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Title: The Story of the Hymns and Tunes


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THE STORY OF THE HYMNS AND TUNES

by

THERON BROWN and HEZEKIAH BUTTERWORTH







    _Multae terricolis linguae, coelestibus una._

     _Ten thousand, thousand are their tongues,
             But all their joys are one._




New York, 1906



[Frontispiece: Thomas Ken]



CONTENTS.

  PREFACE,                                           v

  INTRODUCTION,                                     ix

  1. HYMNS OF PRAISE AND WORSHIP,                    1

  2. SOME HYMNS OF GREAT WITNESSES,                 53

  3. HYMNS OF CHRISTIAN DEVOTION AND EXPERIENCE,   100

  4. MISSIONARY HYMNS,                             165

  5. HYMNS OF SUFFERING AND TRUST,                 190

  6. CHRISTIAN BALLADS,                            237

  7. OLD REVIVAL HYMNS,                            262

  8. SUNDAY SCHOOL HYMNS,                          293

  9. PATRIOTIC HYMNS,                              321

  10. SAILOR'S HYMNS,                              353

  11. HYMNS OF WALES,                              378

  12. FIELD HYMNS,                                 409

  13. HYMNS, FESTIVAL AND OCCASIONAL,              458

  14. HYMNS OF HOPE AND CONSOLATION,               509

  INDEXES OF NAMES, TUNES, AND HYMNS,              543


LIST OF PORTRAITS.

  THOMAS KEN,                             Frontispiece
  OLIVER HOLDEN,                         Opp. page  14
  JOSEPH HAYDN,                              "      30
  CHARLES WESLEY,                            "      46
  MARTIN LUTHER,                             "      62
  LADY HUNTINGDON,                           "      94
  AUGUSTUS MONTAGUE TOPLADY,                 "     126
  THOMAS HASTINGS,                           "     142
  FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL,                   "     158
  REGINALD HEBER,                            "     174
  GEORGE JAMES WEBB,                         "     190
  JOHN WESLEY,                               "     206
  JOHN B. DYKES,                             "     222
  ELLEN M.H. GATES,                          "     254
  JAMES MONTGOMERY,                          "     286
  FANNY J. CROSBY,                           "     302
  SAMUEL F. SMITH,                           "     334
  WILLIAM B. BRADBURY,                       "     366
  ISAAC WATTS,                               "     398
  GEORGE FREDERICK HANDEL,                   "     414
  PHILIP DODDRIDGE,                          "     446
  LOWELL MASON,                              "     478
  CARL VON WEBER,                            "     494
  HORATIUS BONAR,                            "     526




PREFACE.


When the lapse of time and accumulation of fresh material suggested the
need of a new and revised edition of Mr. Hezekiah Butterworth's _Story
of the Hymns_, which had been a popular text book on that subject for
nearly a generation, the publishers requested him to prepare such a
work, reviewing the whole field of hymnology and its literature down to
date. He undertook the task, but left it unfinished at his lamented
death, committing the manuscript to me in his last hours to arrange and
complete.

To do this proved a labor of considerable magnitude, since what had been
done showed evidence of the late author's failing strength, and when, in
a conference with the publishers, it was proposed to combine the two
books of Mr. Butterworth, the _Story of the Hymns_ and the _Story of the
Tunes_, in one volume, the task was doubled.

The charming popular style and story-telling gift of the well-known
compiler of these books had kept them in demand, the one for thirty and
the other for fifteen years, but later information had discounted some
of their historic and biographical matter, and, while many of the
monographs were too meagre, others were unduly long. Besides, the _Story
of the Tunes_, so far from being the counterpart of the _Story of the
Hymns_, bore no special relationship to it, only a small portion of its
selections answering to any in the hymn-list of the latter book. For a
personal friend and practically unknown writer, to follow Mr.
Butterworth, and "improve" his earlier work to the more modern
conditions, was a venture of no little difficulty and delicacy. The
result is submitted as simply a conscientious effort to give the best of
the old with the new.

So far as was possible, matter from the two previous books, and from the
crude manuscript, has been used, and passages here and there
transcribed, but so much of independent plan and original research has
been necessary in arranging and verifying the substance of the chapters
that the _Story of the Hymns and Tunes_ is in fact a new volume rather
than a continuation. The chapter containing the account of the _Gospel
Hymns_ is recent work with scarcely an exception, and the one on the
_Hymns of Wales_ is entirely new.

Without increasing the size of this volume beyond easy purchase and
convenient use, it was impossible to discuss the great oratorios and
dramatic set-pieces, festival and occasional, and only passing
references are made to them or their authors.

Among those who have helped me in my work special acknowledgements are
due to Mr. Hubert P. Main of Newark, N.J.; Messrs. Hughes & Son of
Wrexham, Wales; the American Tract Society, New York; Mr. William T.
Meek, Mrs. A.J. Gordon, Mr. Paul Foster, Mr. George Douglas, and Revs.
John R. Hague and Edmund F. Merriam of Boston; Professor William L.
Phelps of New Haven, Conn.; Mrs. Ellen M.H. Gates of New York; Rev.
Franklin G. McKeever of New London, Conn.; and Rev. Arthur S. Phelps of
Greeley, Colorado. Further obligations are gratefully remembered to
Oliver Ditson & Co. for answers to queries and access to publications,
to the Historic-and-Geneological Society and the custodians and
attendants of the Boston Public Library (notably in the Music
Department) for their uniform courtesy and pains in placing every
resource within my reach.

THERON BROWN.

Boston, May 15th, 1906.




INTRODUCTION.


Augustine defines a hymn as "praise to God with song," and another
writer calls hymn-singing "a devotional approach to God in our
emotions,"--which of course applies to both the words and the music.
This religious emotion, reverently acknowledging the Divine Being in
song, is a constant element, and wherever felt it makes the song a
worship, irrespective of sect or creed. An eminent Episcopal divine,
(says the _Christian Register_,) one Trinity Sunday, at the close of his
sermon, read three hymns by Unitarian authors: one to God the Father, by
Samuel Longfellow, one to Jesus, by Theodore Parker, and one to the Holy
Spirit, by N.L. Frothingham. "There," he said, "you have the
Trinity--Father, Son, and Holy Ghost."

It is natural to speak of hymns as "poems," indiscriminately, for they
have the same structure. But a hymn is not necessarily a poem, while a
poem that can be sung as a hymn is something more than a poem.
Imagination makes poems; devotion makes hymns. There can be poetry
without emotion, but a hymn never. A poem may argue; a hymn must not.
In short to be a hymn, what is written must express spiritual feelings
and desires. The music of faith, hope and charity will be somewhere in
its strain.

Philosophy composes poems, but not hymns. "It is no love-symphony we
hear when the lion thinkers roar," some blunt writer has said. "The
moles of Science have never found the heavenly dove's nest, and the Sea
of Reason touches no shore where balm for sorrow grows."

On the contrary there are thousands of true hymns that have no standing
at the court of the muses. Even Cowper's Olney hymns, as Goldwin Smith
has said, "have not any serious value as poetry. Hymns rarely have," he
continues. "There is nothing in them on which the creative imagination
can be exercised. Hymns can be little more than the incense of a
worshipping soul."

A fellow-student of Phillips Brooks tells us that "most of his verse he
wrote rapidly without revising, not putting much thought into it but
using it as the vehicle and outlet of his feelings. It was the sign of
responding love or gratitude and joy."

To produce a hymn one needs something more exalting than poetic fancy;
an influence

   "--subtler than the sun-light in the leaf-bud
    That thrills thro' all the forest, making May."

It is the Divine Spirit wakening the human heart to lyric language.

Religion sings; that is true, though all "religions" do not sing. There
is no voice of sacred song in Islamism. The muezzin call from the
minarets is not music. One listens in vain for melody among the
worshippers of the "Light of Asia." The hum of pagoda litanies, and the
shouts and gongs of idol processions are not psalms. But many historic
faiths have lost their melody, and we must go far back in the annals of
ethnic life to find the songs they sung.

Worship appears to have been a primitive human instinct; and even when
many gods took the place of One in the blinder faith of men it was
nature worship making deities of the elements and addressing them with
supplication and praise. Ancient hymns have been found on the monumental
tablets of the cities of Nimrod; fragments of the Orphic and Homeric
hymns are preserved in Greek anthology; many of the Vedic hymns are
extant in India; and the exhumed stones of Egypt have revealed segments
of psalm-prayers and liturgies that antedate history. Dr. Wallis Budge,
the English Orientalist, notes the discovery of a priestly hymn two
thousand years older than the time of Moses, which invokes One Supreme
Being who "cannot be figured in stone."

So far as we have any real evidence, however, the Hebrew people
surpassed all others in both the custom and the spirit of devout song.
We get snatches of their inspired lyrics in the song of Moses and
Miriam, the song of Deborah and Barak, and the song of Hannah (sometimes
called "the Old Testament Magnificat"), in the hymns of David and
Solomon and all the Temple Psalms, and later where the New Testament
gives us the "Gloria" of the Christmas angels, the thanksgiving of
Elizabeth (benedictus minor), Mary's Magnificat, the song of Zacharias
(benedictus major), the "nunc dimittis" of Simeon, and the celestial
ascriptions and hallelujahs heard by St. John in his Patmos dream. For
what we know of the first _formulated_ human prayer and praise we are
mostly indebted to the Hebrew race. They seem to have been at least the
only ancient nation that had a complete psalter--and their collection is
the mother hymn-book of the world.

Probably the first form of hymn-worship was the plain-song--a
declamatory unison of assembled singers, every voice on the same pitch,
and within the compass of five notes--and so continued, from whatever
may have stood for plain-song in Tabernacle and Temple days down to the
earliest centuries of the Christian church. It was mere melodic
progression and volume of tone, and there were no instruments--after the
captivity. Possibly it was the memory of the harps hung silent by the
rivers of Babylon that banished the timbrel from the sacred march and
the ancient lyre from the post-exilic synagogues. Only the Feast trumpet
was left. But the Jews sang. Jesus and his disciples sang. Paul and
Silas sang; and so did the post-apostolic Christians; but until towards
the close of the 16th century there were no instruments allowed in
religious worship.

St. Hilary, Bishop of Poitiers has been called "the father of Christian
hymnology." About the middle of the 4th century he regulated the
ecclesiastical song-service, wrote chant music (to Scripture words or
his own) and prescribed its place and use in his choirs. He died A.D.
368. In the Church calendars, Jan. 13th (following "Twelfth Night"), is
still kept as "St. Hilary's Day" in the Church of England, and Jan. 14th
in the Church of Rome.

St. Ambrose, Bishop of Milan, a few years later, improved the work of
his predecessor, adding words and music of his own. The "Ambrosian
Chant" was the antiphonal plain-song arranged and systematized to
statelier effect in choral symphony. Ambrose died A.D. 397.

Toward the end of the 6th century Christian music showed a decline in
consequence of impatient meddling with the slow canonical psalmody, and
"reformers" had impaired its solemnity by introducing fanciful
embellishments. Gregory the Great (Pope of Rome, 590-604) banished these
from the song service, founded a school of sacred melody, composed new
chants and established the distinctive character of ecclesiastical hymn
worship. The Gregorian chant--on the diatonic eight sounds and seven
syllables of equal length--continued, with its majestic choral step, to
be the basis of cathedral music for a thousand years. In the meantime
(930) Hucbald, the Flanders monk, invented _sight_ music, or written
notes--happily called the art of "hearing with the eyes and seeing with
the ears"; and Guido Arentino (1024) contrived the present scale, or the
"hexachord" on which the present scale was perfected.

In this long interval, however, the "established" system of hymn service
did not escape the intrusion of inevitable novelties that crept in with
the change of popular taste. Unrhythmical singing could not always hold
its own; and when polyphonic music came into public favor, secular airs
gradually found their way into the choirs. Legatos, with their pleasing
turn and glide, caught the ear of the multitude. Tripping allegrettos
sounded sweeter to the vulgar sense than the old largos of Pope Gregory
the Great.

The guardians of the ancient order took alarm. One can imagine the
pained amazement of conservative souls today on hearing "Ring the Bells
of Heaven" substituted in church for "Mear" or the long-metre Doxology,
and can understand the extreme distaste of the ecclesiastical
reactionaries for the worldly frivolities of an A.D. 1550 choir.
Presumably that modern abomination, the _vibrato_, with its shake of
artificial fright, had not been invented then, and sanctuary form was
saved one indignity. But the innovations became an abuse so general that
the Council of Trent commissioned a select board of cardinals and
musicians to arrest the degeneration of church song-worship.

One of the experts consulted in this movement was an eminent Italian
composer born twenty miles from Rome. His full name was Giovanni Pietro
Aloysio da Palestrina, and at that time he was in the prime of his
powers. He was master of polyphonic music as well as plain-song, and he
proposed applying it to grace the older mode, preserving the solemn
beauty of the chant but adding the charming chords of counterpoint. He
wrote three "masses," one of them being his famous "Requiem." These were
sung under his direction before the Commission. Their magnificence and
purity revealed to the censors the possibilities of contrapuntal music
in sanctuary devotion and praise. The sanction of the cardinals was
given--and part-song harmony became permanently one of the angel voices
of the Christian church.

Palestrina died in 1594, but hymn-tunes adapted from his motets and
masses are sung today. He was the father of the choral tune. He lived to
see musical instruments and congregational singing introduced[1] in
public worship, and to know (possibly with secret pleasure, though he
was a Romanist) how richly in popular assemblies, during the Protestant
Reformation, the new freedom of his helpful art had multiplied the
creation of spiritual hymns.

[Footnote 1: But not fully established in use till about 1625.]

Contemporary in England with Palestrina in Italy was Thomas Tallis who
developed the Anglican school of church music, which differed less from
the Italian (or Catholic) psalmody than that of the Continental
churches, where the revolt of the Reformation extended to the
tune-worship as notably as to the sacraments and sermons. This
difference created a division of method and practice even in England,
and extreme Protestants who repudiated everything artistic or ornate
formed the Puritan or Genevan School. Their style is represented among
our hymn-tunes by "Old Hundred," while the representative of the
Anglican is "Tallis' Evening Hymn." The division was only temporary. The
two schools were gradually reconciled, and together made the model after
which the best sacred tunes are built. It is Tallis who is called "The
father of English Cathedral music."

In Germany, after the invention of harmony, church music was still felt
to be too formal for a working force, and there was a reaction against
the motets and masses of Palestrina as being too stately and difficult.
Lighter airs of the popular sort, such as were sung between the acts of
the "mystery plays," were subsidized by Luther, who wrote compositions
and translations to their measure. Part-song was simplified, and Johan
Walther compiled a hymnal of religious songs in the vernacular for from
four to six voices. The reign of rhythmic hymn music soon extended
through Europe.

Necessarily--except in ultra-conservative localities like Scotland--the
exclusive use of the Psalms (metrical or unmetrical) gave way to
religious lyrics inspired by occasion. Clement Marot and Theodore Beza
wrote hymns to the music of various composers, and Caesar Malan composed
both hymns and their melodies. By the beginning of the 18th century the
triumph of the hymn-tune and the hymnal for lay voices was established
for all time.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the following pages no pretence is made of selecting _all_ the best
and most-used hymns, but the purpose has been to notice as many as
possible of the standard pieces--and a few others which seem to add or
re-shape a useful thought or introduce a new strain.

To present each hymn _with its tune_ appeared the natural and most
satisfactory way, as in most cases it is impossible to dissociate the
two. The melody is the psychological coefficient of the metrical text.
Without it the verse of a seraph would be smothered praise. Like a
flower and its fragrance, hymn and tune are one creature, and stand for
a whole value and a full effect. With this normal combination a
_complete_ descriptive list of the hymns and tunes would be a historic
dictionary. Such a book may one day be made, but the present volume is
an attempt to the same end within easier limits.




CHAPTER I.

HYMNS OF PRAISE AND WORSHIP.


"TE DEUM LAUDAMUS."

This famous church confession in song was composed A.D. 387 by Ambrose,
Bishop of Milan, probably both words and music.

    Te Deum laudamus, Te Dominum confitemur
    Te aeternum Patrem omnis terra veneratur
    Tibi omnes angeli, tibi coeli et universae potestates,
    Tibi cherubim et seraphim inaccessibili voce proclamant
    Sanctus, sanctus Dominus Deus Sabaoth.

In the whole hymn there are thirty lines. The saying that the early
Roman hymns were echoes of Christian Greece, as the Greek hymns were
echoes of Jerusalem, is probably true, but they were only echoes. In
A.D. 252, St. Cyprian, writing his consolatory epistle[2] during the
plague in Carthage, when hundreds were dying every day, says, "Ah,
perfect and perpetual bliss! [in heaven.] There is the glorious company
of the apostles; there is the fellowship of the prophets rejoicing;
there is the innumerable multitude of martyrs crowned." Which would
suggest that lines or fragments of what afterwards crystalized into the
formula of the "Te Deum" were already familiar in the Christian church.
But it is generally believed that the tongue of Ambrose gave the anthem
its final form.

[Footnote 2: [Greek: Peri tou thnetou], "On the Mortality."]

Ambrose was born in Gaul about the middle of the fourth century and
raised to his bishopric in A.D. 374. Very early he saw and appreciated
the popular effect of musical sounds, and what an evangelical instrument
a chorus of chanting voices could be in preaching the Christian faith;
and he introduced the responsive singing of psalms and sacred cantos in
the worship of the church. "A grand thing is that singing, and nothing
can stand before it," he said, when the critics of his time complained
that his innovation was sensational. That such a charge could be made
against the Ambrosian mode of music, with its slow movement and
unmetrical lines, seems strange to us, but it was _new_--and
conservatism is the same in all ages.

The great bishop carried all before him. His school of song-worship
prevailed in Christian Europe more than two hundred years. Most of his
hymns are lost, (the Benedictine writers credit him with twelve), but,
judging by their effect on the powerful mind of Augustine, their
influence among the common people must have been profound, and far more
lasting than the author's life. "Their voices sank into mine ears, and
their truths distilled into my heart," wrote Augustine, long afterwards,
of these hymns; "tears ran down, and I rejoiced in them."

Poetic tradition has dramatized the story of the birth of the "Te Deum,"
dating it on an Easter Sunday, and dividing the honor of its composition
between Ambrose and his most eminent convert. It was the day when the
bishop baptized Augustine, in the presence of a vast throng that crowded
the Basilica of Milan. As if foreseeing with a prophet's eye that his
brilliant candidate would become one of the ruling stars of Christendom,
Ambrose lifted his hands to heaven and chanted in a holy rapture,--

    We praise Thee, O God! We acknowledge Thee to be the Lord;
    All the Earth doth worship Thee, the Father Everlasting.

He paused, and from the lips of the baptized disciple came the
response,--

    To Thee all the angels cry aloud: the heavens and all the powers
        therein.
    To Thee cherubim and seraphim continually do cry,
   "Holy, holy, holy Lord God of Sabaoth;
    Heaven and Earth are full of the majesty of Thy glory!"

and so, stave by stave, in alternating strains, sprang that day from the
inspired lips of Ambrose and Augustine the "Te Deum Laudamus," which has
ever since been the standard anthem of Christian praise.

Whatever the foundation of the story, we may at least suppose the first
public singing[3] of the great chant to have been associated with that
eventful baptism.

[Footnote 3: The "Te Deum" was first sung _in English_ by the martyr,
Bishop Ridley, at Hearne Church, where he was at one time vicar.]

The various anthems, sentences and motets in all Christian languages
bearing the titles "Trisagion" or "Tersanctus," and "Te Deum" are taken
from portions of this royal hymn. The sublime and beautiful "Holy, Holy,
Holy" of Bishop Heber was suggested by it.


