us that Way to know,
That Truth to keep, that Life to win
Whose joys eternal flow.
George Washington Doane, 1824.
THE LYRICS OF BISHOP DOANE
Critics will forever disagree on the subject of the relative merits of
great hymns. Bishop George Washington Doane's fine hymn, "Thou art the
Way; to Thee alone," has been declared by some to be the foremost of all
hymns written by American authors. Dr. Breed, on the other hand, declares
that it is "by no means the equal" of other hymns by Doane. Another
authority observes that it "rather stiffly and mechanically paraphrases"
the passage on which it is founded, while Edward S. Ninde rejects this
conclusion by contending that although "metrical expositions of
Scriptures are apt to be stilted and spiritless ... this one is a
success."
Ninde, however, does not agree that it is "the first of American hymns,"
reserving this honor, as do most critics, for Ray Palmer's "My faith
looks up to Thee."
Bishop Doane was born in Trenton, N. J., May 27, 1799. This was the year
in which George Washington died. The future hymn-writer was named after
the great patriot. At the age of nineteen he was graduated by Union
College with the highest scholastic honors. After teaching for a season,
he became pastor of Trinity Episcopal Church, Boston, Mass., the church
afterwards made famous by Phillips Brooks.
When only thirty-three years old he was elevated to the bishopric of New
Jersey, which position he held until his death in 1859. By this time he
had already won fame as a hymn-writer. It was in 1824, at the age of
twenty-five, that Doane published a little volume of lyrics entitled
"Songs by the Way." One of the hymns in this collection was the beautiful
paraphrase, "Thou art the Way; to Thee alone." This hymn alone would have
been sufficient to have perpetuated the name of the young poet, but there
was another gem in the same collection that will always be treasured by
those who love Christian song. It is the exquisite evening hymn:
Softly now the light of day
Fades upon my sight away;
Free from care, from labor free,
Lord, I would commune with Thee.
Among the many achievements of this versatile bishop was the founding of
Saint Mary's Hall, a school for young women, at Burlington, N. J. Doane
lies buried in the neighboring churchyard, and it is said that the
students on every Wednesday evening at chapel services sing "Softly now
the light of day" as a memorial tribute to the founder of the
institution.
Both of these hymns were quickly recognized as possessing unusual merit,
and almost immediately found their way into Christian hymn-books. Today
there is scarcely a hymnal published in the English language that does
not contain them.
But Bishop Doane's fame does not rest on these two hymns alone. He was
destined to write a third one, equally great but of a very different
character from the other two. It is the stirring missionary hymn:
Fling out the banner! let it float
Skyward and seaward, high and wide;
The sun that lights its shining folds,
The cross, on which the Saviour died.
It was written in 1848 in response to a request from the young women of
St. Mary's Hall for a hymn to be used at a flag-raising. The third stanza
is one of rare beauty:
Fling out the banner! heathen lands
Shall see from far the glorious sight,
And nations, crowding to be born,
Baptize their spirits in its light.
The hymn, as may be surmised, is based on the passage from the Psaltery:
"Thou hast given a banner to them that fear thee, that it may be
displayed because of the truth."
Bishop Doane was a zealous advocate of missions. It was during his
childhood that the modern missionary movement had its inception and swept
like a tidal wave over the Christian world. "Fling out the banner" is a
reflection of the remarkable enthusiasm that filled his own soul and that
revealed itself in his aggressive missionary leadership. Indeed, he
became known in his own Church as "the missionary bishop of America."
A son, William C. Doane, also became one of the most distinguished
bishops of the Episcopal Church. Writing of his father's rare gifts as a
hymnist, he declares that his heart was "full of song. It oozed out in
his conversation, in his sermons, in everything that he did. Sometimes in
a steamboat, often when the back of a letter was his only paper, the
sweetest things came."
The Quaker Poet's Prayer
Dear Lord and Father of mankind,
Forgive our feverish ways;
Reclothe us in our rightful mind,
In purer lives Thy service find,
In deeper reverence, praise.
In simple trust like theirs who heard,
Beside the Syrian sea,
The gracious calling of the Lord,
Let us, like them, without a word
Rise up and follow Thee.
O Sabbath rest by Galilee!
O calm of hills above,
Where Jesus knelt to share with Thee
The silence of eternity
Interpreted by love.
Drop Thy still dews of quietness,
Till all our strivings cease;
Take from our souls the strain and stress,
And let our ordered lives confess
The beauty of Thy peace.
Breathe through the heat of our desire
Thy coolness and Thy balm;
Let sense be dumb, let flesh retire,
Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire,
O still, small voice of calm.
John Greenleaf Whittier, 1872.
THE QUAKER POET AS A HYMN-WRITER
Of all American poets, there is none who is so genuinely loved as John
Greenleaf Whittier. A man of the people, a true American, and full of the
milk of human kindness, Whittier's poetry reflects so much of his own
character that it will never lose its singular charm and beauty.
Whittier's life is a story of struggle. He was born of humble Quaker
parents at Haverhill, Mass., December 17, 1807. Instead of receiving the
advantages of an education, he knew of nothing but drudgery and hard work
throughout his childhood. But the poetic spark was in him even as a
child. One day, when a small boy, he sat before the kitchen fire and
wrote on his slate:
And must I always swing the flail
And help to fill the milking pail?
I wish to go away to school;
I do not wish to be a fool.
No doubt it was the memory of these childhood experiences that later
inspired him to write with such depth of feeling and understanding the
lines of "The Barefoot Boy":
Blessings on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!
With thy turned-up pantaloons,
And thy merry whistled tunes;
With thy red lips, redder still
Kissed by strawberries on the hill;
With the sunshine on thy face,
Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace:
From my heart I give thee joy--
I was once a barefoot boy!
Through hard work he managed to save enough to attend Haverhill academy
two seasons. Though this was the extent of his scholastic training, he
never ceased to be a student.
A wandering Scotchman who chanced to visit the quiet Quaker home and sang
such rollicking (!) lyrics as "Bonny Doon," "Highland Mary," and "Auld
Lang Syne" kindled the boy's imagination. He immediately borrowed a copy
of Burns' poems from the village schoolmaster, and now for the first time
he seriously began to think of becoming a poet.
When he was only twenty-five years old he had already begun to attract
attention by his poetry. He had also achieved some success in politics
and was planning to run for Congress. Soon, however, came the call of the
Abolition movement, and Whittier, always true to his Quaker conception of
"the inner voice," determined to sacrifice all of his political ambitions
to become a champion of the slaves.
It was not long before he was recognized as preeminently the poet of
anti-slavery, as Phillips was its orator, Mrs. Stowe its novelist, and
Sumner its statesman. The fervor with which he threw himself into the
cause may be seen reflected in the stirring lines of his poems written in
those days, notably "The Star of Bethlehem." However, since his
anti-slavery poems are more vehement than inspiring, and as the events
which suggested them were temporary, they will be read with constantly
waning interest.
The vigor with which he espoused the Abolition cause stirred up deep
resentment among his enemies. At Philadelphia, where he published "The
Pennsylvania Free-man," the office of the paper was attacked by a mob and
burned. But Whittier was not dismayed. When Daniel Webster in 1850 made
his notable defense of the Fugitive Slave law in the United States
senate, Whittier wrote "Ichabod" in reply.
At a time when the Abolition movement seemed to be losing, rather than
gaining, ground, the poet gave expression to his faith in God in the
beautiful poem, "Seed-Time and Harvest." His duty, as he saw it, was to
sow the seed; God would take care of the harvest.
Because the Quakers do not sing in their services, Whittier knew little
of music. However, he once wrote: "A good hymn is the best use to which
poetry can be devoted, but I do not claim that I have succeeded in
composing one."
And yet, the poems of Whittier, notably "Our Master" and "The Eternal
Goodness," have been the source of some of the finest hymns in the
English language. There are at least seventy-five hymns now in use that
bear his name. Practically all of them are extracts from longer poems.
"Dear Lord and Father of mankind," "I bow my forehead to the dust," and
"We need not climb the heavenly steeps" are among the best loved of
Whittier's hymns. Probably his most famous poem is "Snowbound."
Whittier died in 1892. His last words were, "Love--love to all the
world." A friend bent over the dying man and whispered the words of his
poem, "At Last."