_THE TUNE._

No echo remains, so far as is known, of the responsive chant actually
sung by Ambrose, but one of the best modern choral renderings of the "Te
Deum" is the one by Henry Smart in his _Morning and Evening Service_. In
an ordinary church hymnal it occupies seven pages. The staff-directions
with the music indicate the part or cue of the antiphonal singers by the
words Decani (Dec.) and Cantor (Can.), meaning first the division of the
choir on the Dean's side, and second the division on the Cantor's or
Precentor's side.

Henry Smart was one of the five great English composers that followed
our American Mason. He was born in London, Oct. 25, 1812, and chose
music for a profession in preference to an offered commission in the
East Indian army. His talent as a composer, especially of sacred music,
was marvellous, and, though he became blind, his loss of sight was no
more hindrance to his genius than loss of hearing to Beethoven.

No composer of his time equalled Henry Smart as a writer of music for
female voices. His cantatas have been greatly admired, and his hymn
tunes are unsurpassed for their purity and sweetness, while his anthems,
his oratorio of "Jacob," and indeed all that he wrote, show the hand and
the inventive gift of a great musical artist.

He died July 10, 1879, universally mourned for his inspired work, and
his amiable character.


"ALL GLORY, LAUD AND HONOR."
_Gloria, Laus et Honor._

This stately Latin hymn of the early part of the 9th century was
composed in A.D. 820, by Theodulph, Bishop of Orleans, while a captive
in the cloister of Anjou. King Louis (le Debonnaire) son of Charlemagne,
had trouble with his royal relatives, and suspecting Theodulph to be in
sympathy with them, shut him up in prison. A pretty story told by
Clichtovius, an old church writer of A.D. 1518, relates how on Palm
Sunday the king, celebrating the feast with his people, passed in
procession before the cloister, where the face of the venerable prisoner
at his cell window caused an involuntary halt, and, in the moment of
silence, the bishop raised his voice and sang this hymn; and how the
delighted king released the singer, and restored him to his bishopric.
This tale, told after seven hundred years, is not the only legend that
grew around the hymn and its author, but the fact that he composed it in
the cloister of Anjou while confined there is not seriously disputed.

    Gloria, laus et honor Tibi sit, Rex Christe Redemptor,
    Cui puerile decus prompsit Hosanna pium.
    Israel Tu Rex, Davidis et inclyta proles,
    Nomine qui in Domini Rex benedicte venis
                               Gloria, laus et honor.

Theodulph was born in Spain, but of Gothic pedigree, a child of the race
of conquerors who, in the 5th century, overran Southern Europe. He died
in 821, but whether a free man or still a prisoner at the time of his
death is uncertain. Some accounts allege that he was poisoned in the
cloister. The Roman church canonized him, and his hymn is still sung as
a processional in Protestant as well as Catholic churches. The above
Latin lines are the first four of the original seventy-eight. The
following is J.M. Neale's translation of the portion now in use:

    All glory, laud, and honor,
      To Thee, Redeemer, King:
    To whom the lips of children
      Made sweet Hosannas ring.

    Thou are the King of Israel,
      Thou David's royal Son,
    Who in the Lord's name comest,
      The King and Blessed One.    All glory, etc.

    The company of angels
      Are praising Thee on high;
    And mortal men, and all things
      Created, make reply.         All glory, etc.

    The people of the Hebrews
      With palms before Thee went;
    Our praise and prayer and anthems
      Before Thee we present.      All glory, etc.

    To Thee before Thy Passion
      They sang their hymns of praise;
    To Thee, now high exalted
      Our melody we raise.         All glory, etc.

    Thou didst accept their praises;
      Accept the prayers we bring,
    Who in all good delightest,
      Thou good and gracious King. All glory, etc.

The translator, Rev. John Mason Neale, D.D., was born in London, Jan.
24, 1818, and graduated at Trinity College, Cambridge, in 1840. He was a
prolific writer, and after taking holy orders he held the office of
Warden of Sackville College, East Grimstead, Sussex. Best known among
his published works are _Mediaeval Hymns and Sequences_, _Hymns for
Children_, _Hymns of the Eastern Church_ and _The Rhythms of Morlaix_.
He died Aug. 6, 1866.


_THE TUNE._

There is no certainty as to the original tune of Theodulph's Hymn, or
how long it survived, but various modern composers have given it music
in more or less keeping with its character, notably Melchior Teschner,
whose harmony, "St. Theodulph," appears in the new _Methodist Hymnal_.
It well represents the march of the bishop's Latin.

Melchior Teschner, a Prussian musician, was Precentor at Frauenstadt,
Silesia, about 1613.


"ALL PRAISE TO THEE, ETERNAL LORD."
_Gelobet Seist du Jesu Christ._

This introductory hymn of worship, a favorite Christmas hymn in Germany,
is ancient, and appears to be a versification of a Latin prose
"Sequence" variously ascribed to a 9th century author, and to Gregory
the Great in the 6th century. Its German form is still credited to
Luther in most hymnals. Julian gives an earlier German form (1370) of
the "Gelobet," but attributes all but the first stanza to Luther, as the
hymn now stands. The following translation, printed first in the
_Sabbath Hymn Book_, Andover, 1858, is the one adopted by Schaff in his
_Christ in Song_:

    All praise to Thee, eternal Lord,
    Clothed in the garb of flesh and blood;
    Choosing a manger for Thy throne,
    While worlds on worlds are Thine alone!

    Once did the skies before Thee bow;
    A virgin's arms contain Thee now;
    Angels, who did in Thee rejoice,
    Now listen for Thine infant voice.

    A little child, Thou art our guest,
    That weary ones in Thee may rest;
    Forlorn and lowly in Thy birth,
    That we may rise to heaven from earth.

    Thou comest in the darksome night,
    To make us children of the light;
    To make us, in the realms divine,
    Like Thine own angels round Thee shine.

    All this for us Thy love hath done:
    By this to Thee our love is won;
    For this we tune our cheerful lays,
    And shout our thanks in endless praise.


_THE TUNE._

The 18th century tune of "Weimar" (_Evangelical Hymnal_), by Emanuel
Bach, suits the spiritual tone of the hymn, and suggests the Gregorian
dignity of its origin.

Karl Philip Emanuel Bach, called "the Berlin Bach" to distinguish him
from his father, the great Sebastian Bach of Saxe Weimar, was born in
Weimar, March 14, 1714. He early devoted himself to music, and coming to
Berlin when twenty-four years old was appointed Chamber musician (Kammer
Musicus) in the Royal Chapel, where he often accompanied Frederick the
Great (who was an accomplished flutist) on the harpsichord. His most
numerous compositions were piano music but he wrote a celebrated
"Sanctus," and two oratorios, besides a number of chorals, of which
"Weimar" is one. He died in Hamburg, Dec. 14, 1788.


THE MAGNIFICAT.
[Greek: Megalunei he psuche mou ton Kurion.]

    Magnificat anima mea Dominum,
    Et exultavit Spiritus meus in Deo salutari meo.
                                      Luke 1:46-55.

We can date with some certainty the hymn itself composed by the Virgin
Mary, but when it first became a song of the Christian Church no one can
tell. Its thanksgiving may have found tone among the earliest martyrs,
who, as Pliny tells us, sang hymns in their secret worship. We can only
trace it back to the oldest chant music, when it was doubtless sung by
both the Eastern and Western Churches. In the rude liturgies of the 4th
and 5th centuries it must have begun to assume ritual form; but it
remained for the more modern school of composers hundreds of years later
to illustrate the "Magnificat" with the melody of art and genius.
Superseding the primitive unisonous plain-song, the old parallel
concords, and the simple faburden (faux bourdon) counterpoint that
succeeded Gregory, they taught how musical tones can better assist
worship with the beauty of harmony and the precision of scientific
taste. Musicians in Italy, France, Germany and England have contributed
their scores to this inspired hymn. Some of them still have place in the
hymnals, a noble one especially by the blind English tone-master, Henry
Smart, author of the oratorio of "Jacob." None, however, have equaled
the work of Handel. His "Magnificat" was one of his favorite
productions, and he borrowed strains from it in several of his later and
lesser productions.

George Frederic Handel, author of the immortal "Messiah," was born at
Halle, Saxony, in 1685, and died in London in 1759. The musical bent of
his genius was apparent almost from his infancy. At the age of eighteen
he was earning his living with his violin, and writing his first opera.
After a sojourn in Italy, he settled in Hanover as Chapel Master to the
Elector, who afterwards became the English king, George I. The
friendship of the king and several of his noblemen drew him to England,
where he spent forty-seven years and composed his greatest works.

He wrote three hymn-tunes (it is said at the request of a converted
actress), "Canons," "Fitzwilliam," and "Gopsall," the first an
invitation, "Sinners, Obey the Gospel Word," the second a meditation, "O
Love Divine, How Sweet Thou Art," and the third a resurrection song to
Welsey's words "Rejoice, the Lord is King." This last still survives in
some hymnals.


THE DOXOLOGIES.

    Be Thou, O God, exalted high,
    And as Thy glory fills the sky
    So let it be on earth displayed
    Till Thou art here as there obeyed.

This sublime quatrain, attributed to Nahum Tate, like the Lord's Prayer,
is suited to all occasions, to all Christian denominations, and to all
places and conditions of men. It has been translated into all civilized
languages, and has been rising to heaven for many generations from
congregations round the globe wherever the faith of Christendom has
built its altars. This doxology is the first stanza of a sixteen line
hymn (possibly longer originally), the rest of which is forgotten.

Nahum Tate was born in Dublin, in 1652, and educated there at Trinity
College. He was appointed poet-laureate by King William III. in 1690,
and it was in conjunction with Dr. Nicholas Brady that he executed his
"New" metrical version of the Psalms. The entire Psalter, with an
appendix of Hymns, was licensed by William and Mary and published in
1703. The _hymns_ in the volume are all by Tate. He died in London, Aug.
12, 1717.

Rev. Nicholas Brady, D.D., was an Irishman, son of an officer in the
royal army, and was born at Bandon, County of Cork, Oct. 28, 1659. He
studied in the Westminster School at Oxford, but afterwards entered
Trinity College, Dublin, where he graduated in 1685. William made him
Queen Mary's Chaplain. He died May 20, 1726.

The other nearly contemporary form of doxology is in common use, but
though elevated and devotional in spirit, it cannot be universal, owing
to its credal line being objectionable to non-Trinitarian Protestants:

    Praise God from whom all blessings flow,
    Praise Him all creatures here below,
    Praise Him above, ye heavenly host,
    Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

The author, the Rev. Thomas Ken, was born in Berkhampstead,
Hertfordshire, Eng., July, 1637, and was educated at Winchester School,
Hertford College, and New College, Oxford. In 1662 he took holy orders,
and seventeen years later the king (Charles II.) appointed him chaplain
to his sister Mary, Princess of Orange. Later the king, just before his
death, made him Bishop of Bath and Wells.

Like John the Baptist, and Bourdaloue, and Knox, he was a faithful
spiritual monitor and adviser during all his days at court. "I must go
in and hear Ken tell me my faults," the king used to say at chapel time.
The "good little man" (as he called the bishop) never lost the favor of
the dissipated monarch. As Macaulay says, "Of all the prelates, he liked
Ken the best."

Under James, the Papist, Ken was a loyal subject, though once arrested
as one of the "seven bishops" for his opposition to the king's religion,
and he kept his oath of allegiance so firmly that it cost him his place.
William III. deprived him of his bishopric, and he retired in poverty to
a home kindly offered him by Lord Viscount Weymouth in Longleat, near
Frome, in Somersetshire, where he spent a serene and beloved old age. He
died aet. seventy-four, March 17, 1711 (N.S.), and was carried to his
grave, according to his request, by "six of the poorest men in the
parish."

His great doxology is the refrain or final stanza of each of his three
long hymns, "Morning," "Evening" and "Midnight," printed in a _Prayer
Manual_ for the use of the students of Winchester College. The "Evening
Hymn" drew scenic inspiration, it is told, from the lovely view in
Horningsham Park at "Heaven's Gate Hill," while walking to and from
church.

Another four-line doxology, adopted probably from Dr. Hatfield
(1807-1883), is almost entirely superseded by Ken's stanza, being of
even more pronounced credal character.

    To God the Father, God the Son,
    And God the Spirit, Three in One.
    Be honor, praise and glory given
    By all on earth and all in heaven.

The _Methodist Hymnal_ prints a collection of ten doxologies, two by
Watts, one by Charles Wesley, one by John Wesley, one by William Goode,
one by Edwin F. Hatfield, one attributed to "Tate and Brady," one by
Robert Hawkes, and the one by Ken above noted. These are all technically
and intentionally doxologies. To give a history of doxologies in the
general sense of the word would carry one through every Christian age
and language and end with a concordance of the Book of Psalms.

[Illustration: Oliver Holden]


_THE TUNE._

Few would think of any music more appropriate to a standard doxology
than "Old Hundred." This grand Gregorian harmony has been claimed to be
Luther's production, while some have believed that Louis Bourgeois,
editor of the French _Genevan Psalter_, composed the tune, but the
weight of evidence seems to indicate that it was the work of Guillaume
le Franc, (William Franck or William the Frenchman,) of Rouen, in
France, who founded a music school in Geneva, 1541. He was Chapel Master
there, but removed to Lausanne, where he played in the Catholic choir
and wrote the tunes for an Edition of Marot's and Beza's Psalms. Died in
Lausanne, 1570.


"THE LORD DESCENDED FROM ABOVE."

A flash of genuine inspiration was vouchsafed to Thomas Sternhold when
engaged with Rev. John Hopkins in versifying the Eighteenth Psalm. The
ridicule heaped upon Sternhold and Hopkins's psalmbook has always
stopped, and sobered into admiration and even reverence at the two
stanzas beginning with this leading line--

    The Lord descended from above
      And bowed the heavens most high,
    And underneath His feet He cast
      The darkness of the sky.

    On cherub and on cherubim
      Full royally He rode,
    And on the wings of mighty winds
      Came flying all abroad.

Thomas Sternhold was born in Gloucestershire, Eng. He was Groom of the
Robes to Henry VIII, and Edward VI., but is only remembered for his
_Psalter_ published in 1562, thirteen years after his death in 1549.


_THE TUNE._

"Nottingham" (now sometimes entitled "St. Magnus") is a fairly good echo
of the grand verses, a dignified but spirited choral in A flat. Jeremiah
Clark, the composer, was born in London, 1670. Educated at the Chapel
Royal, he became organist of Winchester College and finally to St.
Paul's Cathedral where he was appointed Gentleman of the Chapel. He died
July, 1707.

The tune of "Majesty" by William Billings will be noticed in a later
chapter.


TALLIS' EVENING HYMN.

    Glory to Thee, my God, this night
    For all the blessings of the light,
    Keep me, O keep me, King of kings,
    Under Thine own Almighty wings.

This stanza begins the second of Bp. Ken's three beautiful hymn-prayers
in his _Manual_ mentioned on a previous page.


_THE TUNE._

For more than three hundred and fifty years devout people have enjoyed
that melody of mingled dignity and sweetness known as "Tallis' Evening
Hymn."

Thomas Tallis was an Englishman, born about 1520, and at an early age
was a boy chorister at St. Paul's. After his voice changed, he played
the organ at Waltham Abbey, and some time later was chosen organist
royal to Queen Elizabeth. His pecuniary returns for his talent did not
make him rich, though he bore the title after 1542 of Gentleman of the
Chapel Royal, for his stipend was sevenpence a day. Some gain may
possibly have come to him, however, from his publication, late in life,
under the queen's special patent, of a collection of hymns and tunes.

He wrote much and was the real founder of the English Church school of
composers, but though St. Paul's was at one time well supplied with his
motets and anthems, it is impossible now to give a list of Tallis'
compositions for the Church. His music was written originally to Latin
words, but when, after the Reformation, the use of vernacular hymns, was
introduced he probably adapted his scores to either language.

It is inferred that he was in attendance on Queen Elizabeth at her
palace in Greenwich when he died, for he was buried in the old parish
church there in November, 1585. The rustic rhymer who indited his
epitaph evidently did the best he could to embalm the virtues of the
great musician as a man, a citizen, and a husband:

    Enterred here doth ly a worthy wyght,
      Who for long time in musick bore the bell:
    His name to shew was Thomas Tallis hyght;
      In honest vertuous lyff he dyd excell.

    He served long tyme in chappel with grete prayse,
      Fower sovereygnes reignes, (a thing not often seene);
    I mean King Henry and Prince Edward's dayes,
      Quene Marie, and Elizabeth our quene.

    He maryed was, though children he had none,
      And lyv'd in love full three and thirty yeres
    With loyal spowse, whose name yclept was Jone,
      Who, here entombed, him company now bears.

    As he dyd lyve, so also dyd he dy,
      In myld and quyet sort, O happy man!
    To God ful oft for mercy did he cry;
      Wherefore he lyves, let Deth do what he can.


"THE GOD OF ABRAHAM PRAISE."

This is one of the thanksgivings of the ages.

    The God of Abraham praise,
      Who reigns enthroned above;
    Ancient of everlasting days,
      And God of love.
    Jehovah, Great I AM!
      By earth and heaven confessed,
    I bow and bless the sacred Name,
      Forever blest.

The hymn, of twelve eight-line stanzas, is too long to quote entire,
but is found in both the _Plymouth_ and _Methodist Hymnals_.

Thomas Olivers, born in Tregynon, near Newtown, Montgomeryshire, Wales,
1725, was, according to local testimony, "the worst boy known in all
that country, for thirty years." It is more charitable to say that he
was a poor fellow who had no friends. Left an orphan at five years of
age, he was passed from one relative to another until all were tired of
him, and he was "bound out" to a shoemaker. Almost inevitably the
neglected lad grew up wicked, for no one appeared to care for his habits
and morals, and as he sank lower in the various vices encouraged by bad
company, there were more kicks for him than helping hands. At the age of
eighteen his reputation in the town had become so unsavory that he was
forced to shift for himself elsewhere.

Providence led him, when shabby and penniless, to the old seaport town
of Bristol, where Whitefield was at that time preaching,[4] and there
the young sinner heard the divine message that lifted him to his feet.

[Footnote 4: Whitefield's text was, "Is not this a brand plucked out of
the fire?" Zach. 3:2.]

"When that sermon began," he said, "I was one of the most abandoned and
profligate young men living; before it ended I was a new creature. The
world was all changed for Tom Olivers."

His new life, thus begun, lasted on earth more than sixty useful years.
He left a shining record as a preacher of righteousness, and died in the
triumphs of faith, November, 1799. Before he passed away he saw at least
thirty editions of his hymn published, but the soul-music it has
awakened among the spiritual children of Abraham can only reach him in
heaven. Some of its words have been the last earthly song of many, as
they were of the eminent Methodist theologian, Richard Watson--

      I shall behold His face,
      I shall His power adore,
    And sing the wonders of His grace
        Forevermore.


_THE TUNE._

The precise date of the tune "Leoni" is unknown, as also the precise
date of the hymn. The story is that Olivers visited the great "Duke's
Place" Synagogue, Aldgate, London, and heard Meyer Lyon (Leoni) sing the
Yigdal or long doxology to an air so noble and impressive that it
haunted him till he learned it and fitted to it the sublime stanzas of
his song. Lyon, a noted Jewish musician and vocalist, was chorister of
this London Synagogue during the latter part of the 18th century and the
Yigdal was a portion of the Hebrew Liturgy composed in medieval times,
it is said, by Daniel Ben Judah. The fact that the Methodist leaders
took Olivers from his bench to be one of their preachers answers any
suggestion that the converted shoemaker _copied_ the Jewish hymn and put
Christian phrases in it. He knew nothing of Hebrew, and had he known
it, a literal translation of the Yigdal will show hardly a similarity to
his evangelical lines. Only the music as Leoni sang it prompted his own
song, and he gratefully put the singer's name to it. Montgomery, who
admired the majestic style of the hymn, and its glorious imagery, said
of its author, "The man who wrote that hymn must have had the finest ear
imaginable, for on account of the peculiar measure, none but a person of
equal musical and poetic taste could have produced the harmony
perceptible in the verse."