Palmer's Famous Hymn
My faith looks up to Thee,
Thou Lamb of Calvary,
Saviour divine;
Now hear me while I pray,
Take all my guilt away,
O let me from this day
Be wholly Thine.
May Thy rich grace impart
Strength to my fainting heart,
My zeal inspire;
As Thou hast died for me,
O may my love for Thee
Pure, warm, and changeless be,
A living fire.
When life's dark maze I tread,
And griefs around me spread,
Be Thou my Guide;
Bid darkness turn to day,
Wipe sorrow's tears away,
Nor let me ever stray
From Thee aside.
When ends life's transient dream,
When death's cold, sullen stream
Shall o'er me roll,
Blest Saviour, then, in love,
Fear and distrust remove;
O bear me safe above,
A ransomed soul.
Ray Palmer, 1830.
AMERICA'S GREATEST HYMN AND ITS AUTHOR
Although a number of America's great poets wrote hymns, it was not given
to any one of them to compose America's finest Christian lyric. Bryant
wrote "Look from Thy sphere of endless day," Whittier was the author of
"Dear Lord and Father of mankind," Holmes composed "O Love Divine, that
stooped to share," and Longfellow has given us "I heard the bells of
Christmas day;" but, beautiful as these hymns are, none of them can
compare with "My faith looks up to Thee." This, "the most precious
contribution which American genius has yet made to the hymnology of the
Christian Church," came from the pen of a very humble but gifted
minister, Ray Palmer.
Palmer, who was born at Little Compton, R. I., November 12, 1808, was a
direct descendant of John Alden and his good wife, Priscilla. One of his
forebears was William Palmer, who came to Plymouth in 1621.
Through pressure of poverty Ray found it necessary to leave home at the
age of thirteen, after having received a grammar education. For two years
he clerked in a Boston dry goods store, during which time he passed
through some deep spiritual experiences, with the result that he gave his
heart to God.
Friends who recognized unusual gifts in the young man urged him to attend
school. Eventually he graduated from Phillips Andover Academy and from
Yale. For a while he taught in New York and New Haven, but in 1835 he was
ordained to the Congregational ministry. He served a congregation in
Bath, Maine, for fifteen years, and another at Albany, N. Y., for a like
period, after which he became Corresponding Secretary of the American
Congregational Union, a position which he held until 1878, when he was
compelled to retire because of failing health.
It was while he was teaching in New York City that "My faith looks up to
Thee" was written. He was only twenty-two years old at the time, and he
had no thought when writing it that he was composing a hymn for general
use. He tells in his own account of the hymn how he had been reading a
little German poem of two stanzas, picturing a penitent sinner before the
cross. Deeply moved by the lines, he translated them into English, and
then added the four stanzas that form his own hymn.
The words of the hymn, he tells us, were born out of his own spiritual
experience.
"I gave form to what I felt, by writing, with little effort, the
stanzas," he said. "I recollect I wrote them with very tender emotion,
and ended the last lines with tears."
"A ransomed soul!" Who would not have been moved to deep emotion after
having written a poem with such a sublime closing line!
This happened in the year 1832, almost a hundred years ago.
Palmer copied the poem into a little note-book which he constantly
carried in his pocket. Frequently he would read it as a part of his
private devotion. It never seemed to occur to him that it might some day
be used as a hymn.
But God was watching over that little poem. One day as Palmer was walking
along the busy streets of Boston, he chanced to meet Lowell Mason, the
famous musician and composer of Savannah, Ga. Mason was compiling a
hymn-book at the time and asked Palmer, who had established something of
a reputation as a poet, if he could give him some words for which he
could compose music. Palmer remembered the poem in his note-book, and,
while the two men stepped into a nearby store, a copy of the poem was
made and given to Mason.
When the two men met again a few days later, Mason exclaimed: "Dr.
Palmer, you may live many years and do many good things, but I think you
will be best known to posterity as the author of 'My faith looks up to
Thee.'"
Mason wrote the beautiful tune known as "Olivet" for the hymn, and
perhaps the music contributed as much as the words to endear it to the
hearts of millions. Certainly here is an instance where words and music
are wedded, and should never be parted asunder.
Palmer wrote many other splendid hymns. Some of his most famous are
translations from the Latin. His rendering of the noted hymn of Bernard
of Clairvaux, "O Jesus, Joy of loving hearts," is a gem of wondrous
beauty. It has become a favorite communion hymn.
In his ministry Palmer laid much emphasis on the Lord's Supper, and many
of his hymns were written for communion services. He once said, in a
communion address: "When the cares and the business of life have hurried
me hither and thither with no little distraction of mind, I love to come
back again, and sit down before the cross, and gaze on the blessed
Sufferer with silent, tender memories. It is like coming once more into
the sunshine after long walking through gloom and mist."
Palmer's whole life was characterized by a warm, almost passionate,
devotion to Christ. His faith in the Saviour was so childlike and strong
that it enabled him to rise above all external burdens and trials.
Something of his personal love to Christ may be seen beautifully
reflected in his hymn, "Jesus, these eyes have never seen," which was his
own favorite and which many regard as inferior only to "My faith looks up
to Thee." It is such an appealing lyric, we feel we must quote it in
full.
Jesus, these eyes have never seen
That radiant form of Thine!
The veil of sense hangs dark between
Thy blessed face and mine!
I see Thee not, I hear Thee not,
Yet art Thou oft with me!
And earth hath ne'er so dear a spot
As where I meet with Thee.
Like some bright dream that comes unsought,
When slumbers o'er me roll,
Thine image ever fills my thought,
And charms my ravished soul.
Yet though I have not seen, and still
Must rest in faith alone,
I love Thee, dearest Lord, and will,
Unseen, but not unknown.
When death these mortal eyes shall seal,
And still this throbbing heart,
The rending veil shall Thee reveal,
All glorious as Thou art.
Palmer looked upon his hymns as gifts from heaven, and therefore he
refused to accept money for their use. He insisted, however, that those
who published his hymns should print them exactly as they were written.
He regarded the somewhat common practice of tampering with texts as
"immoral."
Palmer died in 1887. On the day before he breathed his last, he was heard
repeating feebly the last stanza of his favorite hymn:
When death these mortal eyes shall seal,
And still this throbbing heart,
The rending veil shall Thee reveal,
All glorious as Thou art.
A Hopeful Missionary Lyric
The morning light is breaking;
The darkness disappears;
The sons of earth are waking
To penitential tears;
Each breeze that sweeps the ocean
Brings tidings from afar,
Of nations in commotion,
Prepared for Zion's war.
See heathen nations bending
Before the God we love,
And thousand hearts ascending
In gratitude above;
While sinners, now confessing,
The gospel call obey,
And seek the Saviour's blessing,
A nation in a day.
Blest river of salvation,
Pursue thine onward way;
Flow thou to every nation,
Nor in thy richness stay;
Stay not till all the lowly
Triumphant reach their home:
Stay not till all the holy
Proclaim: "The Lord is come!"
Samuel Francis Smith, 1832.
SAMUEL SMITH, A PATRIOTIC HYMN-WRITER
Nearly a century has now elapsed since our national hymn, "America," was
written, and, despite all efforts to displace it by other anthems, it
seems to retain its hold on the hearts of the people. Samuel Francis
Smith will always be gratefully remembered as the author of this hymn,
but we should not lose sight of the fact that the New England pastor who
gave his country such an inspiring patriotic song has also given to the
Christian Church some of the choicest gems in her hymnody.
Associated with "My country, 'tis of thee" will be the stirring
missionary hymn, "The morning light is breaking," the two being regarded
as the foremost of Dr. Smith's poetical works. Both were written in the
winter of 1832, when he was only twenty-four years old. He was a student
at Andover Theological Seminary at the time.
Altogether Dr. Smith contributed nearly 150 hymns to American hymnody,
many of them on missionary themes. They were written in an era that
witnessed a remarkable revival of interest in foreign missions. The
famous "Haystack Meeting" at Williams College, which marked the beginning
of the modern missionary movement in America, was held in 1806, just two
years before Smith was born. Smith himself, while a theological student
at Andover, caught the spirit of the times and felt constrained to become
a missionary.