Whether the hymnist or some one else fitted the hymn to the tune, the
"fine ear" and "poetic taste" that Montgomery applauded are evident
enough in the union.


"O WORSHIP THE KING ALL GLORIOUS ABOVE."

This hymn of Sir Robert Grant has become almost universally known, and
is often used as a morning or opening service song by choirs and
congregations of all creeds. The favorite stanzas are the first four--

    O worship the King all-glorious above,
    And gratefully sing His wonderful love--
    Our Shield and Defender, the Ancient of Days,
    Pavilioned in splendor, and girded with praise.

    O tell of His might, and sing of His grace,
    Whose robe is the light, whose canopy, space;
    His chariots of wrath the deep thunder-clouds form,
    And dark is His path on the wings of the storm.

    Thy bountiful care what tongue can recite?
    It breathes in the air, it shines in the light,
    It streams from the hills, it descends to the plain,
    And sweetly distils in the dew and the rain.

    Frail children of dust, and feeble as frail,
    In Thee do we trust, nor find Thee to fail.
    Thy mercies how tender! how firm to the end!
    Our Maker, Defender, Redeemer, and Friend!

This is a model hymn of worship. Like the previous one by Thomas
Olivers, it is strongly Hebrew in its tone and diction, and drew its
inspiration from the Old Testament Psalter, the text-book of all true
praise-song.

Sir Robert Grant was born in the county of Inverness, Scotland, in 1785,
and educated at Cambridge. He was many years member of Parliament for
Inverness and a director in the East India Company, and 1834 was
appointed Governor of Bombay. He died at Dapoorie, Western India, July
9, 1838.

Sir Robert was a man of deep Christian feeling and a poetic mind. His
writings were not numerous, but their thoughtful beauty endeared him to
a wide circle of readers. In 1839 his brother, Lord Glenelg, published
twelve of his poetical pieces, and a new edition in 1868. The volume
contains the more or less well-known hymns--

    The starry firmament on high.

    Saviour, when in dust to Thee,

and--

    When gathering clouds around I view.

Sir Robert's death, when scarcely past his prime, would indicate a
decline by reason of illness, and perhaps other serious affliction, that
justified the poetic license in the submissive verses beginning--

    Thy mercy heard my infant prayer.

       *       *       *       *       *

    And now _in age_ and grief Thy name
    Does still my languid heart inflame,
      And bow my faltering knee.
    Oh, yet this bosom feels the fire,
    This trembling hand and drooping lyre
      Have yet a strain for Thee.


_THE TUNE._

Several musical pieces written to the hymn, "O, Worship the King," have
appeared in church psalm-books, and others have been borrowed for it,
but the one oftenest sung to its words is Haydn's "Lyons." Its vigor and
spirit best fit it for Grant's noble lyric.


"MAJESTIC SWEETNESS SITS ENTHRONED."

Rev. Samuel Stennett D.D., the author of this hymn, was the son of Rev.
Joseph Stennett, and grandson of Rev. Joseph Stennett D.D., who wrote--

    Another six days' work is done,
    Another Sabbath is begun.

All were Baptist ministers. Samuel was born in 1727, at Exeter, Eng.,
and at the age of twenty-one became his father's assistant, and
subsequently his successor over the church in Little Wild Street,
Lincoln's Inn Fields, London.

    Majestic sweetness sits enthroned
      Upon the Saviour's brow;
    His head with radiant glories crowned,
      His lips with grace o'erflow.

       *       *       *       *       *

    To Him I owe my life and breath
      And all the joys I have;
    He makes me triumph over death,
      He saves me from the grave.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Since from His bounty I receive
      Such proofs of love divine,
    Had I a thousand hearts to give,
      Lord, they should all be Thine.

Samuel Stennett was one of the most respected and influential ministers
of the Dissenting persuasion, and a confidant of many of the most
distinguished statesmen of his time. The celebrated John Howard was his
parishoner and intimate friend. His degree of Doctor of Divinity was
bestowed upon him by Aberdeen University. Besides his theological
writings he composed and published thirty-eight hymns, among them--

    On Jordan's stormy banks I stand,

    When two or three with sweet accord,

    Here at Thy table, Lord, we meet,

and--

    "'Tis finished," so the Saviour cried.

"Majestic Sweetness" began the third stanza of his longer hymn--

    To Christ the Lord let every tongue.

Dr. Stennett died in London, Aug. 24, 1795.


_THE TUNE._

For fifty or sixty years "Ortonville" has been linked with this devout
hymn, and still maintains its fitting fellowship. The tune, composed in
1830, was the work of Thomas Hastings, and is almost as well-known and
as often sung as his immortal "Toplady." (See chap. 3, "Rock of Ages.")


"ALL HAIL THE POWER OF JESUS' NAME."

This inspiring lyric of praise appears to have been written about the
middle of the eighteenth century. Its author, the Rev. Edward Perronet,
son of Rev. Vincent Perronet, Vicar of Shoreham, Eng., was a man of
great faith and humility but zealous in his convictions, sometimes to
his serious expense. He was born in 1721, and, though eighteen years
younger than Charles Wesley, the two became bosom friends, and it was
under the direction of the Wesleys that Perronet became a preacher in
the evangelical movement. Lady Huntingdon later became his patroness,
but some needless and imprudent expressions in a satirical poem, "The
Mitre," revealing his hostility to the union of church and state, cost
him her favor, and his contention against John Wesley's law that none
but the regular parish ministers had the right to administer the
sacraments, led to his complete separation from both the Wesleys. He
subsequently became the pastor of a small church of Dissenters in
Canterbury, where he died, in January, 1792. His piety uttered itself
when near his happy death, and his last words were a Gloria.

    All hail the power of Jesus' name!
      Let angels prostrate fall;
    Bring forth the royal diadem,
      To crown Him Lord of all.

    Ye seed of Israel's chosen race,
      Ye ransomed of the fall,
    Hail Him Who saves you by His grace,
      And crown Him Lord of all.

    Sinners, whose love can ne'er forget
      The wormwood and the gall,
    Go, spread your trophies at His feet,
      And crown Him Lord of all.

    Let every tribe and every tongue
      That bound creation's call,
    Now shout the universal song,
      The crowned Lord of all.

With two disused stanzas omitted, the hymn as it stands differs from the
original chiefly in the last stanza, though in the second the initial
line is now transposed to read--

    Ye chosen seed of Israel's race.

The fourth stanza now reads--

    Let every kindred, every tribe
      On this terrestrial ball
    To Him all majesty ascribe,
      And crown Him Lord of all.

And what is now the favorite last stanza is the one added by Dr.
Rippon--

    O that with yonder sacred throng
      We at His feet may fall,
    And join the everlasting song,
      And crown Him Lord of all.


_THE TUNE._

Everyone now calls it "Old Coronation," and it is entitled to the
adjective by this time, being considerably more than a hundred years
of age. It was composed in the very year of Perronet's death and one
wonders just how long the hymn and tune waited before they came
together; for Heaven evidently meant them to be wedded for all time.
This is an American opinion, and no reflection on the earlier English
melody of "Miles Lane," composed during Perronet's lifetime by William
Shrubsole and published with the words in 1780 in the _Gospel Magazine_.
There is also a fine processional tune sung in the English Church to
Perronet's hymn.

The author of "Coronation" was Oliver Holden, a self-taught musician,
born in Shirley, Mass., 1765, and bred to the carpenter's trade. The
little pipe organ on which tradition says he struck the first notes of
the famous tune is now in the Historical rooms of the Old State House,
Boston, placed there by its late owner, Mrs. Fanny Tyler, the old
musician's granddaughter. Its tones are as mellow as ever, and the times
that "Coronation" has been played upon it by admiring visitors would far
outnumber the notes of its score.

Holden wrote a number of other hymn-tunes, among which "Cowper,"
"Confidence," and "Concord" are remembered, but none of them had the
wings of "Coronation," his American "Te Deum." His first published
collection was entitled _The American Harmony_, and this was followed by
the _Union Harmony_, and the _Worcester Collection_. He also wrote and
published "Mt. Vernon," and several other patriotic anthems, mainly for
special occasions, to some of which he supplied the words. He was no
hymnist, though he did now and then venture into sacred metre. The new
_Methodist Hymnal_ preserves a simple four-stanza specimen of his
experiments in verse:

    They who seek the throne of grace
    Find that throne in every place:
    If we lead a life of prayer
    God is present everywhere.

Sacred music, however, was the good man's passion to the last. He died
in 1844.

"Such beautiful themes!" he whispered on his death bed, "Such beautiful
themes! But I can write no more."

The enthusiasm always and everywhere aroused by the singing of
"Coronation," dates from the time it first went abroad in America in
its new wedlock of music and words. "This tune," says an accompanying
note over the score in the old _Carmina Sacra_, "was a great favorite
with the late Dr. Dwight of Yale College (1798). It was often sung by
the college choir, while he, catching, as it were, the music of the
heavenly world, would join them, and lead with the most ardent
devotion."


"AWAKE AND SING THE SONG."

This hymn of six stanzas is abridged from a longer one indited by the
Rev. William Hammond, and published in _Lady Huntingdon's Hymn-book_. It
was much in use in early Methodist revivals. It appears now as it was
slightly altered by Rev. Martin Madan--

    Awake and sing the song
      Of Moses and the Lamb;
    Join every heart and every tongue
      To praise the Savior's name.

       *       *       *       *       *

The sixth verse is a variation of one of Watts' hymns, and was added in
the _Brethren's Hymn-book_, 1801--

    There shall each heart and tongue
      His endless praise proclaim,
    And sweeter voices join the song
      Of Moses and the Lamb.

The Rev. William Hammond was born Jan. 6, 1719, at Battle, Sussex, Eng.,
and educated at St. John's College, Cambridge. Early in his ministerial
life he was a Calvinistic Methodist, but ultimately joined the
Moravians. Died in London, Aug. 19, 1793. His collection of _Psalms and
Hymns and Spiritual Songs_ was published in 1745.

The Rev. Martin Madan, son of Col. Madan, was born 1726. He founded Lock
Hospital, Hyde Park, and long officiated as its chaplain. As a preacher
he was popular, and his reputation as a composer of music was
considerable. There is no proof that he wrote any original hymns, but he
amended, pieced and expanded the work of others. Died in 1770.


_THE TUNE._

The hymn has had a variety of musical interpretations. The more modern
piece is "St. Philip," by Edward John Hopkins, Doctor of Music, born at
Westminster, London, June 30, 1818. From a member of the Chapel Royal
boy choir he became organist of the Michtam Church, Surrey, and
afterwards of the Temple Church, London. Received his Doctor's degree
from the Archbishop of Canterbury in 1882.

[Illustration: Joseph Haydn]


"CROWN HIS HEAD WITH ENDLESS BLESSING."

The writer of this hymn was William Goode, who helped to found the
English Church Missionary Society, and was for twenty years the
Secretary of the "Society for the Relief of Poor Pious Clergymen." For
celebrating the praise of the Saviour, he seems to have been of like
spirit and genius with Perronet. He was born in Buckingham, Eng., April
2, 1762; studied for the ministry and became a curate, successor of
William Romaine. His spiritual maturity was early, and his habits of
thought were formed amid associations such as the young Wesleys and
Whitefield sought. Like them, even in his student days he proved his
aspiration for purer religious life by an evangelical zeal that cost him
the ridicule of many of his school-fellows, but the meetings for
conference and prayer which he organized among them were not unattended,
and were lasting and salutary in their effect.

Jesus was the theme of his life and song, and was his last word. He died
in 1816.

    Crown His head with endless blessing
      Who in God the Father's name
    With compassion never ceasing
      Comes salvation to proclaim.
    Hail, ye saints who know His favor,
      Who within His gates are found.
    Hail, ye saints, th' exalted Saviour,
      Let His courts with praise resound.


_THE TUNE._

"Haydn," bearing the name of its great composer, is in several important
hymnals the chosen music for William Goode's devout words. Its strain
and spirit are lofty and melodious and in entire accord with the pious
poet's praise.

Joseph Haydn, son of a poor wheelwright, was born 1732, in Rohron, a
village on the borders of Hungary and Austria. His precocity of musical
talent was such that he began composing at the age of ten years. Prince
Esterhazy discovered his genius when he was poor and friendless, and his
fortune was made. While Music Master for the Prince's Private Chapel
(twenty years) he wrote many of his beautiful symphonies which placed
him among the foremost in that class of music. Invited to England, he
received the Doctor's degree at Oxford, and composed his great oratorio
of "The Creation," besides his "Twelve Grand Symphonies," and a long
list of minor musical works secular and sacred. His invention was
inexhaustible.

Haydn seems to have been a sincerely pious man. When writing his great
oratorio of "The Creation" at sixty-seven years of age, "I knelt down
every day," he says, "and prayed God to strengthen me for my work." This
daily spiritual preparation was similar to Handel's when he was creating
his "Messiah." Change one word and it may be said of sacred music as
truly as of astronomy, "The undevout composer is mad."

Near Haydn's death, in Vienna, 1809, when he heard for the last time his
magnificent chorus, "Let there be Light!" he exclaimed, "Not mine, not
mine. It all came to me from above."


"NOW TO THE LORD A NOBLE SONG."

When Watts finished this hymn he had achieved a "noble song," whether he
was conscious of it or not; and it deserves a foremost place, where it
can help future worshippers in their praise as it has the past. It is
not so common in the later hymnals, but it is imperishable, and still
later collections will not forget it.

    Now to the Lord a noble song,
    Awake my soul, awake my tongue!
    Hosanna to the Eternal Name,
    And all His boundless love proclaim.

    See where it shines in Jesus' face,
    The brightest image of His grace!
    God in the person of His Son
    Has all His mightiest works outdone.

A rather finical question has occurred to some minds as to the theology
of the word "works" in the last line, making the second person in the
Godhead apparently a creature; and in a few hymn-books the previous line
has been made to read--

    God in the _Gospel_ of His Son.

But the question is a rhetorical one, and the poet's free
expression--here as in hundreds of other cases--has never disturbed the
general confidence in his orthodoxy.

Montgomery called Watts "the inventor of hymns in our language," and the
credit stands practically undisputed, for Watts made a hymn style that
no human master taught him, and his model has been the ideal one for
song worship ever since; and we can pardon the climax when Professor
Charles M. Stuart speaks of him as "writer, scholar, thinker and saint,"
for in addition to all the rest he was a very good man.


_THE TUNE._

Old "Ames" was for many years the choir favorite, and the words of the
hymn printed with it in the note-book made the association familiar. It
was, and _is_, an appropriate selection, though in later manuals George
Kingsley's "Ware" is evidently thought to be better suited to the
high-toned verse. Good old tunes never "wear out," but they do go out of
fashion.

The composer of "Ames," Sigismund Neukomm, Chevalier, was born in
Salzburg, Austria, July 10, 1778, and was a pupil of Haydn. Though not a
great genius, his talents procured him access and even intimacy in the
courts of Germany, France, Italy, Portugal and England, and for thirty
years he composed church anthems and oratorios with prodigious industry.
Neukomm's musical productions, numbering no less than one thousand, and
popular in their day, are, however, mostly forgotten, excepting his
oratorio of "David" and one or two hymn-tunes.

George Kingsley, author of "Ware," was born in Northampton, Mass., July
7, 1811. Died in the Hospital, in the same city, March 14, 1884. He
compiled eight books of music for young people and several manuals of
church psalmody, and was for some time a music teacher in Boston, where
he played the organ at the Hollis St. church. Subsequently he became
professor of music in Girard College, Philadelphia, and music instructor
in the public schools, being employed successively as organist (on
Lord's Day) at Dr. Albert Barnes' and Arch St. churches, and finally in
Brooklyn at Dr. Storrs' Church of the Pilgrims. Returned to Northampton,
1853.


"EARLY, MY GOD, WITHOUT DELAY."

This and the five following hymns, all by Watts, are placed in immediate
succession, for unity's sake--with a fuller notice of the greatest of
hymn-writers at the end of the series.

    Early, my God, without delay
      I haste to seek Thy face,
    My thirsty spirit faints away
      Without Thy cheering grace.

In the memories of very old men and women, who sang the fugue music of
Morgan's "Montgomery," still lingers the second stanza and some of the
"spirit and understanding" with which it used to be rendered in meeting
on Sunday mornings.

    So pilgrims on the scorching sand,
      Beneath a burning sky,
    Long for a cooling stream at hand
      And they must drink or die.


_THE TUNE._

Many of the earlier pieces assigned to this hymn were either too noisy
or too tame. The best and longest-serving is "Lanesboro," which, with
its expressive duet in the middle and its soaring final strain of
harmony, never fails to carry the meaning of the words. It was composed
by William Dixon, and arranged and adapted by Lowell Mason.

William Dixon, an English composer, was a music engraver and publisher,
and author also of several glees and anthems. He was born 1750, and died
about 1825.

Lowell Mason, born in Medfield, Mass., 1792, has been called, not
without reason, "the father of American choir singing." Returning from
Savannah, Ga., where he spent sixteen years of his younger life as clerk
in a bank, he located in Boston (1827), being already known there as the
composer of "The Missionary Hymn." He had not neglected his musical
studies while living in the South, and it was in Savannah that he made
the glorious harmony of that tune.

He became president of the Handel and Haydn Society, went abroad for
special study, was made Doctor of Music, and collected a store of themes
among the great models of song to bring home for his future work.

The Boston Academy of Music was founded by him and what he did for the
song-service of the Church in America by his singing schools, and
musical conventions, and published manuals, to form and organize the
choral branch of divine worship, has no parallel, unless it is Noah
Webster's service to the English language.

Dr. Mason died in Orange, N.J., in 1872.


"SWEET IS THE WORK, MY GOD, MY KING."

This is one of the hymns that helped to give its author the title of
"The Seraphic Watts."

    Sweet is the work, my God, my King
    To praise Thy name, give thanks and sing
    To show Thy love by morning light,
    And talk of all Thy truth at night.


_THE TUNE._

No nobler one, and more akin in spirit to the hymn, can be found than
"Duke Street," Hatton's imperishable choral.

Little is known of the John Hatton who wrote "Duke St." He was earlier
by nearly a century than John Liphot Hatton of Liverpool (born in 1809),
who wrote the opera of "Pascal Bruno," the cantata of "Robin Hood" and
the sacred drama of "Hezekiah." The biographical index of the
_Evangelical Hymnal_ says of John Hatton, the author of "Duke St.":
"John, of Warrington; afterwards of St. Helens, then resident in Duke
St. in the township of Windle; composed several hymn-tunes; died in
1793.[5] His funeral sermon was preached at the Presbyterian Chapel, St.
Helens, Dec. 13."

[Footnote 5: Tradition says he was killed by being thrown from a
stage-coach.]


"COME, WE THAT LOVE THE LORD."

Watts entitled this hymn "Heavenly Joy on Earth." He could possibly,
like Madame Guyon, have written such a hymn in a dungeon, but it is no
less spiritual for its birth (as tradition will have it) amid the lovely
scenery of Southampton where he could find in nature "glory begun
below."

    Come, we that love the Lord,
      And let our joys be known;
    Join in a song with sweet accord,
      And thus surround the throne.

    There shall we see His face,
      And never, never sin;
    There, from the rivers of His grace,
      Drink endless pleasures in.

    Children of grace have found
      Glory begun below:
    Celestial fruits on earthly ground
      From faith and hope may grow.

Mortality and immortality blend their charms in the next stanza. The
unfailing beauty of the vision will be dwelt upon with delight so long
as Christians sing on earth.

    The hill of Sion yields
      A thousand sacred sweets,
    Before we reach the heavenly fields,
      Or walk the golden streets.


_THE TUNE._

"St. Thomas" has often been the interpreter of the hymn, and still
clings to the words in the memory of thousands.

The Italian tune of "Ain" has more music. It is a fugue piece
(simplified in some tune-books), and the joyful traverse of its notes
along the staff in four-four time, with the momentum of a good choir, is
exhilarating in the extreme.

Corelli, the composer, was a master violinist, the greatest of his day,
and wrote a great deal of violin music; and the thought of his glad
instrument may have influenced his work when harmonizing the four voices
of "Ain."

Arcangelo Corelli was born at Fusignano, in 1653. He was a sensitive
artist, and although faultless in Italian music, he was not sure of
himself in playing French scores, and once while performing with Handel
(who resented the slightest error), and once again with Scarlatti,
leading an orchestra in Naples when the king was present, he made a
mortifying mistake. He took the humiliation so much to heart that he
brooded over it till he died, in Rome, Jan. 18, 1717.

For revival meetings the modern tune set to "Come we that love the
Lord," by Robert Lowry, should be mentioned. A shouting chorus is
appended to it, but it has melody and plenty of stimulating motion.

The Rev. Robert Lowry was born in Philadelphia, March 12, 1826, and
educated at Lewisburg, Pa. From his 28th year till his death, 1899, he
was a faithful and successful minister of Christ, but is more widely
known as a composer of sacred music.


"BE THOU EXALTED, O MY GOD."

In this hymn the thought of Watts touches the eternal summits. Taken
from the 57th and 108th Psalms--

    Be Thou exalted, O my God,
      Above the heavens where angels dwell;
    Thy power on earth be known abroad
      And land to land Thy wonders tell.

       *       *       *       *       *

    High o'er the earth His mercy reigns,
      And reaches to the utmost sky;
    His truth to endless years remains
      When lower worlds dissolve and die.


_THE TUNE._

Haydn furnished it out of his chorus of morning stars, and it was
christened "Creation," after the name of his great oratorio. It is a
march of trumpets.


"BEFORE JEHOVAH'S AWFUL THRONE."

No one could mistake the style of Watts in this sublime ode. He begins
with his foot on Sinai, but flies to Calvary with the angel preacher
whom St. John saw in his Patmos vision:

    Before Jehovah's awful throne
      Ye nations bow with sacred joy;
    Know that the Lord is God alone;
      He can create and He destroy.

    His sovereign power without our aid
      Made us of clay and formed us men,
    And when like wandering sheep we stray,
      He brought us to His fold again.

       *       *       *       *       *

    We'll crowd Thy gates with thankful songs,
      High as the heaven our voices raise,
    And earth with her ten thousand tongues
      Shall fill Thy courts with sounding praise.


_TUNE--OLD HUNDRED._

Martin Madan's four-page anthem, "Denmark," has some grand strains in
it, but it is a tune of florid and difficult vocalization, and is now
heard only in Old Folks' Concerts.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Rev. Isaac Watts, D.D., was born at Southampton, Eng., in 1674. His
father was a deacon of the Independent Church there, and though not an
uncultured man himself, he is said to have had little patience with the
incurable penchant of his boy for making rhymes and verses. We hear
nothing of the lad's mother, but we can fancy her hand and spirit in the
indulgence of his poetic tastes as well as in his religious training.
The tradition handed down from Dr. Price, a colleague of Watts, relates
that at the age of eighteen Isaac became so irritated at the crabbed and
untuneful hymns sung at the Nonconformist meetings that he complained
bitterly of them to his father. The deacon may have felt something as
Dr. Wayland did when a rather "fresh" student criticised the Proverbs,
and hinted that making such things could not be "much of a job," and the
Doctor remarked, "Suppose _you_ make a few." Possibly there was the same
gentle sarcasm in the reply of Deacon Watts to his son, "Make some
yourself, then."

Isaac was in just the mood to take his father at his word, and he
retired and wrote the hymn--

    Behold the glories of the Lamb.

There must have been a decent tune to carry it, for it pleased the
worshippers greatly, when it was sung in meeting--and that was the
beginning of Isaac Watts' career as a hymnist.

So far as scholarship was an advantage, the young writer must have been
well equipped already, for as early as the entering of his fifth year he
was learning Latin, and at nine learning Greek; at eleven, French; and
at thirteen, Hebrew. From the day of his first success he continued to
indite hymns for the home church, until by the end of his twenty-second
year he had written one hundred and ten, and in the two following years
a hundred and forty-four more, besides preparing himself for the
ministry. No. 7 in the edition of the first one hundred and ten, was
that royal jewel of all his lyric work--

    When I survey the wondrous cross.

Isaac Watts was ordained pastor of an Independent Church in Mark Lane,
London, 1702, but repeated illness finally broke up his ministry, and
he retired, an invalid, to the beautiful home of Sir Thomas Abney at
Theobaldo, invited, as he supposed, to spend a week, but it was really
to spend the rest of his life--thirty-six years.

Numbers of his hymns are cited as having biographical or reminiscent
color. The stanza in--

    When I can read my title clear,

--which reads in the original copy,--

    Should earth against my soul engage
    And _hellish darts be hurled_,
    Then I can smile at _Satan's rage_
    And face a frowning world,

--is said to have been an allusion to Voltaire and his attack upon the
church, while the calm beauty of the harbor within view of his home is
supposed to have been in his eye when he composed the last stanza,--

    There shall I bathe my weary soul
      In seas of heavenly rest,
    And not a wave of trouble roll
      Across my peaceful breast.

According to the record,--

    What shall the dying sinner do?

--was one of his "pulpit hymns," and followed a sermon preached from
Rom. 1:16. Another,--

    And is this life prolonged to you?

--after a sermon from 1 Cor. 3:22; and another,--

    How vast a treasure we possess,

--enforced his text, "All things are yours." The hymn,--

    Not all the blood of beasts
    On Jewish altars slain,

--was, as some say, suggested to the writer by a visit to the abattoir
in Smithfield Market. The same hymn years afterwards, discovered, we are
told, in a printed paper wrapped around a shop bundle, converted a
Jewess, and influenced her to a life of Christian faith and sacrifice.

A young man, hardened by austere and minatory sermons, was melted, says
Dr. Belcher, by simply reading,--

    Show pity Lord, O Lord, forgive,
    Let a repenting sinner live.

--and became partaker of a rich religious experience.

The summer scenery of Southampton, with its distant view of the Isle of
Wight, was believed to have inspired the hymnist sitting at a parlor
window and gazing across the river Itchen, to write the stanza--

    Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood
      Stand drest in living green;
    So to the Jews old Canaan stood
      While Jordan rolled between.

The hymn, "Unveil thy bosom, faithful tomb," was personal, addressed by
Watts "to Lucius on the death of Seneca."

A severe heart-trial was the occasion of another hymn. When a young man
he proposed marriage to Miss Elizabeth Singer, a much-admired young
lady, talented, beautiful, and good. She rejected him--kindly but
finally. The disappointment was bitter, and in the first shadow of it he
wrote,--

    How vain are all things here below,
    How false and yet how fair.

Miss Singer became the celebrated Mrs. Elizabeth Rowe, the spiritual and
poetic beauty of whose _Meditations_ once made a devotional text-book
for pious souls. Of Dr. Watts and his offer of his hand and heart, she
always said, "I loved the jewel, but I did not admire the casket." The
poet suitor was undersized, in habitually delicate health--and not
handsome.

But the good minister and scholar found noble employment to keep his
mind from preying upon itself and shortening his days. During his long
though afflicted leisure he versified the Psalms, wrote a treatise on
_Logic_, an _Introduction to the Study of Astronomy and Geography_, and
a work _On the Improvement of the Mind_; and died in 1748, at the age of
seventy-four.


"O FOR A THOUSAND TONGUES TO SING."

Charles Wesley, the author of this hymn, took up the harp of Watts when
the older poet laid it down. He was born at Epworth, Eng., in 1708, the
third son of Rev. Samuel Wesley, and died in London, March 29, 1788. The
hymn is believed to have been written May 17, 1739, for the anniversary
of his own conversion:

    O for a thousand tongues to sing
      My great Redeemer's praise,
    The glories of my God and King,
      And triumphs of His grace.

The remark of a fervent Christian friend, Peter Bohler, "Had I a
thousand tongues I would praise Christ Jesus with them all," struck an
answering chord in Wesley's heart, and he embalmed the wish in his
fluent verse. The third stanza (printed as second in some hymnals), has
made language for pardoned souls for at least four generations:

    Jesus! the name that calms our fears
      And bids our sorrows cease;
   'Tis music in the sinner's ears,
     'Tis life and health and peace.

Charles Wesley was the poet of the soul, and knew every mood. In the
words of Isaac Taylor, "There is no main article of belief ... no moral
sentiment peculiarly characteristic of the gospel that does not find
itself ... pointedly and clearly conveyed in some stanza of Charles
Wesley's poetry." And it does not dim the lustre of Watts, considering
the marvellous brightness, versatility and felicity of his greatest
successor, to say of the latter, with the _London Quarterly_, that he
"was, perhaps, the most gifted minstrel of the modern Church."

[Illustration: Charles Wesley]

Most of the hymns of this good man were hymns of experience--and this is
why they are so dear to the Christian heart. The music of eternal life
is in them. The happy glow of a single line in one of them--

    Love Divine, all loves excelling,

--thrills through them all. He led a spotless life from youth to old
age, and grew unceasingly in spiritual knowledge and sweetness. His
piety and purity were the weapons that alike humbled his scoffing fellow
scholars at Oxford, and conquered the wild colliers of Kingwood. With
his brother John, through persecution and ridicule, he preached and sang
that Divine Love to his countrymen and in the wilds of America, and on
their return to England his quenchless melodies multiplied till they
made an Evangelical literature around his name. His hymns--he wrote no
less than six thousand--are a liturgy not only for the Methodist Church
but for English-speaking Christendom.

The voices of Wesley and Watts cannot be hidden, whatever province of
Christian life and service is traversed in themes of song, and in these
chapters they will be heard again and again.

A Watts-and-Wesley Scholarship would grace any Theological Seminary, to
encourage the study and discussion of the best lyrics of the two great
Gospel bards.


_THE TUNES._

The musical mouth-piece of "O for a thousand tongues," nearest to its
own date, is old "Azmon" by Carl Glaser (1734-1829), appearing as No. 1
in the _New Methodist Hymnal_. Arranged by Lowell Mason, 1830, it is
still comparatively familiar, and the flavor of devotion is in its tone
and style.

Henry John Gauntlett, an English lawyer and composer, wrote a tune for
it in 1872, noble in its uniform step and time, but scarcely uttering
the hymnist's characteristic ardor.

The tune of "Dedham," by William Gardiner, now venerable but surviving
by true merit, is not unlike "Azmon" in movement and character. Though
less closely associated with the hymn, as a companion melody it is not
inappropriate. But whatever the range of vocalization or the dignity of
swells and cadences, a slow pace of single semibreves or quarters is not
suited to Wesley's hymns. They are flights.

Professor William Gardiner wrote many works on musical subjects early in
the last century, and composed vocal harmonies, secular and sacred. He
was born in Leicester, Eng., March 5, 1770, and died there Nov. 16,
1853.

There is an old-fashioned unction and vigor in the style of
"Peterborough" by Rev. Ralph Harrison (1748-1810) that after all best
satisfies the singer who enters heart and soul into the spirit of the
hymn. _Old Peterborough_ was composed in 1786.


"LORD WITH GLOWING HEART I'D PRAISE THEE."

This was written in 1817 by the author of the "Star Spangled Banner,"
and is a noble American hymn of which the country may well be proud,
both because of its merit and for its birth in the heart of a national
poet who was no less a Christian than a patriot.

Francis Scott Key, lawyer, was born on the estate of his father, John
Ross Key, in Frederick, Md., Aug. 1st, 1779; and died in Baltimore, Jan.
11, 1843. A bronze statue of him over his grave, and another in Golden
Gate Park, San Francisco, represent the nationality of his fame and the
gratitude of a whole land.

Though a slaveholder by inheritance, Mr. Key deplored the existence of
human slavery, and not only originated a scheme of African colonization,
but did all that a model master could do for the chattels on his
plantation, in compliance with the Scripture command,[6] to lighten
their burdens. He helped them in their family troubles, defended them
gratuitously in the courts, and held regular Sunday-school services for
them.

[Footnote 6: Eph. 6:9, Coloss. 4:1.]

Educated at St. John's College, an active member of the Episcopal
Church, he was not only a scholar but a devout and exemplary man.

    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 Lord, my weak endeavor;
      This dull soul to rapture raise;
    Thou must light the flame or never
      Can my love be warmed to praise.

    Lord, this bosom's ardent feeling
      Vainly would my life 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.


_THE TUNE._

"St. Chad," a choral in D, with a four-bar unison, in the _Evangelical
Hymnal_, is worthy of the hymn. Richard Redhead, the composer, organist
of the Church of St. Mary Magdalene, Paddington, Eng., was born at
Harrow, Middlesex, March 1, 1820, and educated at Magdalene College,
Oxford. Graduated Bachelor of Music at Oxford, 1871. He published
_Laudes Dominae_, a Gregorian Psalter, 1843, a Book of Tunes for the
_Christian Year_, and is the author of much ritual music.


"HOLY, HOLY, HOLY, LORD GOD ALMIGHTY."

There is nothing so majestic in Protestant hymnology as this Tersanctus
of Bishop Heber.

The Rt. Rev. Reginald Heber, son of a clergyman of the same name, was
born in Malpas, Cheshire, Eng., April 21st, 1783, and educated at
Oxford. He served the church in Hodnet, Shropshire, for about twenty
years, and was then appointed Bishop of Calcutta, E.I. His labors there
were cut short in the prime of his life, his death occurring in 1826, at
Trichinopoly on the 3d of April, his natal month.

His hymns, numbering fifty-seven, were collected by his widow, and
published with his poetical works in 1842.

    Holy! holy! holy! Lord God Almighty!
      Early in the morning our song shall rise to Thee.
    Holy! holy! holy! merciful and mighty,
      God in Three Persons, blessed Trinity.

    Holy! holy! holy! all the saints adore Thee,
      Casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea;
    Cherubim and seraphim, falling down before Thee,
      Which wert, and art, and evermore shall be.


_THE TUNE._

Grand as the hymn is, it did not come to its full grandeur of sentiment
and sound in song-worship till the remarkable music of Dr. John B. Dykes
was joined to it. None was ever written that in performance illustrates
more admirably the solemn beauty of congregational praise. The name
"Nicaea" attached to the tune means nothing to the popular ear and mind,
and it is known everywhere by the initial words of the first line.

Rev. John Bacchus Dykes, Doctor of Music, was born at
Kingston-upon-Hull, in 1823; and graduated at Cambridge, in 1847. He
became a master of tone and choral harmony, and did much to reform and
elevate congregational psalmody in England. He was perhaps the first to
demonstrate that hymn-tune making can be reduced to a science without
impairing its spiritual purpose. Died Jan. 22, 1876.


"LORD OF ALL BEING, THRONED AFAR."

This noble hymn was composed by Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, born in
Cambridge, Mass., 1809, and graduated at Harvard University. A physician
by profession, he was known as a practitioner chiefly in literature,
being a brilliant writer and long the leading poetical wit of America.
He was, however, a man of deep religious feeling, and a devout attendant
at King's Chapel, Unitarian, in Boston where he spent his life. He held
the Harvard Professorship of Anatomy and Physiology more than fifty
years, but his enduring work is in his poems, and his charming volume,
_The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table_. Died Jan. 22, 1896.


_THE TUNE._

Holmes' hymn is sung in some churches to "Louvan," V.C. Taylor's
admirable praise tune. Other hymnals prefer with it the music of
"Keble," one of Dr. Dykes' appropriate and finished melodies.

Virgil Corydon Taylor, an American vocal composer, was born in
Barkhamstead, Conn., April 2, 1817, died 1891.




CHAPTER II.

SOME HYMNS OF GREAT WITNESSES.


JOHN OF DAMASCUS.

[Greek: Erchesthe, o pistoi,
        Anastaseos Hemera.]

John of Damascus, called also St. John of Jerusalem, a theologian and
poet, was the last but one of the Christian Fathers of the Greek Church.
This eminent man was named by the Arabs "Ibn Mansur," Son (Servant?) of
a Conqueror, either in honor of his father Sergius or because it was a
Semitic translation of his family title. He was born in Damascus early
in the 8th century, and seems to have been in favor with the Caliph, and
served under him many years in some important civil capacity, until,
retiring to Palestine, he entered the monastic order, and late in life
was ordained a priest of the Jerusalem Church. He died in the Convent of
St. Sabas near that city about A.D. 780.

His lifetime appears to have been passed in comparative peace. Mohammed
having died before completing the conquest of Syria, the Moslem rule
before whose advance Oriental Christianity was to lose its first field
of triumph had not yet asserted its persecuting power in the north. This
devout monk, in his meditations at St. Sabas, dwelt much upon the birth
and the resurrection of Christ, and made hymns to celebrate them. It was
probably four hundred years before Bonaventura (?) wrote the Christmas
"Adeste Fideles" of the Latin West that John of Damascus composed his
Greek "Adeste Fideles" for a Resurrection song in Jerusalem.

    Come ye faithful, raise the strain
      Of triumphant gladness.

       *       *       *       *       *

   'Tis the spring of souls today
      Christ hath burst His prison;
    From the frost and gloom of death
      Light and life have risen.

The nobler of the two hymns preserved to us, (or six stanzas of it)
through eleven centuries is entitled "The Day of Resurrection."

    The day of resurrection,
      Earth, tell its joys abroad:
    The Passover of gladness,
      The Passover of God.
    From death to life eternal,
      From earth unto the sky,
    Our Christ hath brought us over,
      With hymns of victory.

    Our hearts be pure from evil,
      That we may see aright
    The Lord in rays eternal
      Of resurrection light;
    And, listening to His accents,
      May hear, so calm and plain,
    His own, "All hail!" and hearing,
      May raise the victor-strain.

    Now let the heavens be joyful,
      Let earth her song begin,
    Let all the world keep triumph,
      All that dwell therein.
    In grateful exultation,
      Their notes let all things blend,
    For Christ the Lord is risen,
      O joy that hath no end!

Both these hymns of John of Damascus were translated by John Mason
Neale.


_THE TUNE._

"The Day of Resurrection" is sung in the modern hymnals to the tune of
"Rotterdam," composed by Berthold of Tours, born in that city of the
Netherlands, Dec. 17, 1838. He was educated at the conservatory in
Leipsic, and later made London his permanent residence, writing both
vocal and instrumental music. Died 1897. "Rotterdam" is a stately,
sonorous piece and conveys the flavor of the ancient hymn.

"Come ye faithful" has for its modern interpreter Sir Arthur Sullivan,
the celebrated composer of both secular and sacred works, but best
known in hymnody as author of the great Christian march, "Onward
Christian Soldiers."