At this time reports came from Adoniram Judson in Burmah that, after
years of painful disappointment and failure, the light was breaking, and
multitudes were turning to Christ. Smith was fired with hopeful
enthusiasm, and it was in this spirit of glad exultation that he sat down
to write his immortal missionary hymn:
The morning light is breaking,
The darkness disappears;
The sons of earth are waking
To penitential tears.
Many other missionary hymns came from the gifted writer in succeeding
years, and immediately after his graduation from Andover he became editor
of a missionary magazine, through which he wielded a great influence.
When the "Lone Star" mission in India was in danger of being abandoned
because of lack of funds, Smith did much to save it by writing a poem
with the title, "Lone Star." Another missionary hymn by him begins with
the line, "Onward speed thy conquering flight." However, it does not
attain to the poetic heights of "The morning light is breaking," which
has been compared to Heber's "From Greenland's icy mountains" in
spiritual fervor and literary merit.
Another interesting hymn written by Smith during his student days is
called "The Missionary's Farewell." The first stanza reads:
Yes, my native land, I love thee;
All thy scenes, I love them well;
Friends, connections, happy country,
Can I bid you all farewell?
Can I leave you,
Far in heathen lands to dwell?
Although Dr. Smith never carried out his earlier resolve to become a
missionary, he visited many foreign fields and had the satisfaction of
hearing his own hymns sung in many tongues. Referring to "The morning
light is breaking," he once wrote:
"It has been a great favorite at missionary gatherings, and I have myself
heard it sung in five or six different languages in Europe and Asia. It
is a favorite with the Burmans, Karens and Telugus in Asia, from whose
lips I have heard it repeatedly."
A son of the distinguished hymn-writer became a missionary to the
Burmans.
Dr. Smith filled many important pulpits in New England during his long
and illustrious career. At one time he was a professor in modern
languages. He was an unusual linguist, being familiar with fifteen
tongues. In 1894, a year before his death, he was still vigorous in mind
and body, writing and preaching, although he was eighty-six years old. It
was in this year that he was found looking around for a textbook that
would enable him to begin the study of Russian. It was in this year, too,
that he wrote one of his finest hymns, for a church dedication.
Founded on Thee, our only Lord,
On Thee, the everlasting Rock,
Thy Church shall stand as stands Thy Word,
Nor fear the storm, nor dread the shock.
For Thee our waiting spirits yearn,
For Thee this house of praise we rear;
To Thee with longing hearts we turn;
Come, fix Thy glorious presence here.
Come, with Thy Spirit and Thy power,
The Conqueror, once the Crucified;
Our God, our Strength, our King, our Tower,
Here plant Thy throne, and here abide.
Accept the work our hands have wrought;
Accept, O God, this earthly shrine;
Be Thou our Rock, our Life, our Thought,
And we, as living temples, Thine.
The celebrated hymnist happily has left a personal account of how he
wrote "America." Lowell Mason, the composer, had given him a collection
of German books containing songs for children with the request that Smith
should examine them and translate anything of merit.
"One dismal day in February, 1832," he wrote long afterward, "about half
an hour before sunset, I was turning over the leaves of one of the music
books when my eye rested on the tune which is now known as 'America.' I
liked the spirited movement of it, not knowing it at that time to be 'God
save the King.' I glanced at the German words and saw that they were
patriotic, and instantly felt the impulse to write a patriotic hymn of my
own, adapted to the tune. Picking up a scrap of waste paper which lay
near me, I wrote at once, probably within half an hour, the hymn
'America' as it is now known everywhere. The whole hymn stands today as
it stood on the bit of waste paper, five or six inches long and two and a
half wide."
Dr. Smith was a member of the celebrated Harvard class of 1829, to which
Oliver Wendell Holmes also belonged. The latter wrote a poem for one of
the class reunions, in which he referred to the distinguished hymn-writer
in the following lines:
And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith--
Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith;
But he shouted a song for the brave and the free--
Just read on his medal, 'My country,' 'of thee.'
On November 19, 1895, the venerable pastor and poet was called suddenly
to his eternal home. He died as he was taking a train from Boston to
preach in a neighboring town.
A Pearl among Christmas Carols
It came upon the midnight clear,
That glorious song of old,
From angels bending near the earth
To touch their harps of gold;
"Peace on the earth, good will to men,
From heaven's all-gracious King:"
The world in solemn stillness lay
To hear the angels sing.
Still through the cloven skies they come
With peaceful wings unfurled,
And still their heavenly music floats
O'er all the weary world;
Above its sad and lowly plains
They bend on hovering wing,
And ever o'er its Babel sounds
The blessed angels sing.
And ye, beneath life's crushing load,
Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow--
Look now! for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing:
O rest beside the weary road,
And hear the angels sing!
For lo! the days are hastening on
By prophet-bards foretold,
When with the ever-circling years
Comes round the age of gold;
When peace shall over all the earth
Its ancient splendors fling,
And the whole world send back the song
Which now the angels sing.
Edmund Hamilton Sears, 1834.
TWO FAMOUS CHRISTMAS HYMNS AND THEIR AUTHOR
To be the writer of one great hymn classic on the nativity is an enviable
distinction, but to be the author of two immortal Christmas lyrics is
fame that has probably come to only one man, and he an American. His name
was Edmund Hamilton Sears, and so long as Christians celebrate Christmas,
they will sing the two hymns he wrote--"It came upon a midnight clear"
and "Calm on the listening ear of night."
Strangely enough, an interval of sixteen years separated the writing of
the two hymns. Sears had just graduated from Union College at the age of
twenty-four when he wrote "Calm on the listening ear of night." It
appeared in the "Boston Observer," and was immediately recognized as a
poem of unusual merit. Oliver Wendell Holmes spoke of it as "one of the
finest and most beautiful hymns ever written."
Sixteen years elapsed, and then at Christmas time in 1850 the Christian
world was delighted to find in the "Christian Register" another lyric,
"It came upon the midnight clear," which many believe is superior to the
earlier hymn. The language of this hymn is so surpassingly lovely and its
movement so rhythmical, it fairly sings itself.
There is, in fact, a close resemblance between the two hymns, and yet
they are different. While the earlier hymn is largely descriptive, the
later one is characterized by a note of joyous optimism and triumphant
faith. In Sears' "Sermons and Songs" he published the one at the
beginning, and the other at the close, of a sermon for Christmas Eve on 1
Tim. 2:6.
Each of the two hymns had five stanzas in its original form. The fourth
stanza of the older hymn is usually omitted. It reads:
Light on thy hills, Jerusalem!
The Saviour now is born;
More bright on Bethlehem's joyous plains
Breaks the first Christmas morn;
And brighter on Moriah's brow,
Crowned with her temple-spires,
Which first proclaim the new-born light,
Clothed with its orient fires.
The stanza omitted from the second Christmas hymn sounds the only minor
note heard in that otherwise hopeful and joyous lyric:
Yet with the woes of sin and strife
The world hath suffered long;
Beneath the angel-strain have rolled
Two thousand years of wrong;
And man, at war with man, hears not
The love song which they bring:
O hush the noise, ye men of strife,
And hear the angels sing!
Sears was a native of New England, having been born in Berkshire County,
Massachusetts, in 1810. He completed his theological course at Harvard
Divinity School in 1837, whereupon he entered the Unitarian Church,
serving as a pastor for nearly forty years.
Surprise has often been expressed that a Unitarian could write such
marvelous hymns on the nativity; but Sears was a Unitarian in name rather
than in fact. He leaned strongly toward Swedenborgian teachings, and
believed implicitly in the deity of Christ.
In addition to his hymns, he wrote a few works in prose. His books on
"Regeneration," "Foregleams of Immortality," and "The Fourth Gospel the
Heart of Christ" were widely read in his day. These have now been almost
entirely forgotten, but his two great hymns go singing through the years.
They are found in practically all standard hymn-books, although the final
stanza of "It came upon the midnight clear" is often altered. Sears died
in 1876.
Mrs. Stowe's Hymn Masterpiece
Still, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh,
When the bird waketh, and the shadows flee;
Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight,
Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with Thee!
Alone with Thee, amid the mystic shadows,
The solemn hush of nature newly born;
Alone with Thee, in breathless adoration,
In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.
When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber,
Its closing eye looks up to Thee in prayer;
Sweet the repose beneath Thy wings o'ershading,
But sweeter still to wake and find Thee there.
So shall it be at last, in that bright morning,
When the soul waketh, and life's shadows flee;
O for that hour when fairer than the dawning
Shall rise the glorious thought, I am with Thee!
Harriet Beecher Stowe, 1855
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE AND HER HYMNS
Through the fame that her book, "Uncle Tom's Cabin," brought her, the
name of Harriet Beecher Stowe has become almost a household word on both
sides of the Atlantic. But not many, perhaps, are familiar with Mrs.
Stowe the hymn-writer. And yet she wrote a number of hymns that are
worthy of finding a place in the best of collections. Indeed, for sheer
poetic beauty there is probably not a single American lyric that can
excel "Still, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh."
It was her brother, Henry Ward Beecher, who introduced Mrs. Stowe as a
hymn-writer, when he included three of her hymns in the "Plymouth
Collection," which he edited in 1865. One of the three was the hymn
mentioned above; the other two were "That mystic word of Thine, O
sovereign Lord" and "When winds are raging o'er the upper ocean."
Like the Wesley family in England, the Beecher family became one of the
most famous in religious and literary circles in America. Harriet Beecher
was born in Litchfield, Conn., June 14, 1812. Her father was the noted
Dr. Lyman Beecher, a distinguished clergyman of his day. Her mother, a
very devout Christian, died when Harriet was less than four years of age.
Her dying prayer was that her six sons might be called into the ministry.
That prayer was answered, and the youngest of them, Henry Ward Beecher,
who was only a boy when the mother died, became one of America's greatest
preachers. We do not know what the dying mother's prayer for her daughter
was, but we do know that Harriet Beecher achieved fame such as comes to
few women. Even as a child she revealed a spiritual nature of unusual
depth. An earnest sermon preached by her father when she was fourteen
made such an impression on her youthful heart that she determined to give
herself wholly to Christ. She tells of the experience in these words:
"As soon as my father came home and was seated in his study, I went up to
him and fell in his arms, saying, 'Father, I have given myself to Jesus,
and He has taken me.' I never shall forget the expression of his face as
he looked down into my earnest childish eyes; it was so sweet, so gentle,
and like sunlight breaking out upon a landscape. 'Is it so?' he said,
holding me silently to his heart, as I felt the hot tears fall on my
head. 'Then has a new flower blossomed in the kingdom this day.'"
In 1832 the father removed to Cincinnati, Ohio, where he became president
of Lane Theological Seminary. Here Harriet married Prof. Calvin E. Stowe,
a member of the faculty. Many misfortunes and sorrows came into her life,
but always she was sustained by her strong faith in God, and she bore
them with unusual Christian fortitude. In 1849 her infant boy was
snatched from her by the dreadful cholera scourge. Her husband, broken in
health, was in an Eastern sanatorium at the time, and all the cares and
anxieties of the household fell upon the shoulders of the brave young
wife. A letter written to her husband, dated June 29, 1849, gives a
graphic description of the plague as it was then raging in Cincinnati.
She wrote:
"This week has been unusually fatal. The disease in the city has been
malignant and virulent. Hearse drivers have scarce been allowed to
unharness their horses, while furniture carts and common vehicles are
often employed for the removal of the dead. The sable trains which pass
our windows, the frequent indications of crowding haste, and the absence
of reverent decency have, in many cases, been most painful.... On
Tuesday, one hundred and sixteen deaths from cholera were reported, and
that night the air was of that peculiarly oppressive, deathly kind that
seems to lie like lead on the brain and soul. As regards your coming
home, I am decidedly opposed to it."
Under date of July 26, she wrote again: "At last it is over and our dear
little one is gone from us. He is now among the blessed. My Charley--my
beautiful, loving, gladsome baby, so loving, so sweet, so full of life,
and hope and strength--now lies shrouded, pale and cold, in the room
below.... I write as though there were no sorrow like my sorrow, yet
there has been in this city, as in the land of Egypt, scarce a house
without its dead. This heart-break, this anguish, has been everywhere,
and when it will end God alone knows."
The succeeding years brought other tragedies to the sorely tried family.
In 1857 the eldest son, Henry, pride of his mother's heart, was drowned
at the close of his freshman year at Dartmouth College. Then came the
Civil War with its bloody battles. At Gettysburg a third son, Fred, was
wounded in the head by a piece of shrapnel. Although it did not prove
fatal, his mental faculties were permanently impaired.
Through all these afflictions the marvelous faith of Mrs. Stowe remained
firm and unshaken. Many years afterwards, in looking back upon these
bitter experiences, she wrote: "I thank God there is one thing running
through all of them from the time I was thirteen years old, and that is
the intense unwavering sense of Christ's educating, guiding presence and
care."
It was in the midst of these dark tragedies that Mrs. Stowe wrote a hymn
entitled "The Secret."
When winds are raging o'er the upper ocean,
And billows wild contend with angry roar,
'Tis said, far down, beneath the wild commotion,
That peaceful stillness reigneth evermore.
Far, far beneath, the noise of tempests dieth,
And silver waves chime ever peacefully;
And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er it flieth,
Disturbs the Sabbath of that deeper sea.
So to the heart that knows Thy love, O Purest!
There is a temple sacred evermore,
And all the babble of life's angry voices
Dies in hushed stillness at its sacred door.
Far, far away, the roar of passion dieth,
And loving thoughts rise calm and peacefully;
And no rude storm, how fierce soe'er it flieth,
Disturbs that deeper rest, O Lord, in Thee!
O Rest of rests! O Peace serene, eternal!
Thou ever livest, and Thou changest never;
And in the secret of Thy presence dwelleth
Fulness of joy, forever and forever.
It was the writing of "Uncle Tom's Cabin" that brought world-wide fame to
this unusual mother. The family had moved from Cincinnati to Brunswick,
Maine, where Professor Stowe had accepted a position in the faculty of
Bowdoin College. There were six children now and the father's income was
meager. In order to help meet the family expenses, Mrs. Stowe began to
write articles for a magazine known as the "National Era." She labored
under difficulties. "If I sit by the open fire in the parlor," she wrote,
"my back freezes, if I sit in my bedroom and try to write my head and my
feet are cold.... I can earn four hundred dollars a year by writing, but
I don't want to feel that I must, and when weary with teaching the
children, and tending the baby, and buying provisions, and mending
dresses, and darning stockings, I sit down and write a piece for some
paper."
The passage of the Fugitive Slave Act aroused the deepest feeling among
Abolitionists in the North. While living in Cincinnati her family had
aided the so-called "underground railway," by which runaway slaves were
helped in their efforts to reach the Canadian boundary. Now Mrs. Stowe's
spirit burned within her. "I wish," she writes at this period, "some
Martin Luther would arise to set this community right."
It was then she conceived the idea of writing "Uncle Tom's Cabin." In the
month of February, 1851, while attending communion service in the college
church at Brunswick, the scene of the death of Uncle Tom passed before
her mind like the unfolding of a vision. When she returned home she
immediately wrote down the mental picture she had seen. Then she gathered
her children around her and read what she had written. Two of them broke
into violent weeping, the first of many thousands who have wept over
"Uncle Tom's Cabin."
The first chapter was not completed until the following April, and on
June 5 it began to appear in serial form in the "National Era." She had
intended to write a short tale of a few chapters, but as her task
progressed the conviction grew on her that she had been intrusted with a
holy mission. Afterwards she said: "I could not control the story; it
wrote itself." At another time she remarked: "The Lord himself wrote it,
and I was but the humblest of instruments in His hand. To Him alone
should be given all the praise."
Mrs. Stowe received $300 for her serial story! However, scarcely had the
last instalment appeared when a Boston publisher made arrangements to
print it in book form. Within one year it had passed through 120
editions, and four months after the book was off the press the author had
received $10,000 in royalties. Almost in a day Mrs. Stowe had become one
of the most famous women in the world, and the specter of poverty had
been banished forever. "Uncle Tom's Cabin" exerted a profound influence
not only over the American people, but its fame spread to Europe. The
year following its publication Jenny Lind came to America. Asked to
contribute to a fund Mrs. Stowe was raising for the purpose of purchasing
the freedom of a slave family, the "Swedish Nightingale" gladly
responded, also writing a letter to Mrs. Stowe in the following prophetic
vein: "I have the feeling about 'Uncle Tom's Cabin' that great changes
will take place by and by, from the impression people receive from it,
and that the writer of that book can fall asleep today or tomorrow with
the bright, sweet consciousness of having been a strong means in the
Creator's hand of having accomplished essential good."