Hymns are known to have been written by the earlier Greek Fathers,
Ephrem Syrus of Mesopotamia (A.D. 307-373), Basil the Great, Bishop of
Cappadocia (A.D. 329-379) Gregory Nazianzen, Bishop of Constantinople
(A.D. 335-390) and others, but their fragments of song which have come
down to us scarcely rank them among the great witnesses--with the
possible exception of the last name. An English scholar, Rev. Allen W.
Chatfield, has translated the hymns extant of Gregory Nazianzen. The
following stanzas give an idea of their quality. The lines are from an
address to the Deity:

    How, Unapproached! shall mind of man
      Descry Thy dazzling throne,
    And pierce and find Thee out, and scan
      Where Thou dost dwell alone?

    Unuttered Thou! all uttered things
      Have had their birth from Thee;
    The One Unknown, from Thee the spring
      Of all we know and see.

    And lo! all things abide in Thee
      And through the complex whole,
    Thou spreadst Thine own divinity,
      Thyself of all the Goal.

This is reverent, but rather philosophical than evangelical, and reminds
us of the Hymn of Aratus, more than two centuries before Christ was
born.


ST. STEPHEN, THE SABAITE.

This pious Greek monk, (734-794,) nephew of St. John of Damascus, spent
his life, from the age of ten, in the monastery of St. Sabas. His sweet
hymn, known in Neale's translation,--

    Art thou weary, art thou languid,
      Art thou sore distrest?
    Come to Me, saith One, and coming
             Be at rest,

--is still in the hymnals, with the tunes of Dykes, and Sir Henry W.
Baker (1821-1877), Vicar of Monkland, Herefordshire.


KING ROBERT II.

_Veni, Sancte Spiritus._

Robert the Second, surnamed "Robert the Sage" and "Robert the Devout,"
succeeded Hugh Capet, his father, upon the throne of France, about the
year 997. He has been called the gentlest monarch that ever sat upon a
throne, and his amiability of character poorly prepared him to cope with
his dangerous and wily adversaries. His last years were embittered by
the opposition of his own sons, and the political agitations of the
times. He died at Melun in 1031, and was buried at St. Denis.

Robert possessed a reflective mind, and was fond of learning and musical
art. He was both a poet and a musician. He was deeply religious, and,
from unselfish motives, was much devoted to the church.

Robert's hymn, "Veni, Sancte Spiritus," is given below. He himself was a
chorister; and there was no kingly service that he seemed to love so
well. We are told that it was his custom to go to the church of St.
Denis, and in his royal robes, with his crown upon his head, to direct
the choir at matins and vespers, and join in the singing. Few kings have
left a better legacy to the Christian church than his own hymn, which,
after nearly a thousand years, is still an influence in the world:

    Come, Thou Holy Spirit, come,
    And from Thine eternal home
      Shed the ray of light divine;
    Come, Thou Father of the poor,
    Come, Thou Source of all our store,
      Come, within our bosoms shine.

    Thou of Comforters the best,
    Thou the soul's most welcome Guest,
      Sweet Refreshment here below!
    In our labor Rest most sweet,
    Grateful Shadow from the heat,
      Solace in the midst of woe!

    Oh, most blessed Light Divine,
    Shine within these hearts of Thine,
      And our inmost being fill;
    If Thou take Thy grace away,
    Nothing pure in man will stay,
      All our good is turned to ill.

    Heal our wounds; our strength renew
    On our dryness pour Thy dew;
      Wash the stains of guilt away!
    Bend the stubborn heart and will,
    Melt the frozen, warm the chill,
      Guide the steps that go astray.

                            _Neale's Translation_.


_THE TUNE._

The metre and six-line stanza, being uniform with those of "Rock of
Ages," have tempted some to borrow "Toplady" for this ancient hymn, but
Hastings' tune would refuse to sing other words; and, besides, the
alternate rhymes would mar the euphony. Not unsuitable in spirit are
several existing tunes of the right measure--like "Nassau" or "St.
Athanasius"--but in truth the "Veni, Sancte Spiritus" in English waits
for its perfect setting. Dr. Ray Palmer's paraphrase of it in
sixes-and-fours, to fit "Olivet,"--

    Come, Holy Ghost in love, etc.

--is objectionable both because the word Ghost is an archaism in
Christian worship and more especially because Dr. Palmer's altered
version usurps the place of his own hymn. "Olivet" with "My faith looks
up to Thee" makes as inviolable a case of psalmodic monogamy as
"Toplady" with "Rock of Ages."


ST. FULBERT.

"_Chori Cantores Hierusalem Novae._"

St. Fulbert's hymn is a worthy companion of Perronet's "Coronation"--if,
indeed, it was not its original prompter--as King Robert's great litany
was the mother song of Watts' "Come, Holy Spirit, heavenly Dove;" and
the countless other sacred lyrics beginning with similar words. As the
translation stands in the Church of England, there are six stanzas now
sung, though in America but four appear, and not in the same sequence.
The first four of the six in their regular succession are as follows:

    Ye choirs of New Jerusalem,
      Your sweetest notes employ,
    The Paschal victory to hymn
      In strains of holy joy.

    For Judah's Lion bursts His chains,
      Crushing the serpent's head;
    And cries aloud, through death's domains
      To wake the imprisoned dead.

    Devouring depths of hell their prey
      At His command restore;
    His ransomed hosts pursue their way
      Where Jesus goes before.

    Triumphant in His glory now,
      To Him all power is given;
    To Him in one communion bow
      All saints in earth and heaven.

Bishop Fulbert, known in the Roman and in the Protestant ritualistic
churches as St. Fulbert of Chartres, was a man of brilliant and
versatile mind, and one of the most eminent prelates of his time. He was
a contemporary of Robert II, and his intimate friend, continuing so
after the Pope (Gregory V.) excommunicated the king for marrying a
cousin, which was forbidden by the canons of the church.

Fulbert was for some time head of the Theological College at Chartres, a
cathedral town of France, anciently the capital of Celtic Gaul, and
afterwards he was consecrated as Bishop of that diocese. He died about
1029.


_THE TUNE._

The modern tone-interpreter of Fulbert's hymn bears the name "La Spezia"
in some collections, and was composed by James Taylor about the time the
hymn was translated into English by Robert Campbell. Research might
discover the ancient tune--for the hymn is said to have been sung in the
English church during Fulbert's lifetime--but the older was little
likely to be the better music. "La Spezia" is a choral of enlivening but
easy chords, and a tread of triumph in its musical motion that suits the
march of "Judah's Lion":

    His ransomed hosts pursue their way
      Where Jesus goes before.

James Taylor, born 1833, is a Doctor of Music, organist of the
University of Oxford and Director of the Oxford Philharmonic Society.

Robert Campbell, the translator, was a Scotch lawyer, born in Edinburgh,
who besides his work as an advocate wrote original hymns, and in other
ways exercised a natural literary gift. He compiled the excellent
Hymnal of the diocese of St. Andrews, and this was his best work. The
date of his death is given as Dec. 29, 1868.


THOMAS OF CELANO.

        Dies irae! dies illa,
        Solvet saeclum in favilla,
        Teste David cum Sybilla.

    Day of wrath! that day of burning,
    All the world to ashes turning,
    Sung by prophets far discerning.

Latin ecclesiastical poetry reached its high water mark in that awful
hymn. The solitaire of its sphere and time in the novelty of its
rhythmic triplets, it stood a wonder to the church and hierarchy
accustomed to the slow spondees of the ancient chant. There could be
such a thing as a trochaic hymn!--and majestic, too!

It was a discovery that did not stale. The compelling grandeur of the
poem placed it distinct and alone, and the very difficulty of staffing
it for vocal and instrumental use gave it a zest, and helped to keep it
unique through the ages.

Latin hymnody and hymnography, appealing to the popular ear and heart,
had gradually substituted accent for quantity in verse; for the common
people could never be moved by a Christian song in the prosody of the
classics. The religion of the cross, with the song-preaching of its
propagandists, created medieval Latin and made it a secondary
classic--mother of four anthem languages of Western and Southern Europe.
Its golden age was the 12th and 13th centuries. The new and more
flexible school of speech and music in hymn and tune had perfected
rhythmic beauty and brought in the winsome assonance of rhyme.

[Illustration: Dr. Martin Luther]

The "Dies Irae" was born, it is believed, about the year 1255. Its
authorship has been debated, but competent testimony assures us that the
original draft of the great poem was found in a box among the effects of
Thomas di Celano after his death. Thomas--surnamed Thomas of Celano from
his birthplace, the town of Celano in the province of Aquila, Southern
Italy--was the pupil, friend and co-laborer of St. Francis of Assisi,
and wrote his memoirs. He is supposed to have died near the end of the
13th century. That he wrote the sublime judgment song there is now
practically no question.

The label on the discovered manuscript would suggest that the writer did
not consider it either a hymn or a poem. Like the inspired prophets he
had meditated--and while he was musing the fire burned. The only title
he wrote over it was "_Prosa de mortuis_," Prosa (or prosa oratio)--from
_prorsus_, "straight forward"--appears here in the truly conventional
sense it was beginning to bear, but not yet as the antipode of "poetry."
The modest author, unconscious of the magnitude of his work, called it
simply "Plain speech concerning the dead."[7]

[Footnote 7: "Proses" were original passages introduced into
ecclesiastical chants in the 10th century. During and after the 11th
century they were called "Sequences" (i.e. _following_ the "Gospel" in
the liturgy), and were in metrical form, having a prayerful tone.
"Sequentia pro defunctis" was the later title of the "Dies Irae."]

The hymn is much too long to quote entire, but can be found in _Daniel's
Thesaurus_ in any large public library. As to the translations of it,
they number hundreds--in English and German alone, and Italy, Spain and
Portugal have their vernacular versions--not to mention the Greek and
Russian and even the Hebrew. A few stanzas follow, with their renderings
into English (always imperfect) selected almost at random:

        Quantus tremor est futurus
        Quando Judex est venturus,
        Cuncta stricte discussurus!

        Tuba mirum spargens sonum
        Per sepulcra regionum,
        Coget omnes ante thronum!

    O the dread, the contrite kneeling
    When the Lord, in Judgment dealing,
    Comes each hidden thing revealing!

    When the trumpet's awful tone
    Through the realms sepulchral blown,
    Summons all before the Throne!

The solemn strength and vibration of these tremendous trilineals suffers
no general injury by the variant readings--and there are a good many. As
a sample, the first stanza was changed by some canonical redactor to get
rid of the heathen word Sybilla, and the second line was made the
third:

        Dies Irae, dies illa
        Crucis expandens vexilla,
        Solvet saeclum in favilla.

    Day of wrath! that day foretold,
    With the cross-flag wide unrolled,
    Shall the world in fire enfold!

In some readings the original "in favilla" is changed to "_cum_
favilla," "_with_ ashes" instead of "in ashes"; and "Teste Petro" is
substituted for "Teste David."


_THE TUNE._

The varieties of music set to the "Hymn of Judgment" in the different
sections and languages of Christendom during seven hundred years are
probably as numerous as the pictures of the Holy Family in Christian
art. It is enough to say that one of the best at hand, or, at least,
accessible, is the solemn minor melody of Dr. Dykes in William Henry
Monk's _Hymns Ancient and Modern_. It was composed about the middle of
the last century. Both the _Evangelical_ and _Methodist Hymnals_ have
Dean Stanley's translation of the hymn, the former with thirteen stanzas
(six-line) to a D minor of John Stainer, and the latter to a C major of
Timothy Matthews. The _Plymouth Hymnal_ has seventeen of the trilineal
stanzas, by an unknown translator, to Ferdinand Hiller's tune in F
minor, besides one verse to another F minor--hymn and tune both
nameless.

All the composers above named are musicians of fame. John Stainer,
organist of St. Paul's Cathedral, was a Doctor of Music and Chevalier of
the Legion of Honor, and celebrated for his works in sacred music, to
which he mainly devoted his time. He was born June 6, 1840. He died
March 31, 1901.

Rev. Timothy Richard Matthews, born at Colmworth, Eng., Nov. 20, 1826,
is a clergyman of the Church of England, incumbent of a Lancaster charge
to which he was appointed by Queen Alexandra.

Ferdinand Hiller, born 1811 at Frankfort-on-the-Main, of Hebrew
parentage, was one of Germany's most eminent musicians. For many years
he was Chapel Master at Cologne, and organized the Cologne Conservatory.
His compositions are mostly for instrumental performance, but he wrote
cantatas, motets, male choruses, and two oratorios, one on the
"Destruction of Jerusalem." Died May 10, 1855.

The Very Rev. Arthur Penrhyn Stanley, Dean of Westminster, was an author
and scholar whom all sects of Christians delighted to honor. His
writings on the New Testament and his published researches in Palestine,
made him an authority in Biblical study, and his contributions to sacred
literature were looked for and welcomed as eagerly as a new hymn by
Bonar or a new poem by Tennyson. Dean Stanley was born in 1815, and died
July 18th, 1881.


THOMAS A KEMPIS.

Thomas a Kempis, sub-prior of the Convent of St. Agnes, was born at
Hamerkin, Holland, about the year 1380, and died at Zwoll, 1471. This
pious monk belonged to an order called the "Brethren of the Common Life"
founded by Gerard de Groote, and his fame rests entirely upon his one
book, the _Imitation of Christ_, which continues to be printed as a
religious classic, and is unsurpassed as a manual of private devotion.
His monastic life--as was true generally of the monastic life of the
middle ages--was not one of useless idleness. The Brethren taught school
and did mechanical work. Besides, before the invention of printing had
been perfected and brought into common service, the multiplication of
books was principally the work of monkish pens. Kempis spent his days
copying the Bible and good books--as well as in exercises of devotion
that promoted religious calm.

His idea of heaven, and the idea of his order, was expressed in that
clause of John's description of the City of God, Rev. 22:3, "_and His
servants shall serve Him_." Above all other heavenly joys that was his
favorite thought. We can well understand that the pious quietude wrought
in his mind and manners by his habit of life made him a saint in the
eyes of the people. The frontispiece of one edition of his _Imitatio
Christi_ pictures him as being addressed before the door of a convent
by a troubled pilgrim,--

    "O where is peace?--for thou its paths hast trod,"

--and his answer completes the couplet,--

    "In poverty, retirement, and with God."

Of all that is best in inward spiritual life, much can be learned from
this inspired Dutchman. He wrote no hymns, but in his old age he
composed a poem on "Heaven's Joys," which is sometimes called "Thomas a
Kempis' Hymn":

    High the angel choirs are raising
      Heart and voice in harmony;
    The Creator King still praising
      Whom in beauty there they see.

    Sweetest strains from soft harps stealing,
    Trumpets' notes of triumph pealing,
    Radiant wings and white stoles gleaming
    Up the steps of glory streaming;
    Where the heavenly bells are ringing;
   "Holy! holy! holy!" singing
      To the mighty Trinity!
   "Holy! holy! holy!" crying,
    For all earthly care and sighing
      In that city cease to be!

These lines are not in the hymnals of today--and whether they ever found
their way into choral use in ancient times we are not told. Worse poetry
has been sung--and more un-hymnlike. Some future composer will make a
tune to the words of a Christian who stood almost in sight of his
hundredth year--and of the eternal home he writes about.


MARTIN LUTHER.

"_Ein Feste Burg Ist Unser Gott._"

Of Martin Luther Coleridge said, "He did as much for the Reformation by
his hymns as he did by his translation of the Bible." The remark is so
true that it has become a commonplace.

The above line--which may be seen inscribed on Luther's tomb at
Wittenberg--is the opening sentence and key-note of the Reformer's
grandest hymn. The forty-sixth Psalm inspired it, and it is in harmony
with sublime historical periods from its very nature, boldness, and
sublimity. It was written, according to Welles, in the memorable year
when the evangelical princes delivered their protest at the Diet of
Spires, from which the word and the meaning of the word "Protestant" is
derived. "Luther used often to sing it in 1530, while the Diet of
Augsburg was sitting. It soon became the favorite psalm with the people.
It was one of the watchwords of the Reformation, cheering armies to
conflict, and sustaining believers in the hours of fiery trial."

"After Luther's death, Melancthon, his affectionate coadjutor, being one
day at Weimar with his banished friends, Jonas and Creuziger, heard a
little maid singing this psalm in the street, and said, 'Sing on, my
little girl, you little know whom you comfort:'"

    A mighty fortress is our God,
      A bulwark never failing;
    Our helper He, amid the flood
      Of mortal ills prevailing.
    For still our ancient foe
    Doth seek to work us woe;
    His craft and power are great,
    And, armed with cruel hate,
      On earth is not his equal.

       *       *       *       *       *

    The Prince of Darkness grim--
    We tremble not for him:
    His rage we can endure,
    For lo! his doom is sure,
      One little word shall fell him.

    That word above all earthly powers--
      No thanks to them--abideth;
    The Spirit and the gifts are ours,
      Through Him who with us sideth.
    Let goods and kindred go,
    This mortal life also;
    The body they may kill,
    God's truth abideth still,
      His kingdom is for ever.

Martin Luther was born in Eisleben, in Saxony, Nov. 10, 1483. He was
educated at the University of Erfurth, and became an Augustinian monk
and Professor of Philosophy and Divinity in the University of
Wittenberg. In 1517 he composed and placarded his ninety-five Theses
condemning certain practices of the Romish Church and three years later
the Pope published a bull excommunicating him, which he burnt openly
before a sympathetic multitude in Wittenberg. His life was a stormy one,
and he was more than once in mortal danger by reason of his antagonism
to the papal authority, but he found powerful patrons, and lived to see
the Reformation an organized fact. He died in his birthplace, Eisleben,
Feb. 18th, 1546.

The translation of the "Ein feste burg," given above, in part, is by
Rev. Frederick Henry Hedge, D.D., born in Cambridge, March 1805, a
graduate of Harvard, and formerly minister of the Unitarian Church in
Bangor, Me. Died, 1890.

Luther wrote thirty-six hymns, to some of which he fitted his own music,
for he was a musician and singer as well as an eloquent preacher. The
tune in which "Ein feste Burg" is sung in the hymnals, was composed by
himself. The hymn has also a noble rendering in the music of Sebastian
Bach, 8-4 time, found in _Hymns Ancient and Modern_.


BARTHOLOMEW RINGWALDT.

"Great God, What Do I See and Hear?"

The history of this hymn is somewhat indefinite, though common consent
now attributes to Ringwaldt the stanza beginning with the above line.
The imitation of the "Dies Irae" in German which was first in use was
printed in Jacob Klug's "_Gesangbuch_" in 1535. Ringwaldt's hymn of the
Last Day, also inspired from the ancient Latin original, appears in his
_Handbuchlin_ of 1586, but does not contain this stanza. The first line
is, "The awful Day will surely come," (Es ist gewisslich an der Zeit).
Nevertheless through the more than two hundred years that the hymn has
been translated and re-translated, and gone through inevitable
revisions, some vital identity in the spirit and tone of the one
seven-line stanza has steadily connected it with Ringwaldt's name.
Apparently it is the single survivor of a great lost hymn--edited and
altered out of recognition. But its power evidently inspired the added
verses, as we have them. Dr. Collyer found it, and, regretting that it
was too short to sing in public service, composed stanzas 2d, 3d and
4th. It is likely that Collyer first met with it in _Psalms and Hymns
for Public and Private Devotion_, Sheffield 1802, where it appeared
anonymously. So far as known this was its first publication in English.
Ringwaldt's stanza and two of Collyer's are here given:

    Great God, what do I see and hear!
      The end of things created!
    The Judge of mankind doth appear
      On clouds of glory seated.
    The trumpet sounds, the graves restore
    The dead which they contained before;
      Prepare, my soul, to meet Him.

    The dead in Christ shall first arise
      At the last trumpet sounding,
    Caught up to meet Him in the skies,
      With joy their Lord surrounding.
    No gloomy fears their souls dismay
    His presence sheds eternal day
      On those prepared to meet Him.