Tributes like this came to Mrs. Stowe from the great and lowly in all
parts of the world.
Concerning Jenny Lind's singing, Mrs. Stowe wrote to her husband from New
York: "Well, we have heard Jenny Lind, and the affair was a bewildering
dream of sweetness and beauty. Her face and movements are full of poetry
and feeling. She has the artless grace of a little child, the poetic
effect of a wood-nymph."
Mrs. Stowe died in 1896 at the ripe age of eighty-four. Not long before
her death she wrote to a friend: "I have sometimes had in my sleep
strange perceptions of a vivid spiritual life near to and with Christ,
and multitudes of holy ones, and the joy of it is like no other joy--it
cannot be told in the language of the world.... The inconceivable
loveliness of Christ!... I was saying as I awoke:
'Tis joy enough, my All in all,
At Thy dear feet to lie.
Thou wilt not let me lower fall,
And none can higher fly."
Bishop Coxe's Missionary Hymn
Saviour, sprinkle many nations,
Fruitful let Thy sorrows be;
By Thy pains and consolations
Draw the Gentiles unto Thee.
Of Thy cross the wondrous story,
Be it to the nations told;
Let them see Thee in Thy glory,
And Thy mercy manifold.
Far and wide, though all unknowing,
Pants for Thee each mortal breast:
Human tears for Thee are flowing,
Human hearts in Thee would rest.
Thirsting as for dews of even,
As the new-mown grass for rain,
Thee they seek, as God of heaven,
Thee as Man, for sinners slain.
Saviour, lo, the isles are waiting,
Stretched the hand, and strained the sight,
For Thy Spirit, new-creating,
Love's pure flame, and wisdom's light.
Give the word, and of the preacher
Speed the foot, and touch the tongue,
Till on earth by every creature,
Glory to the Lamb be sung.
Arthur Cleveland Coxe, 1851.
A HYMN WRITTEN ON TWO SHORES
"Saviour, sprinkle many nations" has been called the "loveliest of
missionary hymns." The praise is scarcely too great. All the elements
that make a great hymn are present here. Scriptural in language and
devotional in spirit, it is fervent and touching in its appeal and
exquisitely beautiful in poetic expression. It was given to the Church by
Arthur Cleveland Coxe, an American bishop, in 1851, and since that time
it has made its victorious course around the world.
A study of the hymn is interesting. The first stanza at once suggests the
words of Jesus, uttered in the last week of His life, when Greek pilgrims
in Jerusalem came seeking for Him: "And I, if I be lifted up from the
earth, will draw all men unto me." In the second stanza the author no
doubt had in mind the immortal words of St. Augustine: "Thou, O Lord,
hast made me for Thyself, and my heart can find no rest till it rest in
Thee." And in the final stanza we find almost an echo of the thought
expressed by Paul in Romans: "How then shall they call on him in whom
they have not believed? and how shall they believe in him of whom they
have not heard? and how shall they hear without a preacher? And how shall
they preach, except they be sent? as it is written, How beautiful are the
feet of them that preach the gospel of peace, and bring glad tidings of
good things!"
Curiously enough, this beautiful missionary lyric was written on two
shores of the Atlantic. It was on Good Friday, in the year 1850, that the
first stanza was written by Bishop Coxe at his home in Hartford, Conn.
For lack of time, however, or because the needed inspiration did not come
to him the unfinished manuscript was laid aside.
The next year he visited England, and one day, while wandering about the
campus of Magdalen College, Oxford, the thought flashed through his mind
that he had never completed the hymn. Finding a scrap of paper and a
pencil, he sat down to write, and in a few moments the touching words of
the two concluding stanzas were composed, and the hymn was sent on its
way to stir the heart of the world.
Bishop Coxe was not primarily a hymn-writer. His fame rests chiefly on
his religious ballads. It was in 1840, when a young student of
twenty-two, that he published his first volume, entitled "Christian
Ballads." These are mostly moral poems, impressive and challenging in
character, but not usually suitable as hymns. One of them, however,
bearing the name of "Chelsea," has yielded the famous hymn, "O where are
kings and empires now?"
An interesting story is told concerning this hymn. In 1873 the General
Conference of the Evangelical Alliance was held in New York City. It was
a period when many scientific objections had been raised regarding the
value of prayer, and many anxious souls were fearful that the faith of
the Church was being shaken to its foundations. President Woolsey of Yale
University gave the opening address. After he had referred to the wave of
skepticism that had swept over the world, particularly in regard to
prayer, he looked out upon the assembly with a quiet, confident smile
lighting his features, and then quoted the first stanza of Bishop Coxe's
hymn:
O where are kings and empires now,
Of old that went and came?
But, Lord, Thy church is praying yet,
A thousand years the same.
"For a moment," writes an eye-witness, "there was silence. In another
moment the full significance of the reference had flashed on every mind,
and the response was instantaneous and universal. Shouts, waving of
handkerchiefs, clapping of hands, stamping of feet--I never knew anything
like it. Round after round continued, until the storm of applause ended
in a burst of grateful tears. No one doubted that the Church still
believed in prayer and that the tempest had passed without the loss of a
sail."
In the same volume of "Christian Ballads" there appears another little
poem, most appealing in its simplicity:
In the silent midnight-watches,
List--thy bosom door!
How it knocketh, knocketh, knocketh,
Knocketh, evermore!
Say not 'tis thy pulse is beating:
'Tis thy heart of sin;
'Tis thy Saviour knocks, and crieth,
"Rise, and let Me in!"
For a time Coxe gave promise of becoming the "John Keble of America," but
after his election as a bishop in the Episcopal Church, pressing duties
interfered with his literary work, and in later years he wrote few poems.
Bishop Coxe was the son of a noted Presbyterian minister, Rev. Samuel H.
Cox. He was born in Menham, N. J., in 1818. After his graduation from the
University of the City of New York, he decided to leave the Presbyterian
Church and to enter the Episcopalian fold. At the same time he added an
"e" to the end of his name, much to his father's displeasure! He died in
1896 at the age of seventy-eight years.
The Hymn of a Consecrated Woman
More love to Thee, O Christ,
More love to Thee;
Hear Thou the prayer I make
On bended knee;
This is my earnest plea,
More love, O Christ, to Thee,
More love to Thee.
Once earthly joy I craved,
Sought peace and rest;
Now Thee alone I seek,
Give what is best;
This all my prayer shall be,
More love, O Christ, to Thee,
More love to Thee.
Then shall my latest breath
Whisper Thy praise;
This be the parting cry
My heart shall raise;
This still its prayer shall be,
More love, O Christ, to Thee,
More love to Thee.
Elizabeth Payson Prentiss, 1856.
A HYMN THAT GREW OUT OF SUFFERING
The fruits of a sanctified life are often seen long after the person who
lived that life has ceased from earthly strivings. This was true in a
very special sense of Elizabeth Payson Prentiss, author of "More love to
Thee, O Christ." Although it is fifty years since Mrs. Prentiss went home
to glory, her beautiful Christian life still radiates its spirit of trust
and hope through her hymns and devotional writings.
As a child she was blessed with an unusual home. Her father, Edward
Payson, was one of New England's most famous clergymen, revered and
beloved by thousands because of his saintly life. It is said that after
his death the name of "Edward Payson" was given in baptism to thousands
of children whose parents had been blessed through his consecrated
ministry.
The daughter, who was born in 1818, was much like her father. Spiritually
minded from childhood, she possessed unusual gifts as a writer. When she
was only sixteen years old she contributed verses and prose to "The
Youth's Companion." Later she taught school at Portland, Me., her
birthplace, and in Ipswich, Mass., and Richmond, Va., at each place being
greatly beloved by her pupils.
In 1845 she became the bride of Rev. George L. Prentiss, who later was a
professor in Union Theological Seminary, New York City.
Her home life was beautiful. Those who knew her best, described her as "a
very bright-eyed little woman, with a keen sense of humor, who cared more
to shine in her own happy household than in a wide circle of society."