    Far over space to distant spheres
      The lightnings are prevailing
    Th' ungodly rise, and all their tears
      And sighs are unavailing.
    The day of grace is past and gone;
    They shake before the Judge's Throne
      All unprepared to meet Him.

Bartholomew Ringwaldt, pastor of the Lutheran Church of Longfeld,
Prussia, was born in 1531, and died in 1599. His hymns appear in a
collection entitled _Hymns for the Sundays and Festivals of the Whole
Year_.

Rev. William Bengo Collyer D.D., was born at Blackheath near London,
April 14, 1782, educated at Homerton College and settled over a
Congregational Church in Peckham. In 1812 he published a book of hymns,
and in 1837 a _Service Book_ to which he contributed eighty-nine hymns.
He died Jan, 9, 1854.


_THE TUNE._

Probably it was the customary singing of Ringwaldt's hymn (in Germany)
to Luther's tune that gave it for some time the designation of "Luther's
Hymn," the title by which the music is still known--an air either
composed or adapted by Luther, and rendered perhaps unisonously or with
extempore chords. It was not until early in the last century that
Vincent Novello wrote to it the noble arrangement now in use. It is a
strong, even-time harmony with lofty tenor range, and very impressive
with full choir and organ or the vocal volume of a congregation. In
_Cheetham's Psalmody_ is it written with a trumpet obligato.

Vincent Novello, born in London, Sept. 6, 1781, the intimate friend of
Lamb, Shelley, Keats, Hunt and Hazlitt, was a professor of music who
attained great eminence as an organist and composer of hymn-tunes and
sacred pieces. He was the founder of the publishing house of Novello and
Ewer, and father of a famous musical family. Died at Nice, Aug. 9, 1861.


ST. FRANCIS XAVIER.

"_O Deus, Ego Amo Te._"

Francis Xavier, the celebrated Jesuit missionary, called "The Apostle of
the Indies," was a Spaniard, born in 1506. While a student in Paris he
met Ignatius Loyola, and joined him in the formation of the new "Society
for the Propagation of the Faith." He was sent out on a mission to the
East Indies and Japan, and gave himself to the work with a martyr's
devotion. The stations he established in Japan were maintained more than
a hundred years. He died in China, Dec. 1552.

His hymn, some time out of use, is being revived in later singing-books
as expressive of the purest and highest Christian sentiment:

        O Deus, ego amo Te.
        Nec amo Te, ut salves me,
        Aut quia non amantes Te
        AEterno punis igne.

    My God, I love Thee--not because
      I hope for heaven thereby;
    Nor yet because who love Thee not
      Must burn eternally.

After recounting Christ's vicarious sufferings as the chief claim to His
disciples' unselfish love, the hymn continues,--

        Cur igitur non amem Te,
        O Jesu amantissime!
        Non, ut in coelo salves me,
        Aut in aeternum damnes me.

    Then why, O blessed Jesus Christ,
      Should I not love Thee well?
    Not for the sake of winning heaven,
      Nor of escaping hell;

    Not with the hope of gaining aught,
      Nor seeking a reward,
    But as Thyself hast loved me,
      Oh, ever-loving Lord!

    E'en so I love Thee, and will love,
      And in Thy praise will sing;
    Solely because Thou art my God
      And my eternal King.

The translation is by Rev. Edward Caswall, 1814-1878, a priest in the
Church of Rome. Besides his translations, he published the _Lyra
Catholica_, the _Masque of Mary_, and several other poetical works.
(Page 101.)


_THE TUNE._

"St. Bernard"--apparently so named because originally composed to
Caswall's translation of one of Bernard of Clairvaux's hymns--is by
John Richardson, born in Preston, Eng., Dec. 4, 1817, and died there
April 13, 1879. He was an organist in Liverpool, and noted as a composer
of glees, but was the author of several sacred tunes.


SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

"Give Me My Scallop-Shell of Quiet."

Few of the hymns of the Elizabethan era survive, though the Ambrosian
Midnight Hymn, "Hark, 'tis the Midnight Cry," and the hymns of St.
Bernard and Bernard of Cluny, are still tones in the church, and the
religious poetry of Sir Walter Raleigh comes down to us associated with
the history of his brilliant, though tragic career. The following poem
has some fine lines in the quaint English style of the period, and was
composed by Sir Walter during his first imprisonment:

    Give me my scallop-shell of quiet,
      My staff of faith to walk upon,
    My scrip of joy--immortal diet--
      My bottle of salvation,
    My gown of glory, hope's true gage--
    And thus I take my pilgrimage.

    Blood must be my body's balmer,
    While my soul, like faithful palmer,
    Travelleth toward the land of heaven;
    Other balm will not be given.

    Over the silver mountains
    Where spring the nectar fountains,
    There will I kiss the bowl of bliss,
    And drink my everlasting fill,
    Upon every milken hill;
    My soul will be a-dry before,
    But after that will thirst no more.

The musings of the unfortunate but high-souled nobleman in expectation
of ignominious death are interesting and pathetic, but they have no
claim to a tune, even if they were less rugged and unmetrical. But the
poem stands notable among the pious witnesses.


MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS.

"_O Domine Deus, Speravi in Te._"

This last passionate prayer of the unhappy Mary Stuart just before her
execution--in a language which perhaps flowed from her pen more easily
than even her English or French--is another witness of supplicating
faith that struggles out of darkness with a song. In her extremity the
devoted Catholic forgets her petitions to the Virgin, and comes to
Christ:

        O Domine Deus, Speravi in Te;
        O care mi Jesu, nunc libera me!
    In dura catena, in misera poena
          Desidero Te!
    Languendo, gemendo, et genuflectendo
    Adoro, imploro ut liberes me!

    My Lord and my God! I have trusted in Thee;
    O Jesus, my Saviour belov'd, set me free:
    In rigorous chains, in piteous pains,
        I am longing for Thee!
    In weakness appealing, in agony kneeling,
    I pray, I beseech Thee, O Lord, set me free!

One would, at first thought, judge this simple but eloquent cry worthy
of an appropriate tone-expression--to be sung by prison evangelists like
the Volunteers of America, to convicts in the jails and penitentiaries.
But its special errand and burden are voiced so literally that hardened
hearers would probably misapply it--however sincerely the petitioner
herself meant to invoke spiritual rather than temporal deliverance. The
hymn, if we may call it so, is _too_ literal. Possibly at some time or
other it may have been set to music but not for ordinary choir service.


SAMUEL RUTHERFORD.

    The sands of time are sinking,

       *       *       *       *       *

    But, glory, glory dwelleth
    In Immanuel's Land.

This hymn is biographical, but not autobiographical. Like the discourses
in Herodotus and Plutarch, it is the voice of the dead speaking through
the sympathetic genius of the living after long generations. The strong,
stern Calvinist of 1636 in Aberdeen was not a poet, but he bequeathed
his spirit and life to the verse of a poet of 1845 in Melrose. Anne Ross
Cousin read his two hundred and twenty letters written during a two
years' captivity for his fidelity to the purer faith, and studied his
whole history and experience till her soul took his soul's place and
felt what he felt. Her poem of nineteen stanzas (152 lines) is the voice
of Rutherford the Covenanter, with the prolixity of his manner and age
sweetened by his triumphant piety, and that is why it belongs with the
_Hymns of Great Witnesses_. The three or four stanzas still occasionally
printed and sung are only recalled to memory by the above three lines.

Samuel Rutherford was born in Nisbet Parish, Scotland, in 1600. His
settled ministry was at Anworth, in Galloway--1630-1651--with a break
between 1636 and 1638, when Charles I. angered by his anti-prelatical
writings, silenced and banished him. Shut up in Aberdeen, but allowed,
like Paul in Rome, to live "in his own hired house" and write letters,
he poured out his heart's love in Epistles to his Anworth flock and to
the Non-conformists of Scotland. When his countrymen rose against the
attempted imposition of a new holy Romish service-book on their
churches, he escaped to his people, and soon after appeared in Edinburgh
and signed the covenant with the assembled ministers. Thirteen years
later, after Cromwell's death and the accession of Charles II. the wrath
of the prelates fell on him at St. Andrews, where the Presbytery had
made him rector of the college. The King's decree indicted him for
treason, stripped him of all his offices, and would have forced him to
the block had he not been stricken with his last sickness. When the
officers came to take him he said, "I am summoned before a higher Judge
and Judicatory, and I am behooved to attend them." He died soon after,
in the year 1661.

The first, and a few other of the choicest stanzas of the hymn inspired
by his life and death are here given:

    The sands of time are sinking,
      The dawn of heaven breaks,
    The summer morn I've sighed for--
      The fair, sweet morn--awakes.
    Dark, dark hath been the midnight,
      But dayspring is at hand;
    And glory, glory dwelleth
      In Immanuel's land.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Oh! well it is for ever--
      Oh! well for evermore:
    My nest hung in no forest
      Of all this death-doomed shore;
    Yea, let this vain world vanish,
      As from the ship the strand,
    While glory, glory dwelleth
      In Immanuel's land.

       *       *       *       *       *

    The little birds of Anworth--
      I used to count them blest;
    Now beside happier altars
      I go to build my nest;
    O'er these there broods no silence
      No graves around them stand;
    For glory deathless dwelleth
      In Immanuel's land.

    I have borne scorn and hatred,
      I have borne wrong and shame,
    Earth's proud ones have reproached me
      For Christ's thrice blessed name.
    Where God's seals set the fairest,
      They've stamped their foulest brand;
    But judgment shines like noonday
      In Immanuel's land.

    They've summoned me before them,
      But there I may not come;
    My Lord says, "Come up hither;"
      My Lord says, "Welcome home;"
    My King at His white throne
      My presence doth command,
    Where glory, glory dwelleth,
      In Immanuel's land.

A reminiscence of St. Paul in his second Epistle to Timothy (chap. 4)
comes with the last two stanzas.


_THE TUNE._

The tender and appropriate choral in B flat, named "Rutherford" was
composed by D'Urhan, a French musician, probably a hundred years ago. It
was doubtless named by those who long afterwards fitted it to the words,
and knew whose spiritual proxy the lady stood who indited the hymn. It
is reprinted in Peloubet's _Select Songs_, and in the _Coronation
Hymnal_. Naturally in the days of the hymn's more frequent use people
became accustomed to calling "The sands of time are sinking,"
"Rutherford's Hymn." Rutherford's own words certainly furnished the
memorable refrain with its immortal glow and gladness. One of his joyful
exclamations as he lay dying of his lingering disease was, "Glory
shineth in Immanuel's Land!"

Chretien (Christian) Urhan, or D'Urhan, was born at Montjoie, France,
about 1788, and died, in Paris, 1845. He was a noted violin-player, and
composer, also, of vocal and instrumental music.

Mrs. Anne Ross (Cundell) Cousin, daughter of David Ross Cundell, M.D.,
and widow of Rev. William Cousin of the Free church of Scotland, was
born in Melrose (?), 1824. She wrote many poems, most of which are
beautiful meditations rather than lyrics suitable for public song. Her
"Rutherford Hymn" was first published in the _Christian Treasury_, 1857.


GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS.

"_Verzage Nicht Du Hauflein Klein._"

The historian tells us that before the battle of Lutzen, during the
Thirty Years' War (1618-1648), King Gustavus of Sweden, in the thick fog
of an autumn morning, with the Bohemian and Austrian armies of Emperor
Ferdinand in front of him, knelt before his troops, and his whole army
knelt with him in prayer. Then ten thousand voices and the whole concert
of regimental bands burst forth in this brave song:

    Fear not, O little flock, the foe
    Who madly seeks your overthrow,
      Dread not his rage and power:
    What though your courage sometimes faints,
    His seeming triumph o'er God's saints
      Lasts but a little hour.

    Be of good cheer, your cause belongs
    To Him who can avenge your wrongs;
      Leave it to Him, our Lord:
    Though hidden yet from all our eyes,
    He sees the Gideon who shall rise
      To save us and His word.

    As true as God's own word is true,
    Nor earth nor hell with all their crew,
      Against us shall prevail:
    A jest and by-word they are grown;
    God is with us, we are His own,
      Our victory cannot fail.

    Amen, Lord Jesus, grant our prayer!
    Great Captain, now Thine arm make bare,
      Fight for us once again:
    So shall Thy saints and martyrs raise
    A mighty chorus to Thy praise,
      World without end. Amen.

The army of Gustavus moved forward to victory as the fog lifted; but at
the moment of triumph a riderless horse came galloping back to the camp.
It was the horse of the martyred King.

The battle song just quoted--next to Luther's "Ein feste Burg" the most
famous German hymn--has always since that day been called "Gustavus
Adolphus' Hymn"; and the mingled sorrow and joy of the event at Lutzen
named it also "King Gustavus' Swan Song." Gustavus Adolphus did not
write hymns. He could sing them, and he could make them historic--and it
was this connection that identified him with the famous battle song. Its
author was the Rev. Johan Michael Altenburg, a Lutheran clergyman, who
composed apparently both hymn and tune on receiving news of the king's
victory at Leipsic a year before.

Gustavus Adolphus was born in 1594. His death on the battlefield
occurred Nov. 5, 1632--when he was in the prime of his manhood. He was
one of the greatest military commanders in history, besides being a
great ruler and administrator, and a devout Christian. He was, during
the Thirty Years' War (until his untimely death), the leading champion
of Protestantism in Europe.

The English translator of the battle song was Miss Catherine Winkworth,
born in London, Sept. 13, 1827. She was an industrious and successful
translator of German hymns, contributing many results of her work to two
English editions of the _Lyra Germania_, to the _Church Book of
England_, and to _Christian Singers of Germany_. She died in 1878.

The tune of "Ravendale" by Walter Stokes (born 1847) is the best modern
rendering of the celebrated hymn.


PAUL GERHARDT.

"_Befiehl Du Deine Wege._"

Paul Gerhardt was one of those minstrels of experience who are--

   "Cradled into poetry by wrong,
    And learn in suffering what they teach in song."

He was a graduate of that school when he wrote his "Hymn of Trust:"

    Commit thou all thy griefs
      And ways into His hands;
    To His sure trust and tender care
      Who earth and heaven commands.

    Thou on the Lord rely,
      So, safe, shalt thou go on;
    Fix on His work thy steadfast eye,
      So shall thy work be done.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Give to the winds thy fears;
      Hope, and be undismayed;
    God hears thy sighs and counts thy tears,
      He shall lift up thy head.

    Through waves and clouds and storms
      He gently clears thy way;
    Wait thou His time, so shall this night
      Soon end in joyous day.

Gerhardt was born at Grafenheinchen, Saxony, 1606. Through the first and
best years of manhood's strength (during the Thirty Years' War), a
wandering preacher tossed from place to place, he was without a parish
and without a home.

After the peace of Westphalia he settled in the little village of
Mittenwalde. He was then forty-four years old. Four years later he
married and removed to a Berlin church. During his residence there he
buried his wife, and four of his children, was deposed from the
ministry because his Lutheran doctrines offended the Elector Frederick,
and finally retired as a simple arch-deacon to a small parish in Lubben,
where he preached, toiled, and suffered amid a rough and uncongenial
people till he died, Jan. 16, 1676.

Few men have ever lived whose case more needed a "Hymn of Trust"--and
fewer still could have written it themselves. Through all those trial
years he was pouring forth his soul in devout verses, making in all no
less than a hundred and twenty-five hymns--every one of them a comfort
to others as well as to himself.

He became a favorite, and for a time _the_ favorite, hymn-writer of all
the German-speaking people. Among these tones of calm faith and joy we
recognize today (in the English tongue),--

    Since Jesus is my Friend,

    Thee, O Immanuel, we praise,

    All my heart this night rejoices,

    How shall I meet Thee,

--and the English translation of his "O Haupt voll Blut und Wunden,"
turned into German by himself from St. Bernard Clairvaux's "Salve caput
cruentatum," and made dear to us in Rev. James Alexander's beautiful
lines--

    O sacred head now wounded,
      With grief and shame weighed down,
    Now scornfully surrounded
      With thorns, Thine only crown.


_THE TUNE._

A plain-song by Alexander Reinagle is used by some congregations, but is
not remarkably expressive. Reinagle, Alexander Robert, (1799-1877) of
Kidlington, Eng., was organist to the church of St. Peter-in-the-East,
Oxford.

The great "Hymn of Trust" could have found no more sympathetic
interpreter than the musician of Gerhardt's own land and language,
Schumann, the gentle genius of Zwickau. It bears the name "Schumann,"
appropriately enough, and its elocution makes a volume of each quatrain,
notably the one--

    Who points the clouds their course,
      Whom wind and seas obey;
    He shall direct thy wandering feet,
      He shall prepare thy way.

Robert Schumann, Ph.D., was born in Zwickau, Saxony, June 8, 1810. He
was a music director and conservatory teacher, and the master-mind of
the pre-Wagnerian period. His compositions became popular, having a
character of their own, combining the intellectual and beautiful in art.
He published in Leipsic a journal promotive of his school of music, and
founded a choral society in Dresden. Happy in the cooeperation of his
wife, herself a skilled musician, he extended his work to Vienna and the
Netherlands; but his zeal wore him out, and he died at the age of
forty-six, universally lamented as "the eminent man who had done so much
for the happiness of others."

Gerhardt's Hymn (ten quatrains) is rarely printed entire, and where six
are printed only four are usually sung. Different collections choose
portions according to the compiler's taste, the stanza beginning--

    Give to the winds thy fears,

--being with some a favorite first verse.

The translation of the hymn from the German is John Wesley's.

Purely legendary is the beautiful story of the composition of the hymn,
"Commit thou all thy griefs"; how, after his exile from Berlin,
traveling on foot with his weeping wife, Gerhardt stopped at a wayside
inn and wrote the lines while he rested; and how a messenger from Duke
Christian found him there, and offered him a home in Meresburg. But the
most ordinary imagination can fill in the possible incidents in a life
of vicissitudes such as Gerhardt's was.


LADY HUNTINGDON.

"When Thou My Righteous Judge Shalt Come."

Selina Shirley, Countess of Huntingdon, born 1707, died 1791, is
familiarly known as the titled friend and patroness of Whitefield and
his fellow-preachers. She early consecrated herself to God, and in the
great spiritual awakening under Whitefield and the Wesleys she was a
punctual and sympathetic helper. Uniting with the Calvinistic
Methodists, she nevertheless stood aloof from none who preached a
personal Christ, and whose watchwords were the salvation of souls and
the purification of the Church. For more than fifty years she devoted
her wealth to benevolence and spiritual ministries, and died at the age
of eighty-four. "I have done my work," was her last testimony. "I have
nothing to do but to go to my Father."

At various times Lady Huntingdon expressed her religious experience in
verse, and the manful vigor of her school of faith recalls the unbending
confidence of Job, for she was not a stranger to affliction.

    God's furnace doth in Zion stand,
      But Zion's God sits by,
    As the refiner views his gold,
      With an observant eye.

    His thoughts are high, His love is wise,
      His wounds a cure intend;
    And, though He does not always smile,
      He loves unto the end.

Her great hymn, that keeps her memory green, has the old-fashioned
flavor. "Massa made God BIG!" was the comment on Dr. Bellany made by his
old negro servant after that noted minister's death. In Puritan piety
the sternest self-depreciation qualified every thought of the creature,
while every allusion to the Creator was a magnificat. Lady Huntingdon's
hymn has no flattering phrases for the human subject. "Worthless worm,"
and "vilest of them all" indicate the true Pauline or Oriental
prostration of self before a superior being; but there is grandeur in
the metre, the awful reverence, and the scene of judgment in the
stanzas--always remembering the mighty choral that has so long given the
lyric its voice in the church, and is ancillary to its fame:

    When Thou, my righteous Judge, shalt come
    To take Thy ransomed people home,
      Shall I among them stand?
    Shall such a worthless worm as I,
    Who sometimes am afraid to die,
      Be found at Thy right hand?