But all the while she was carrying a heavy burden. Throughout life she
was a sufferer, and scarcely knew what it meant to be well. Chronic
insomnia added to her afflictions, but as her body languished under
physical chastening her spirit rose above pain and tribulation, daily
growing more radiant and beautiful. It was out of these trying
experiences that she wrote her famous story, "Stepping Heavenward." The
purpose of the book, as she herself explained, was "for strengthening and
comforting other souls."
It met with instant success, more than 200,000 copies being sold. It also
was translated into many foreign languages. Another story, "The Flower of
the Family," likewise became very popular.
It was as poet and hymn-writer, however, that Mrs. Prentiss was destined
to achieve fame. Her volume, "Religious Poems," numbering one hundred and
twenty-three, breathes a spirit of fervent devotion to Christ. "To love
Christ more," she said, "is the deepest need, the constant cry of my
soul.... Out in the woods, and on my bed, and out driving, when I am
happy and busy, and when I am sad and idle, the whisper keeps going up
for more love, more love, more love!"
It is easy to understand how such a longing should finally find
expression in her most famous hymn, "More love to Thee, O Christ." The
hymn in reality was the prayer of her life. It was born in 1856 during a
time of great physical suffering and spiritual anxiety. It was written in
great haste, and the last stanza was left incompleted. Not until thirteen
years later did Mrs. Prentiss show it to her husband. She then added a
final line with a pencil and gave it to the printer, intending it only
for private distribution. The following year, however, the "Great
Revival" swept over America, and the hymn sprang into popularity
everywhere.
When in August, 1878, the mortal remains of the sanctified singer were
lowered into the grave, a company of intimate friends stood with bared
heads and sang "More love to Thee, O Christ." The whole Christian world
seemed to join in mourning her death. From far-off China came a message
of sympathy to the bereaved husband in the form of a fan on which
Christian Chinese had inscribed the famous hymn in native characters.
After her death the following verse was found written on the flyleaf of
one of her favorite books:
One hour with Jesus! How its peace outweighs
The ravishment of earthly love and praise;
How dearer far, emptied of self to lie
Low at His feet, and catch, perchance, His eye,
Alike content when He may give or take,
The sweet, the bitter, welcome for His sake.
A Hymn of the Sea
Jesus, Saviour, pilot me
Over life's tempestuous sea;
Unknown waves before me roll,
Hiding rock and treacherous shoal;
Chart and compass came from Thee:
Jesus, Saviour, pilot me.
As a mother stills her child,
Thou canst hush the ocean wild;
Boisterous waves obey Thy will
When Thou say'st to them, "Be still!"
Wondrous Sovereign of the sea,
Jesus, Saviour, pilot me.
When at last I near the shore,
And the fearful breakers roar
'Twixt me and the peaceful rest,
Then, while leaning on Thy breast,
May I hear Thee say to me,
"Fear not, I will pilot thee."
Edward Hopper, 1871.
A FAMOUS HYMN WRITTEN FOR SAILORS
It does not surprise us that the writer of "Jesus, Saviour, pilot me" was
the pastor of a sailors' church. Rev. Edward Hopper, who for many years
was minister of the Church of Sea and Land in New York harbor, had in
mind the daily life of the seamen attending his church when he wrote his
famous lyric. A hymn on the theme of the stormy sea, picturing Jesus as
the divine Pilot--this, he felt, would appeal to sailors and be a source
of constant comfort and encouragement.
Perhaps Hopper got his idea from Charles Wesley. It was a common practice
of the great English hymn-writer to compose hymns that were particularly
adapted to the audiences he addressed. When he visited the men who worked
in the Portland quarries in England, he wrote the hymn containing the
lines:
Strike with the hammer of Thy Word,
And break these hearts of stone.
In any event, Hopper's beautiful hymn at once sprang into popular use,
not only with sailors, but with Christians everywhere. It appeared for
the first time anonymously in "The Sailors' Magazine," but several
hymn-books adopted it. It was not until 1880, nine years after it was
published, however, that the author's name became known. In that year the
anniversary of the Seamen's Friend Society was held in Broadway
Tabernacle, New York City, and Hopper was asked to write a hymn for the
occasion. He responded by producing "Jesus, Saviour, pilot me," and the
secret was out.
Hopper wrote several other hymns, but only this one has lived. Like
Edward Perronet, the author of "All hail the power of Jesus' Name," he
was "a bird of a single song." We could have wished that the fires of
inspired genius had continued to burn with both of these men. Here,
however, apply the words: "Happy is the man who can produce one song
which the world will keep on singing after its author shall have passed
away."
The author of "Jesus, Saviour, pilot me" was a child of the city. He was
born in America's great metropolis, New York City, in the year 1818. His
father was a merchant. His mother was a descendant of the Huguenots, the
persecuted French Protestants. He was educated for the ministry, and,
after serving several churches in other places, he returned to New York
in 1870 to begin his work among the men who go down to the sea in ships.
He remained as pastor of the Church of Sea and Land until his death in
1888, and we scarcely need to add that his ministry was singularly
successful.
The beautiful prayer in the third stanza of Hopper's hymn was answered in
his own passing. He was sitting in his study-chair, pencil in hand, when
the final summons came. On the sheet before him were found some freshly
written lines on "Heaven." Thus was fulfilled in his own death the
beautiful prayer expressed in the final stanza of his hymn:
When at last I near the shore,
And the fearful breakers roar
'Twixt me and the peaceful rest,
Then, while leaning on Thy breast,
May I hear Thee say to me,
"Fear not, I will pilot thee."
A Rally Hymn of the Church
Stand up, stand up for Jesus,
Ye soldiers of the cross;
Lift high His royal banner,
It must not suffer loss;
From victory unto victory
His army He shall lead,
Till every foe is vanquished,
And Christ is Lord indeed.
Stand up, stand up for Jesus,
The trumpet call obey;
Forth to the mighty conflict
In this His glorious day:
Ye that are men, now serve Him
Against unnumbered foes;
Your courage rise with danger,
And strength to strength oppose.
Stand up, stand up for Jesus,
Stand in His strength alone;
The arm of flesh will fail you,
Ye dare not trust your own;
Put on the gospel armor,
And watching unto prayer,
Where duty calls or danger,
Be never wanting there.
Stand up, stand up for Jesus,
The strife will not be long;
This day the noise of battle,
The next the victor's song:
To him that overcometh,
A crown of life shall be;
He with the King of glory
Shall reign eternally.
George Duffield, 1858
A TRAGEDY THAT INSPIRED A GREAT HYMN
The Christian Church has many stirring rally hymns, but none that is more
effective when sung by a large assembly than George Duffield's "Stand up,
stand up for Jesus." Who has not been moved to the depths of his soul by
the inspiring words and resounding music of this unusual hymn?
A tragedy lies in its background. It was in the year 1858, and a great
spiritual awakening was gripping the city of Philadelphia. Men referred
to this revival afterwards as "the work of God in Philadelphia."
One of the most earnest and zealous leaders in the movement was a young
pastor, Dudley A. Tyng, not quite thirty years old. Because of his
evangelical convictions and his strong opposition to slavery he had
shortly before been compelled to resign as rector of the Church of the
Epiphany, and in 1857 he had organized a little congregation that met in
a public hall.
In the midst of the revival in 1858 he preached a powerful sermon at a
noon-day meeting in Jayne's Hall to a gathering of 5,000 men. His text
was Exodus 10:11: "Go now, ye that are men, and serve the Lord." It is
said that the effect was overwhelming, no less than a thousand men giving
themselves to the Lord.
A few weeks later the young pastor was watching a corn-shelling machine
when his arm was caught in the machinery and terribly mangled. Though
every effort was made to save his life, he died within a few hours.
Shortly before the end came he cried to the friends who were gathered
about him, "Sing, sing, can you not sing?" He himself then began the
words of "Rock of Ages," with the others trying to join him in the midst
of their grief. When his father, the distinguished clergyman, Stephen H.
Tyng, bent over him to ask if he had a last message for his friends, the
dying soldier of the cross whispered:
"Tell them to stand up for Jesus!"