    I love to meet Thy people now,
    Before Thy feet with them to bow,
      Though vilest of them all;
    But can I bear the piercing thought,
    What if my name should be left out,
      When Thou for them shalt call?

    O Lord, prevent it by Thy grace:
    Be Thou my only hiding place,
      In this th' accepted day;
    Thy pardoning voice, oh let me hear,
    To still my unbelieving fear,
      Nor let me fall, I pray.

    Among Thy saints let me be found,
    Whene'er the archangel's trump shall sound,
      To see Thy smiling face;
    Then loudest of the throng I'll sing,
    While heaven's resounding arches ring
      With shouts of sovereign grace.


_THE TUNE._

The tune of "Meribah," in which this hymn has been sung for the last
sixty or more years, is one of Dr. Lowell Mason's masterpieces. An
earlier German harmony attributed to Heinrich Isaac and named
"Innsbruck" has in some few cases claimed association with the words,
though composed two hundred years before Lady Huntingdon was born. It is
strong and solemn, but its cold psalm-tune movement does not utter the
deep emotion of the author's lines. "Meribah" was inspired by the hymn
itself, and there is nothing invidious in saying it illustrates the
fact, memorable in all hymnology, of the natural obligation of a hymn to
its tune.

Apropos of both, it is related that Mason was once presiding at choir
service in a certain church where the minister gave out "When thou my
righteous Judge shalt come" and by mistake directed the singers to "omit
the second stanza." Mason sat at the organ, and while playing the last
strain, "Be found at thy right hand," glanced ahead in the hymnbook and
turned with a start just in time to command, "Sing the _next_ verse!"
The choir did so, and "O Lord, prevent it by Thy grace!" was saved from
being a horrible prayer to be kept out of heaven.


ZINZENDORF.

"Jesus, Thy Blood and Righteousness."

Nicolaus Ludwig, Count Von Zinzendorf, was born at Dresden, May 26,
1700, and educated at Halle and Wittenberg. From his youth he evinced
marked seriousness of mind, and deep religious sensibilities, and this
character appeared in his sympathy with the persecuted Moravians, to
whom he gave domicile and domain on his large estate. For eleven years
he was Councillor to the Elector of Saxony, but subsequently, uniting
with the Brethren's Church, he founded the settlement of Herrnhut, the
first home and refuge of the reorganized sect, and became a Moravian
minister and bishop.

Zinzendorf was a man of high culture, as well as profound and sincere
piety and in his hymns (of which he wrote more than two thousand) he
preached Christ as eloquently as with his voice. The real birth-moment
of his religious life is said to have been simultaneous with his study
of the "Ecce Homo" in the Dusseldorf Gallery, a wonderful painting of
Jesus crowned with thorns. Visiting the gallery one day when a young
man, he gazed on the sacred face and read the legend superscribed, "All
this I have done for thee; What doest thou for me?" Ever afterwards his
motto was "I have but one passion, and that is He, and only He"--a
version of Paul's "For me to live is Christ."

    Jesus, Thy blood and righteousness
    My beauty are, my glorious dress:
   'Midst flaming worlds, in these arrayed,
    With joy shall I lift up my head.

    Bold shall I stand in Thy great day,
    For who aught to my charge shall lay?
    Fully absolved through these I am--
    From sin and fear, from guilt and shame.

    Lord, I believe were sinners more
    Than sands upon the ocean shore,
    Thou hast for all a ransom paid,
    For all a full atonement made.

Nearly all the hymns of the great Moravian are now out of general use,
having accomplished their mission, like the forgotten ones of Gerhardt,
and been superseded by others. More sung in Europe, probably, now than
any of the survivors is, "Jesus, geh voran," ("Jesus, lead on,") which
has been translated into English by Jane Borthwick[8] (1854). Two
others, both translated by John Wesley, are with us, the one above
quoted, and "Glory to God, whose witness train." "Jesus, Thy blood,"
which is the best known, frequently appears with the alteration--

    Jesus, Thy _robe_ of righteousness
    My beauty _is_, my glorious dress.

[Footnote 8: Born in Edinburgh 1813.]


_THE TUNE._

"Malvern," and "Uxbridge" a pure Gregorian, both by Lowell Mason, are
common expressions of the hymn--the latter, perhaps, generally
preferred, being less plaintive and speaking with a surer and more
restful emphasis.


ROBERT SEAGRAVE.

"Rise, My Soul, and Stretch Thy Wings."

This hymn was written early in the 18th century, by the Rev. Robert
Seagrave, born at Twyford, Leicestershire, Eng., Nov. 22, 1693. Educated
at Cambridge, he took holy orders in the Established Church, but
espoused the cause of the great evangelistic movement, and became a
hearty co-worker with the Wesleys. Judging by the lyric fire he could
evidently put into his verses, one involuntarily asks if he would not
have written more, and been in fact the song-leader of the spiritual
reformation if there had been no Charles Wesley. There is not a hymn of
Wesley's in use on the same subject equal to the one immortal hymn of
Seagrave, and the only other near its time that approaches it in vigor
and appealing power is Doddridge's "Awake my soul, stretch every nerve."

But Providence gave Wesley the harp and appointed to the elder poet a
branch of possibly equal usefulness, where he was kept too busy to enter
the singers' ranks.

For eleven years he was the Sunday-evening lecturer at Lorimer's Hall,
London, and often preached in Whitefield's Tabernacle. His hymn is one
of the most soul-stirring in the English language:

[Illustration: S. Huntingdon]

    Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings;
      Thy better portion trace;
    Rise from transitory things
      Toward Heaven, thy native place;
    Sun and moon and stars decay,
      Time shall soon this earth remove;
    Rise, my soul and haste away
      To seats prepared above.

    Rivers to the ocean run,
      Nor stay in all their course;
    Fire ascending seeks the sun;
      Both speed them to their source:
    So a soul that's born of God
      Pants to view His glorious face,
    Upward tends to His abode
      To rest in His embrace.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Cease, ye pilgrims, cease to mourn,
      Press onward to the prize;
    Soon your Saviour will return
      Triumphant in the skies.
    Yet a season, and you know
      Happy entrance will be given;
    All our sorrows left below,
      And earth exchanged for heaven.

This hymn must have found its predestinated organ when it found--


_THE TUNE._

"Amsterdam," the work of James Nares, had its birth and baptism soon
after the work of Seagrave; and they have been breath and bugle to the
church of God ever since they became one song. In _The Great Musicians_,
edited by Francis Huffer, is found this account of James Nares:

"He was born at Hanwell, Middlesex, in 1715; was admitted chorister at
the Chapel Royal, under Bernard Gates, and when he was able to play the
organ was appointed deputy for Pigott, of St. George's Chapel, Windsor,
and became organist at York Minster in 1734. He succeeded Greene as
organist and composer to the Chapel Royal in 1756, and in the same year
was made Doctor of Music at Cambridge. He was appointed master of the
children of the Chapel Royal in 1757, on the death of Gates. This post
he resigned in 1780, and he died in 1783, (February 10,) and was buried
in St. Margaret's Church, Westminster.

"He had the reputation of being an excellent trainer of boy's voices,
many of his anthems having been written to exhibit the accomplishments
of his young pupils. The degree of excellence the boys attained was not
won in those days without the infliction of much corporal punishment."

Judging from the high pulse and action in the music of "Amsterdam," one
would guess the energy of the man who made boy choirs--and made good
ones. In the old time the rule was, "Birds that can sing and won't sing,
must be made to sing"; and the rule was sometimes enforced with the
master's time-stick.

A tune entitled "Excelsius," written a hundred years later by John Henry
Cornell, so nearly resembles "Amsterdam" as to suggest an intention to
amend it. It changes the modal note from G to A, but while it marches
at the same pace it lacks the jubilant modulations and the choral glory
of the 18th-century piece.


SIR JOHN BOWRING.

"In the Cross of Christ I Glory."

In this hymn we see, sitting humbly at the feet of the great author of
our religion, a man who impressed himself perhaps more than any other
save Napoleon Bonaparte upon his own generation, and who was the wonder
of Europe for his immense attainments and the versatility of his powers.
Statesman, philanthropist, biographer, publicist, linguist, historian,
financier, naturalist, poet, political economist--there is hardly a
branch of knowledge or a field of research from which he did not enrich
himself and others, or a human condition that he did not study and
influence.

Sir John Bowring was born in 1792. When a youth he was Jeremy Bentham's
political pupil, but gained his first fame by his vast knowledge of
European literature, becoming acquainted with no less than thirteen[9]
continental languages and dialects. He served in consular appointments
at seven different capitals, carried important reform measures in
Parliament, was Minister Plenipotentiary to China and Governor of Hong
Kong, and concluded a commercial treaty with Siam, where every previous
commissioner had failed. But in all his crowded years the pen of this
tireless and successful man was busy. Besides his political, economic
and religious essays, which made him a member of nearly every learned
society in Europe, his translations were countless, and poems and hymns
of his own composing found their way to the public, among them the
tender spiritual song,--

    How sweetly flowed the Gospel sound
      From lips of gentleness and grace
    When listening thousands gathered round,
      And joy and gladness filled the place,

--and the more famous hymn indicated at the head of this sketch.
Knowledge of all religions only qualified him to worship the Crucified
with both faith and reason. Though nominally a Unitarian, to him, as to
Channing and Martineau and Edmund Sears, Christ was "all we know of
God."

[Footnote 9: Exaggerated in some accounts to _forty_.]

Bowring died Nov. 23, 1872. But his hymn to the Cross will never die:

    In the cross of Christ I glory,
      Towering o'er the wrecks of time;
    All the light of sacred story
      Gathers round its head sublime.

    When the woes of life o'ertake me
      Hopes deceive, and fears annoy,
    Never shall the cross forsake me;
      Lo! it glows with peace and joy.

    When the sun of bliss is beaming
      Light and love upon my way,
    From the cross the radiance streaming
      Adds new lustre to the day.

    Bane and blessing, pain and pleasure
      By the cross are sanctified,
    Peace is there that knows no measure,
      Joys that through all time abide.


_THE TUNE._

Ithamar Conkey's "Rathbun" fits the adoring words as if they had waited
for it. Its air, swelling through diatonic fourth and third to the
supreme syllable, bears on its waves the homage of the lines from bar to
bar till the four voices come home to rest full and satisfied in the
final chord--

    Gathers round its head sublime.

Ithamar Conkey, was born of Scotch ancestry, in Shutesbury, Mass., May
5th, 1815. He was a noted bass singer, and was for a long time connected
with the choir of the Calvary church, New York City, and sang the
oratorio solos. His tune of "Rathbun" was composed in 1847, and
published in Greatorex's collection in 1851. He died in Elizabeth, N.J.,
April 30, 1867.




CHAPTER III.

HYMNS OF CHRISTIAN DEVOTION AND EXPERIENCE.


"JESU DULCIS MEMORIA."

"Jesus the Very Thought of Thee."

The original of this delightful hymn is one of the devout meditations of
Bernard of Clairvaux, a Cistercian monk (1091-1153). He was born of a
noble family in or near Dijon, Burgundy, and when only twenty-three
years old established a monastery at Clairvaux, France, over which he
presided as its first abbot. Educated in the University of Paris, and
possessing great natural abilities, he soon made himself felt in both
the religious and political affairs of Europe. For more than thirty
years he was the personal power that directed belief, quieted
turbulence, and arbitrated disputes, and kings and even popes sought his
counsel. It was his eloquent preaching that inspired the second crusade.

His fine poem of feeling, in fifty Latin stanzas, has been a source of
pious song in several languages:

        Jesu, dulcis memoria
        Dans vera cordi gaudia,
        Sed super mel et omnium
        Ejus dulcis presentia.

Literally--

    Jesus! a sweet memory
    Giving true joys to the heart,
    But sweet above honey and all things
    His _presence_ [is].

The five stanzas (of Caswall's free translation) now in use are familiar
and dear to all English-speaking believers:

    Jesus, the very thought of Thee
      With sweetness fills my breast,
    But sweeter far Thy face to see,
      And in Thy presence rest.

    Nor voice can sing nor heart can frame
      Nor can the memory find,
    A sweeter sound than Thy blest name,
      O Saviour of mankind.

The Rev. Edward Caswall was born in Hampshire, Eng., July 15, 1814, the
son of a clergyman. He graduated with honors at Brazenose College,
Oxford, and after ten years of service in the ministry of the Church of
England joined Henry Newman's Oratory at Birmingham, was confirmed in
the Church of Rome, and devoted the rest of his life to works of piety
and charity. He died Jan. 2, 1878.


_THE TUNE._

No single melody has attached itself to this hymn, the scope of
selection being as large as the supply of appropriate common-metre
tunes. Barnby's "Holy Trinity," Wade's "Holy Cross" and Griggs' tune (of
his own name) are all good, but many, on the giving out of the hymn,
would associate it at once with the more familiar "Heber" by George
Kingsley and expect to hear it sung. It has the uplift and unction of
John Newton's--

    How sweet the name of Jesus sounds
      In the believer's ear.


"GOD CALLING YET! SHALL I NOT HEAR?"

Gerhard Tersteegen, the original author of the hymn, and one of the most
eminent religious poets of the Reformed German church in its early days,
was born in 1697, in the town of Mors, in Westphalia. He was left an
orphan in boyhood by the death of his father, and as his mother's means
were limited, he was put to work as an apprentice when very young, at
Muhlheim on the Ruhr, and became a ribbon weaver. Here, when about
fifteen years of age, he became deeply concerned for his soul, and
experienced a deep and abiding spiritual work. As a Christian, his
religion partook of the ascetic type, but his mysticism did not make him
useless to his fellow-men.

At the age of twenty-seven, he dedicated all his resources and energies
to the cause of Christ, writing the dedication in his own blood. "God
graciously called me," he says, "out of the world, and granted me the
desire to belong to Him, and to be willing to follow Him." He gave up
secular employments altogether, and devoted his whole time to religious
instruction and to the poor. His house became famous as the "Pilgrims'
Cottage," and was visited by people high and humble from all parts of
Germany. In his lifetime he is said to have written one hundred and
eleven hymns. Died April 3, 1769.

    God calling yet! shall I not hear?
    Earth's pleasures shall I still hold dear?
    Shall life's swift-passing years all fly,
    And still my soul in slumber lie?

       *       *       *       *       *

    God calling yet! I cannot stay;
    My heart I yield without delay.
    Vain world, farewell; from thee I part;
    The voice of God hath reached my heart.

The hymn was translated from the German by Miss Jane Borthwick, born in
Edinburgh, 1813. She and her younger sister, Mrs. Findlater, jointly
translated and published, in 1854, _Hymns From the Land of Luther_, and
contributed many poetical pieces to the _Family Treasury_. She died in
1897.

Another translation, imitating the German metre, is more euphonious,
though less literal and less easily fitted to music not specially
composed for it, on account of its "feminine" rhymes:

    God calling yet! and shall I never hearken?
    But still earth's witcheries my spirit darken;
    This passing life, these passing joys all flying,
    And still my soul in dreamy slumbers lying?


_THE TUNE._

Dr. Dykes' "Rivaulx" is a sober choral that articulates the
hymn-writer's sentiment with sincerity and with considerable
earnestness, but breathes too faintly the interrogative and expostulary
tone of the lines. To voice the devout solicitude and self-remonstrance
of the hymn there is no tune superior to "Federal St."

The Hon. Henry Kemble Oliver, author of "Federal St.," was born in
Salem, Mass., March, 1800, and was addicted to music from his childhood.
His father compelled him to relinquish it as a profession, but it
remained his favorite avocation, and after his graduation from Harvard
the cares of none of the various public positions he held, from
schoolmaster to treasurer of the state of Massachusetts, could ever wean
him from the study of music and its practice. At the age of thirty-one,
while sitting one day in his study, the last verse of Anne Steele's
hymn--

    So fades the lovely blooming flower,

--floated into his mind, and an unbidden melody came with it. As he
hummed it to himself the words shaped the air, and the air shaped the
words.

    Then gentle patience smiles on pain,
    Then dying hope revives again,

--became--

    See gentle patience smile on pain;
    See dying hope revive again;

--and with the change of a word and a tense the hymn created the melody,
and soon afterward the complete tune was made. Two years later it was
published by Lowell Mason, and Oliver gave it the name of the street in
Salem on which his wife was born, wooed, won, and married. It adds a
pathos to its history that "Federal St." was sung at her burial.

This first of Oliver's tunes was followed by "Harmony Grove," "Morning,"
"Walnut Grove," "Merton," "Hudson," "Bosworth," "Salisbury Plain,"
several anthems and motets, and a "Te Deum."

In his old age, at the great Peace Jubilee in Boston, 1872, the baton
was put into his hands, and the gray-haired composer conducted the
chorus of ten thousand voices as they sang the words and music of his
noble harmony. The incident made "Federal St." more than ever a feature
of New England history. Oliver died in 1885.


"MY GOD, HOW ENDLESS IS THY LOVE."

The spirited tune to this hymn of Watts, by Frederick Lampe, variously
named "Kent" and "Devonshire," historically reaches back so near to the
poet's time that it must have been one of the earliest expressions of
his fervent words.

Johan Friedrich Lampe, born 1693, in Saxony, was educated in music at
Helmstadt, and came to England in 1725 as a band musician and composer
to Covent Garden Theater. His best-known secular piece is the music
written to Henry Carey's burlesque, "The Dragon of Wantley."

Mrs. Rich, wife of the lessee of the theater, was converted under the
preaching of the Methodists, and after her husband's death her house
became the home of Lampe and his wife, where Charles Wesley often met
him.

The influence of Wesley won him to more serious work, and he became one
of the evangelist's helpers, supplying tunes to his singing campaigns.
Wesley became attached to him, and after his death--in Edinburgh,
1752--commemorated the musician in a funeral hymn.

In popular favor Bradbury's tune of "Rolland" has now superseded the old
music sung to Watts' lines--

    My God, how endless is Thy love,
      Thy gifts are every evening new,
    And morning mercies from above
      Gently distil like early dew.

       *       *       *       *       *

    I yield my powers to Thy command;
      To Thee I consecrate my days;
    Perpetual blessings from Thy hand
      Demand perpetual songs of praise.

William Batchelder Bradbury, a pupil of Dr. Lowell Mason, and the
pioneer in publishing Sunday-school music, was born 1816, in York, Me.
His father, a veteran of the Revolution, was a choir leader, and
William's love of music was inherited. He left his father's farm, and
came to Boston, where he first heard a church-organ. Encouraged by Mason
and others to follow music as a profession, he went abroad, studied at
Leipsic, and soon after his return became known as a composer of sacred
tunes. He died in Montclair, N.J., 1868.


"I'M NOT ASHAMED TO OWN MY LORD."

The favorite tune for this spiritual hymn, also by Watts, is old
"Arlington," one of the most useful church melodies in the whole realm
of English psalmody. Its name clings to a Boston street, and the
beautiful chimes of Arlington St. church (Unitarian) annually ring its
music on special occasions, as it has since the bells were tuned:

    I'm not ashamed to own my Lord
      Or to defend His cause,
    Maintain the honor of His Word,
      The glory of His cross.

    Jesus, my God!--I know His Name;
      His Name is all my trust,
    Nor will He put my soul to shame
      Nor let my hope be lost.

Dr. Thomas Augustine Arne, the creator of "Arlington," was born in
London, 1710, the son of a King St. upholsterer. He studied at Eton, and
though intended for the legal profession, gave his whole mind to music.
At twenty-three he began writing operas for his sister, Susanna (a
singer who afterwards became the famous tragic actress, Mrs. Cibber).