Rev. George Duffield, also of Philadelphia and a close friend of the
greatly lamented Tyng, felt that the words were too impressive to be
lost. On the following Sunday he preached a sermon in his own church on
Ephesians 6:14, "Stand, therefore, having your loins girt about with
truth, and having on the breastplate of righteousness." As he concluded
his sermon, he read the words of a poem he had written, "Stand up, stand
up for Jesus."
Not only did Duffield preserve the dying words of his devoted friend, but
it will be noted that the second stanza also contains the challenge of
Tyng's last revival sermon: "Go now, ye that are men, and serve the
Lord."
The superintendent of Duffield's Sunday school printed the words of the
poem for distribution among his scholars. One of these leaflets found its
way to a religious periodical, where it was published. Soon it began to
appear in hymn-books, being generally set to a tune composed by George J.
Webb a few years earlier. It is said that the first time the author heard
it sung outside of his own church was in 1864, when the Christian men in
the Army of the James sang it in their camp, just before they were about
to enter into a bloody battle.
As originally written, the hymn contained six stanzas. The second and
fifth are omitted from most hymn-books. These stanzas read:
Stand up, stand up for Jesus,
The solemn watchword hear;
If while ye sleep He suffers,
Away with shame and fear;
Where'er ye meet with evil,
Within you or without,
Charge for the God of Battles,
And put the foe to rout.
Stand up, stand up for Jesus,
Each soldier to his post:
Close up the broken column,
And shout through all the host:
Make good the loss so heavy,
In those that still remain,
And prove to all around you
That death itself is gain.
The omission of these lines is really no loss, since they sink far
beneath the literary level of the remaining verses. They also carry the
military imagery to needless length.
A Hymn of Spiritual Yearning
We would see Jesus, for the shadows lengthen
Across this little landscape of our life;
We would see Jesus, our weak faith to strengthen
For the last weariness, the final strife.
We would see Jesus, the great Rock-foundation
Whereon our feet were set by sovereign grace:
Nor life nor death, with all their agitation,
Can thence remove us, if we see His face.
We would see Jesus: other lights are paling,
Which for long years we have rejoiced to see;
The blessings of our pilgrimage are failing:
We would not mourn them, for we go to Thee.
We would see Jesus: this is all we're needing;
Strength, joy, and willingness come with the sight;
We would see Jesus, dying, risen, pleading;
Then welcome day, and farewell, mortal night.
Anna Bartlett Warner, 1851.
ANNA WARNER AND HER BEAUTIFUL HYMNS
In the last week of our Saviour's life, a very beautiful and touching
incident occurred in the city of Jerusalem. The Evangelist John tells the
story in the following words:
"Now there were certain Greeks among those that went up to worship at the
feast: these therefore came to Philip, who was of Bethsaida of Galilee,
and asked him, saying, Sir, we would see Jesus. Philip cometh and telleth
Andrew: Andrew cometh, and Philip, and they tell Jesus. And Jesus
answereth them, saying, The hour is come, that the Son of man should be
glorified."
It was the petition of these Gentile pilgrims from the land of the
Spartans and Athenians that inspired an American young woman to write one
of our beautiful hymns, "We would see Jesus."
Her name was Anna Bartlett Warner, and for almost a century she lived at
a beautiful retreat in the Hudson river known as Constitution island,
under the very shadows of the great military academy at West Point. She
had a sister named Susan who achieved even greater literary fame than
she, but it is Anna's name, after all, that will live on and be cherished
for her songs. We wonder if any child in America during the last half
century has not learned to know and to love the little hymn--
Jesus loves me, this I know,
For the Bible tells me so.
Children throughout the world are singing it now, and missionaries tell
us that the simplicity of its message also makes a wonderful appeal to
the newly-converted heathen. This hymn is one of the reasons why the name
of Anna Warner will never be forgotten.
An exquisite lullaby, also written by Miss Warner, begins with the words,
"O little child, lie still and sleep."
Two volumes of sacred song were composed by this gifted young woman. The
first bore the title, "Hymns of the Church Militant," and was published
in 1858. The second, called "Wayfaring Hymns, Original and Translated,"
appeared in 1869. "We would see Jesus" was included in the first of these
collections. It appears, however, that it was written at least seven
years before its publication. An interesting item from her sister Susan's
diary, under date of February 8, 1851, tells of the impression the hymn
made on her when she first read it. She writes:
"The next day, Sunday, in the afternoon, Anna had been copying off some
hymns for Emmelin's book, and left them with me to look over. I had not
read two verses of 'We would see Jesus,' when I thought of Anna, and
merely casting my eye down, the others so delighted and touched me that I
left it for tears and petitions. I wished Anna might prove the
author--and after I found she was, I sat by her a little while with my
head against her, crying such delicious tears."
Another hymn that has found a place in many hearts bears the title, "The
Song of the Tired Servant." It was inspired by a letter received by Miss
Warner from a friend who was a pastor, in which he spoke of the weariness
he felt after the tasks of an arduous day, but of the joy that his soul
experienced in serving the Master. The first stanza reads:
One more day's work for Jesus,
One less of life for me!
But heaven is nearer,
And Christ is dearer
Than yesterday, to me;
His love and light
Fill all my soul tonight.
Although the two Warner sisters lived in a corner apart from the busy
world, they made their influence felt in widespread circles. They felt a
particular responsibility in reference to the many thousands of young men
from all parts of the United States who were being trained at West Point
for service in the army, and for many years they conducted a Bible class
for the cadets.
Military honors were accorded each of the sisters when they were buried.
Anna Warner was ninety-five years old when she died in 1915.
A Famous Christmas Carol
O little town of Bethlehem
How still we see thee lie;
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by;
Yet in thy darkness shineth
The everlasting Light;
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight.
For Christ is born of Mary,
And gathered all above,
While mortals sleep, the angels keep
Their watch of wondering love.
O morning stars, together
Proclaim the holy birth,
And praises sing to God the King,
And peace to men on earth.
How silently, how silently,
The wondrous Gift is given!
So God imparts to human hearts
The blessings of His heaven.
No ear may hear His coming,
But in this world of sin,
Where meek souls will receive Him still,
The dear Christ enters in.
O holy Child of Bethlehem!
Descend to us, we pray;
Cast out our sin, and enter in,
Be born in us today.
We hear the Christmas angels
The great glad tidings tell:
O come to us, abide with us,
Our Lord Immanuel!
Phillips Brooks, 1868.
PHILLIPS BROOKS AND HIS CAROLS
Phillips Brooks was a great man. Not only was he a giant in stature, but
he possessed a great mind and a great heart. Also, he was a great
preacher--one of America's greatest--and he just missed being a great
poet. Indeed, the flashes of poetic genius revealed in the few verses he
wrote indicate that he might have become famous as a hymn-writer had he
chosen such a career.
His poetic gift had its roots in childhood. Phillips was brought up in a
pious New England home. Every Sunday the children of the Brooks household
were required to memorize a hymn, and, when the father conducted the
evening devotion on the Lord's day, the children recited their hymns.
When Phillips was ready to go to college, he could repeat no less than
two hundred hymns from memory. In his later ministry this knowledge
proved to be of inestimable value, and he frequently made effective use
of hymn quotations in his preaching. But, more than that, the childhood
training unconsciously had made of him a poet!
"O little town of Bethlehem," his most famous Christmas carol, was
written for a Sunday school Christmas festival in 1868, when Brooks was
rector of Holy Trinity Episcopal Church in Philadelphia. He was only
thirty-two years old at the time. Three years earlier he had visited the
Holy Land, and on Christmas eve he had stood on the star-lit hills where
the shepherds had watched their flocks. Below the hills he had seen the
"little town of Bethlehem," slumbering in the darkness just as it had
done in the night when Jesus was born. Later he had attended midnight
services in the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem.
He could never entirely forget the impressions of that sublime night,
and, when he was asked in 1868 to write a Christmas hymn for his Sunday
school, he put down on paper the song that long had been ringing in his
mind.
The beautiful tune "St. Louis," to which the hymn is usually sung, also
has an interesting story. It was composed by Lewis H. Redner, who was
organist and Sunday school superintendent of Dr. Brooks' church. When
Brooks asked Redner to write a suitable tune for the words, the latter
waited for the inspiration that never seemed to come. Christmas eve
arrived and Redner went to sleep without having written the tune. In the
middle of the night, however, he dreamed that he heard angels singing. He
awoke with the melody still sounding in his ears. Quickly he seized a
piece of paper, and jotted it down, and next morning he filled in the
harmony.
Redner always insisted that the hymn tune was "a gift from heaven," and
those who have learned to love its exquisite strains are more than
willing to believe it!
Phillips Brooks, though he never had a family of his own, possessed a
boundless love for children. That, perhaps, is one reason why the
Christmas season so fascinated him, and why he wrote so many Christmas
carols for children. One of these is famous for its striking refrain,
"Everywhere, everywhere, Christmas tonight." "The voice of the
Christ-child" is the title of another Christmas carol. He also wrote a
number of Easter carols, among them, "God hath sent His angels."
But Phillips Brooks not only made a strong appeal to children; it was not
long before the great and learned men of America began to realize that a
great preacher and prophet had risen among them. There was need of such a
spiritual leader, for Unitarianism had threatened to engulf all New
England.
In its beginnings this movement was merely a protest against the stern
and forbidding aspects of the Christian religion as it had been
exemplified in New England Puritanism. It grew more and more radical,
however, until the deity of Christ was denied.
The old-fashioned religion of "Christ and Him crucified" was all but
forgotten in the intellectual circles of New England when a young man
thirty-four years of age began preaching in Trinity church, Boston. He
was preaching Jesus Christ, but he was presenting Him in a new and
wonderful light. Crowds began to fill the church. Even sedate old Harvard
was stirred.
That was the beginning of the ministry of Phillips Brooks in Boston, a
ministry that made him famous throughout the land. It marked the turning
point in religious tendencies in New England, and perhaps was the most
potent factor in checking the spread of the Unitarian doctrine. Brooks
was later elevated to a bishopric in his Church. He died in 1893.
It is said that when a little girl of five years was told by her mother
that "Bishop Brooks has gone to heaven," the child exclaimed, "Oh, mamma,
how happy the angels will be!"
The Story that Never Grows Old
I love to hear the story
Which angel voices tell,
How once the King of glory
Came down to earth to dwell.
I am both weak and sinful,
But this I surely know,
The Lord came down to save me,
Because He loved me so.
I'm glad my blessed Saviour
Was once a child like me,
To show how pure and holy
His little ones should be;
And if I try to follow
His footsteps here below,
He never will forget me,
Because He loves me so.
To sing His love and mercy
My sweetest songs I'll raise!
And though I cannot see Him,
I know He hears my praise;
For He has kindly promised
That even I may go
To sing among His angels,
Because He loves me so.
Emily Huntington Miller, 1867.
WOMEN WHO WROTE HYMNS FOR CHILDREN
Everybody loves the hymns the children sing. And that, perhaps, is the
reason why Emily Huntington Miller's name will not soon be forgotten, for
the hymns she wrote were children's hymns indeed--hymns that came from
the heart of one who understood the heart of a child.
The daughter of a Methodist clergyman, Emily Huntington was born in
Brooklyn, Conn., October 22, 1833. The spiritual and cultural influence
of a New England parsonage was not lost on this little child, who early
in life began to reveal unusual literary gifts. It was very unusual in
those days for young women to attend college, but Emily enrolled at
Oberlin College and graduated in the class of 1857.
Ten years later she became one of the editors of "_The Little Corporal_,"
a very popular magazine for children. Each month she contributed a poem
to this publication. Like all other contributors, she often found it
difficult to have her poem ready each month on the required day. One
month in 1867 she was handicapped by illness. The final day came, and her
poem was not written. In spite of her weakness, she aroused herself to
the task. The inspiration seemed to come immediately, and, so she tells
us, "in less than fifteen minutes the hymn was written and sent away
without any correction."
The hymn referred to was "I love to hear the story." Almost immediately
it sprang into popularity. In England it was admitted in 1875 to "Hymns
Ancient and Modern," the hymn-book of the Church of England. This was a
very unusual honor, since very few hymns of American origin have been
included in that famous collection. It is said that no one was more
surprised at the popularity achieved by the hymn than the author herself.
Another of her hymns that has won a place in the hearts of the smaller
children is the sweet little gem:
Jesus bids us shine
With a clear, pure light
Like a little candle
Burning in the night;
In the world is darkness,
So we must shine,
You in your small corner,
And I in mine.
Another of her hymns for children, though not so well known as the other
two mentioned, possesses unusual merit:
Father, while the shadows fall,
With the twilight over all,
Deign to hear my evening prayer,
Make a little child Thy care.
Take me in Thy holy keeping
Till the morning break;
Guard me thro' the darkness sleeping,
Bless me when I wake.
Emily Huntington became the wife of Prof. John E. Miller in 1860. After
his death she became dean of the Woman's College of Northwestern
University, in which position she exerted a blessed influence over large
numbers of young women. She died in 1913.
Another American woman who at this time was also writing hymns for
children was Mrs. Lydia Baxter. Although born at Petersburg, N. Y.,
September 2, 1809, it was not until nearly fifty years later that she
seems to have begun to exercise her gifts as a song writer. Her "Gems by
the Wayside" were published in 1855, after which she became a frequent
contributor to hymn collections for Sunday schools and evangelistic
services.
Mrs. Baxter may be regarded as one of the forerunners of the Gospel hymn
movement of America. Her lyrics fall short of the severer standards
required in a true hymn, and for this reason few of her hymns have been
admitted to the authorized collections of the principal church
communions. However, the woman who wrote "Take the Name of Jesus with
you" and "There is a gate that stands ajar" will not soon be forgotten by
pious Christians, even though the author receives scant notice at the
hands of hymnologists. It is a significant fact that in 1921 the Church
of Sweden included a translation of the latter hymn in the appendix to
its "Psalm-book," one of the most conservative hymn collections in
Christendom. Mrs. Baxter died in New York, June 22, 1874.
A Hymn of Sweet Consolation
Safe in the arms of Jesus,
Safe on His gentle breast,
There by His love o'ershaded,
Sweetly my soul shall rest.
Hark! 'tis the voice of angels,
Borne in a song to me,
Over the fields of glory,
Over the jasper sea.
Safe in the arms of Jesus,
Safe from corroding care,
Safe from the world's temptations,
Sin cannot harm me there.
Free from the blight of sorrow,
Free from my doubts and fears;
Only a few more trials,
Only a few more tears!
Jesus, my heart's dear refuge,
Jesus has died for me;
Firm on the Rock of Ages
Ever my trust shall be.
Here let me wait with patience,
Wait till the night is o'er;
Wait till I see the morning
Break on the golden shore.
Frances Jane Crosby, 1869.
FANNY CROSBY, AMERICA'S BLIND POET
Blindness is not always an affliction. If it serves to give the soul a
clearer vision of Christ and of His redeeming love, as it did with Fanny
Crosby, it may rather be regarded as a blessing.
America's most famous hymn-writer could never remember having seen the
light of day, nevertheless her life was one of the most happy and
fruitful ever lived. Always she radiated a sweet and cheerful spirit,
refusing to be pitied, while her soul poured out the songs that brought
joy and salvation to countless multitudes.
Born of humble parents at Southeast, N. Y., March 24, 1823, she was only
six weeks old when, through the application of a poultice to her eyes,
her sight was forever destroyed. Such a disaster would have cast a
perpetual gloom over most lives, but not so with Fanny Crosby. Even at
the age of eight years she gave evidence not only of her happy optimism
but also of her poetic genius by penning the following cheerful lines:
O what a happy soul am I!
Although I cannot see,
I am resolved that in this world
Contented I will be.
How many blessings I enjoy,
That other people don't;
To weep and sigh because I'm blind,
I cannot, and I won't!
When she was fifteen years old she entered the Institution for the Blind
in New York City, where she soon began to develop her remarkable talent
for writing verse. At first she wrote only secular songs. One of these,
"Rosalie, the Prairie Flower," brought the blind girl nearly $3,000 in
royalties.
Strange to state, it was not until she was forty-one years old that her
first hymn was written. It was in 1864 that she met the famous composer,
W. B. Bradbury, and it was at his request that she made her first attempt
at hymn-writing. Her first hymn began:
We are going, we are going,
To a home beyond the skies,
Where the fields are robed in beauty,
And the sunlight never dies.