Arne's music to Milton's "Comus," and to "Rule Brittannia" established
his reputation. He was engaged as composer to Drury Lane Theater, and in
1759 received from Oxford his degree of Music Doctor. Later in life he
turned his attention to oratorios, and other forms of sacred music, and
was the first to introduce female voices in choir singing. He died March
5, 1778, chanting hallelujahs, it is said, with his last breath.


"IS THIS THE KIND RETURN?"

Dr. Watts in this hymn gave experimental piety its hour and language of
reflection and penitence:

    Is this the kind return?
      Are these the thanks we owe,
    Thus to abuse Eternal Love
      Whence all our blessings flow?

       *       *       *       *       *

    Let past ingratitude
      Provoke our weeping eyes.

United in loving wedlock with these words in former years was "Golden
Hill," a chime of sweet counterpoint too rare to bury its authorship
under the vague phrase "A Western Melody." It was caught evidently from
a forest bird[10] that flutes its clear solo in the sunsets of May and
June. There can be no mistaking the imitation--the same compass, the
same upward thrill, the same fall and warbled turn. Old-time folk used
to call for it, "Sing, my Fairweather Bird." It lingers in a few of the
twenty- or thirty-years-ago collections, but stronger voices have
drowned it out of the new.

[Footnote 10: The wood thrush.]

"Thacher," (set to the same hymn,) faintly recalls its melody.
Nevertheless "Thacher" is a good tune. Though commonly written in
sharps, contrasting the B flat of its softer and more liquid rival of
other days, it is one of Handel's strains, and lends the meaning and
pathos of the lyric text to voice and instrument.


"WHEN I SURVEY THE WONDROUS CROSS."

This crown of all the sacred odes of Dr. Watts for the song-service of
the church of God was called by Matthew Arnold the "greatest hymn in the
English language." The day the eminent critic died he heard it sung in
the Sefton Park Presbyterian Church, and repeated the opening lines
softly to himself again and again after the services. The hymn is
certainly _one_ of the greatest in the language. It appeared as No. 7 in
Watts' third edition (about 1710) containing five stanzas. The second
line--

    On which the Prince of Glory died,

--read originally--

    Where the young Prince of Glory died.

Only four stanzas are now generally used. The omitted one--

    His dying crimson like a robe
      Spreads o'er His body on the tree;
    Then am I dead to all the globe,
      And all the globe is dead to me.

--is a flash of tragic imagination, showing the sanguine intensity of
Christian vision in earlier time, when contemplating the Saviour's
passion; but it is too realistic for the spirit and genius of
song-worship. That the great hymn was designed by the writer for
communion seasons, and was inspired by Gal. 6:14, explains the two last
lines if not the whole of the highly colored verse.


_THE TUNE._

One has a wide field of choice in seeking the best musical
interpretation of this royal song of faith and self-effacement:

    When I survey the wondrous Cross
      On which the Prince of Glory died,
    My richest gain I count but loss,
      And pour contempt on all my pride.

    Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast
      Save in the death of Christ my God;
    All the vain things that charm me most,
      I sacrifice them to His blood.

    See from His head, His hands, His feet,
      Sorrow and love flow mingled down;
    Did e'er such love and sorrow meet;
      Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

    Were the whole realm of Nature mine,
      That were a present far too small;
    Love so amazing, so divine,
      Demands my soul, my life, my all.

To match the height and depth of these words with fitting glory of sound
might well have been an ambition of devout composers. Rev. G.C. Wells'
tune in the _Revivalist_, with its emotional chorus, I.B. Woodbury's
"Eucharist" in the _Methodist Hymnal_, Henry Smart's effective choral in
Barnby's _Hymnary_ (No. 170), and a score of others, have woven the
feeling lines into melody with varying success. Worshippers in spiritual
sympathy with the words may question if, after all, old "Hamburg," the
best of Mason's loved Gregorians, does not, alone, in tone and
elocution, rise to the level of the hymn.


"LOVE DIVINE, ALL LOVES EXCELLING."

This evergreen song-wreath to the Crucified, was contributed by Charles
Wesley, in 1746. It is found in his collection of 1756, _Hymns for Those
That Seek and Those That Have Redemption in the Blood of Jesus Christ_.

    Love Divine all loves excelling,
      Joy of Heaven to earth come down,
    Fix in us Thy humble dwelling,
      All Thy faithful mercies crown.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Come Almighty to deliver,
      Let us all Thy life receive,
    Suddenly return, and never,
      Nevermore Thy temples leave.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Finish then Thy new creation;
      Pure and spotless let us be;
    Let us see our whole salvation
      Perfectly secured by Thee.

    Changed from glory into glory
      Till in Heaven we take our place,
    Till we cast our crowns before Thee
      Lost in wonder, love and praise!

The hymn has been set to H. Isaac's ancient tune (1490), to Wyeth's
"Nettleton" (1810), to Thos. H. Bailey's (1777-1839) "Isle of Beauty,
fare thee well" (named from Thomas Moore's song), to Edward Hopkins'
"St. Joseph," and to a multitude of others more or less familiar.

Most familiar of all perhaps, (as in the instance of "Far from mortal
cares retreating,") is its association with "Greenville," the production
of that brilliant but erratic genius and freethinker, Jean Jacques
Rousseau. It was originally a love serenade, ("Days of absence, sad and
dreary") from the opera of _Le Devin du Village_, written about 1752.
The song was commonly known years afterwards as "Rousseau's Dream." But
the unbelieving philosopher, musician, and misguided moralist builded
better than he knew, and probably better than he meant when he wrote his
immortal choral. Whatever he heard in his "dream" (and one legend says
it was a "song of angels") he created a harmony dear to the church he
despised, and softened the hearts of the Christian world towards an evil
teacher who was inspired, like Balaam, to utter one sacred strain.

Rousseau was born in Geneva, 1712, but he never knew his mother, and
neither the affection or interest of his father or of his other
relatives was of the quality to insure the best bringing up of a child.

He died July, 1778. But his song survives, while the world gladly
forgets everything else he wrote. It is almost a pardonable exaggeration
to say that every child in Christendom knows "Greenville."


"WHEN ALL THY MERCIES, O MY GOD."

This charming hymn was written by Addison, the celebrated English poet
and essayist, about 1701, in grateful commemoration of his delivery from
shipwreck in a storm off the coast of Genoa, Italy. It originally
contained thirteen stanzas, but no more than four or six are commonly
sung. It has put the language of devotional gratitude into the mouths of
thousands of humble disciples who could but feebly frame their own:

    When all Thy mercies, O my God
      My rising soul surveys,
    Transported with the view I'm lost
      In wonder, love and praise.

    Unnumbered comforts on my soul
      Thy tender care bestowed
    Before my infant heart conceived
      From whom those comforts flowed.

    When in the slippery paths of youth
      With heedless steps I ran,
    Thine arm unseen conveyed me safe,
      And led me up to man.

Another hymn of Addison--

    How are Thy servants bless'd, O Lord,

--was probably composed after the same return from a foreign voyage. It
has been called his "Traveller's Hymn."

Joseph Addison, the best English writer of his time, was the son of
Lancelot Addison, rector of Milston, Wiltshire, and afterwards Dean of
Litchfield. The distinguished author was born in Milston Rectory, May 1,
1672, and was educated at Oxford. His excellence in poetry, both English
and Latin, gave him early reputation, and a patriotic ode obtained for
him the patronage of Lord Somers. A pension from King William III.
assured him a comfortable income, which was increased by further honors,
for in 1704 he was appointed Commissioner of Appeals, then secretary of
the Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, and in 1717 Secretary of State. He died
in Holland House, Kensington, near London, June 17, 1719.

His hymns are not numerous, (said to be only five), but they are
remarkable for the simple beauty of their style, as well as for their
Christian spirit. Of his fine metrical version of the 23rd Psalm,--

    The Lord my pasture shall prepare,
    And feed me with a shepherd's care,

--one of his earliest productions, the tradition is that he gathered its
imagery when a boy living at Netheravon, near Salisbury Plain, during
his lonely two-mile walks to school at Amesbury and back again. All his
hymns appeared first in the _Spectator_, to which he was a prolific
contributor.


_THE TUNE._

The hymn "When all Thy mercies" still has "Geneva" for its vocal mate in
some congregational manuals. The tune is one of the rare survivals of
the old "canon" musical method, the parts coming in one after another
with identical notes. It is always delightful as a performance with its
glory of harmony and its sweet duet, and for generations it had no other
words than Addison's hymn.

John Cole, author of "Geneva," was born in Tewksbury, Eng., 1774, and
came to the United States in his boyhood (1785). Baltimore, Md. became
his American home, and he was educated there. Early in life he became a
musician and music publisher. At least twelve of his principal song
collections from 1800 to 1832 are mentioned by Mr. Hubert P. Main, most
of them sacred and containing many of his own tunes.

He continued to compose music till his death, Aug. 17, 1855. Mr. Cole
was leader of the regimental band known as "The Independent Blues,"
which played in the war of 1812, and was present at the "North Point"
fight, and other battles.

Besides "Geneva," for real feeling and harmonic beauty "Manoah," adapted
from Haydn's Creation, deserves mention as admirably suited to
"Addison's" hymn, and also "Belmont," by Samuel Webbe, which resembles
it in style and sentiment.

Samuel Webbe, composer of "Belmont," was of English parentage but was
born in Minorca, Balearic Islands, in 1740, where his father at that
time held a government appointment; but his father, dying suddenly, left
his family poor, and Samuel was apprenticed to a cabinet-maker. He
served his apprenticeship, and immediately repaired to a London teacher
and began the study of music and languages. Surmounting great
difficulties, he became a competent musician, and made himself popular
as a composer of glees. He was also the author of several masses,
anthems, and hymn-tunes, the best of which are still in occasional use.
Died in London, 1816.


"JESUS, I LOVE THY CHARMING NAME."

When Dr. Doddridge, the author of this hymn, during his useful ministry,
had finished the preparation of a pulpit discourse that strongly
impressed him, he was accustomed, while his heart was yet glowing with
the sentiment that had inspired him, to put the principal thoughts into
metre, and use the hymn thus written at the conclusion of the preaching
of the sermon. This hymn of Christian ardor was written to be sung after
a sermon from Romans 8:35, "Who shall separate us from the love of
Christ?"

    Jesus, I love Thy charming name,
     'Tis music to mine ear:
    Fain would I sound it out so loud
      That earth and heaven should hear.

       *       *       *       *       *

    I'll speak the honors of Thy name
      With my last laboring breath,
    Then speechless, clasp Thee in my arms,
      The conqueror of death.

Earlier copies have--

    The _antidote_ of death.

Philip Doddridge, D.D., was born in London, June 26, 1702. Educated at
Kingston Grammar School and Kibworth Academy, he became a scholar of
respectable attainments, and was ordained to the Non-conformist
ministry. He was pastor of the Congregational church at Northampton,
from 1729 until his death, acting meanwhile as principal of the
Theological School in that place. In 1749 he ceased to preach and went
to Lisbon for his health, but died there about two years later, of
consumption, Oct. 26, 1752.


_THE TUNE._

The hymn has been sometimes sung to "Pisgah," an old revival piece by
J.C. Lowry (1820) once much heard in camp-meetings, but it is a
pedestrian tune with too many quavers, and a headlong tempo.

Bradbury's "Jazer," in three-four time, is a melody with modulations,
though more sympathetic, but it is hard to divorce the hymn from its
long-time consort, old "Arlington." It has the accent of its sincerity,
and the breath of its devotion.


"LO, ON A NARROW NECK OF LAND."

This hymn of Charles Wesley is always designated now by the above line,
the first of the _second_ stanza as originally written. It is said to
have been composed at Land's End, in Cornwall, with the British Channel
and the broad Atlantic in view and surging on both sides around a
"narrow neck of land."

    Lo! on a narrow neck of land,
    Twixt two unbounded seas, I stand,
      Secure, insensible:
    A point of time, a moment's space,
    Removes me to that heavenly place,
      Or shuts me up in hell.

    O God, mine inmost soul convert,
    And deeply on my thoughtful heart
      Eternal things impress:
    Give me to feel their solemn weight,
    And tremble on the brink of fate,
      And wake to righteousness.

The preachers and poets of the great spiritual movement of the
eighteenth century in England abated nothing in the candor of their
words. The terrible earnestness of conviction tipped their tongues and
pens with fire.


_THE TUNE._

Lady Huntingdon would have lent "Meribah" gladly to this hymn, but Mason
was not yet born. Many times it has been borrowed for Wesley's words
since it came to its own, and the spirit of the pious Countess has
doubtless approved the loan. It is rich enough to furnish forth her own
lyric and more than one other of like matter and metre.

The muscular music of "Ganges" has sometimes carried the hymn, and there
are those who think its thunder is not a whit more Hebraic than the
words require.


"COME YE SINNERS POOR AND NEEDY."

Few hymns have been more frequently sung in prayer-meetings and
religious assemblies during the last hundred and fifty years. Its
author, Joseph Hart, spoke what he knew and testified what he felt. Born
in London, 1712, and liberally educated, he was in his young manhood
very religious, but he went so far astray as to indulge in evil
practices, and even published writings, both original and translated,
against Christianity and religion of any kind. But he could not drink at
the Dead Sea and live. The apples of Sodom sickened him. Conscience
asserted itself, and the pangs of remorse nearly drove him to despair
till he turned back to the source he had forsaken. He alludes to this
experience in the lines--

    Let not conscience make you linger,
      Nor of fitness fondly dream;
    All the fitness He requireth
      Is to feel your need of Him.

During Passion Week, 1767, he had an amazing view of the sufferings of
Christ, under the stress of which his heart was changed. In the joy of
this experience he wrote--

    Come ye sinners poor and needy,

--and--

    Come all ye chosen saints of God.

Probably no two hymn-lines have been oftener repeated than--

    If you tarry till you're better
      You will never come at all.

The complete form of the original stanzas is:

    Come ye sinners poor and needy,
      Weak and wounded, sick and sore;
    Jesus ready stands to save you,
      Full of pity, love and power.
          He is able,
      He is willing; doubt no more.

The whole hymn--ten stanzas--is not sung now as one, but two, the second
division beginning with the line--

    Come ye weary, heavy laden.

Rev. Joseph Hart became minister of Jewin St. Congregational Chapel,
London, about 1760, where he labored till his death, May 24, 1768.


_THE TUNE._

A revival song by Jeremiah Ingalls (1764-1828), written about 1804, with
an easy, popular swing and a _sforzando_ chorus--

    Turn to the Lord and seek salvation,

--monopolized this hymn for a good many years. The tunes commonly
assigned to it have since been "Greenville" and Von Weber's "Wilmot," in
which last it is now more generally sung--dropping the echo lines at the
end of each stanza.

Carl Maria Von Weber, son of a roving musician, was born in Eutin,
Germany, 1786. He developed no remarkable genius till he was about
twenty years old, though being a fine vocalist, his singing brought him
popularity and gain; but in 1806 he nearly lost his voice by accidently
drinking nitric acid. He was for several years private secretary to Duke
Ludwig at Stuttgart, and in 1813 Chapel-Master at Prague, from which
place he went to Dresden in 1817 as Musik-Director.

Von Weber's Korner songs won the hearts of all Germany; and his immortal
"Der Freischutz" (the Free Archer), and numerous tender melodies like
the airs to "John Anderson, my Jo" and "O Poortith Cauld" have gone to
all civilized nations. No other composer had such feeling for beauty of
sound.

This beloved musician was physically frail and delicate, and died of
untimely decline, during a visit to London in 1826.


"O HAPPY SAINTS WHO DWELL IN LIGHT."

Sometimes printed "O happy _souls_." This poetical and flowing hymn
seems to have been forgotten in the making up of most modern church
hymnals. Hymns on heaven and heavenly joys abound in embarrassing
numbers, but it is difficult to understand why this beautiful lyric
should be _universally_ neglected. It was written probably about 1760,
by Rev. John Berridge, from the text, "Blessed are the dead who die in
the Lord,"

The first line of the second stanza--

    Released from sorrow, toil and strife,

--has been tinkered in some of the older hymn-books, where it is found
to read--,

    Released from sorrows toil and _grief_,

--not only committing a tautology, but destroying the perfect rhyme with
"life" in the next line. The whole hymn, too, has been much altered by
substituted words and shifted lines, though not generally to the serious
detriment of its meaning and music.

The Rev. John Berridge--friend of the Wesleys, Whitefield, and Lady
Huntingdon--was an eccentric but very worthy and spiritual minister,
born the son of a farmer, in Kingston, Nottinghamshire, Eng., Mar. 1,
1716. He studied at Cambridge, and was ordained curate of Stapleford and
subsequently located as vicar of Everton, 1775. He died Jan. 22, 1793.
He loved to preach, and he was determined that his tombstone should
preach after his voice was still. His epitaph, composed by himself, is
both a testimony and a memoir:

   "Here lie the earthly remains of John Berridge, late vicar of
    Everton, and an itinerant servant of Jesus Christ, who loved his
    Master and His work, and after running His errands many years, was
    called up to wait on Him above.

   "Reader, art thou born again?

   "No salvation without the new birth.

   "I was born in sin, February, 1716.

   "Remained ignorant of my fallen state till 1730.

   "Lived proudly on faith and works for salvation till 1751.

   "Admitted to Everton vicarage, 1755.

   "Fled to Jesus alone for refuge, 1756.

   "Fell asleep in Jesus Christ,--" (1793.)


_THE TUNE._

The once popular score that easily made the hymn a favorite, was
"Salem," in the old _Psalmodist_. It still appears in some note-books,
though the name of its composer is uncertain. Its notes (in 6-8 time)
succeed each other in syllabic modulations that give a soft dactylic
accent to the measure and a wavy current to the lines:

    O happy saints that dwell in light,
    And walk with Jesus clothed in white,
    Safe landed on that peaceful shore,
    Where pilgrims meet to part no more:

    Released from sorrow, toil and strife,
    Death was the gate to endless life,
    And now they range the heavenly plains
    And sing His love in melting strains.

Another version reads:

    ----and welcome to an endless life,
    Their souls have now begun to prove
    The height and depth of Jesus' love.


"THOU DEAR REDEEMER, DYING LAMB."

The author, John Cennick, like Joseph Hart, was led to Christ after a
reckless boyhood and youth, by the work of the Divine Spirit in his
soul, independent of any direct outward influence. Sickened of his
cards, novels, and playhouse pleasures, he had begun a sort of
mechanical reform, when one day, walking in the streets of London, he
suddenly seemed to hear the text spoken "I am thy salvation!" His
consecration began at that moment.

He studied for the ministry, and became a preacher, first under
direction of the Wesleys, then under Whitefield, but afterwards joined
the Moravians, or "Brethren." He was born at Reading, Derbyshire, Eng.,
Dec. 12, 1718, and died in London, July 4, 1755.


_THE TUNE._

The word "Rhine" (in some collections--in others "Emmons") names a
revival tune once so linked with this hymn and so well known that few
religious people now past middle life could enjoy singing it to any
other. With a compass one note beyond an octave and a third, it utters
every line with a clear, bold gladness sure to infect a meeting with its
own spiritual fervor.

    Thou dear Redeemer, dying Lamb,
      I love to hear of Thee;
    No music like Thy charming name,
      Nor half so sweet can be.

The composer of the bright legato melody just described was Frederick
Burgmueller, a young German musician, born in 1804. He was a remarkable
genius, both in composition and execution, but his health was frail, and
he did not live to fulfil the rich possibilities that lay within him. He
died in 1824--only twenty years old. The tune "Rhine" ("Emmons") is from
one of his marches.


"WHILE THEE I SEEK, PROTECTING POWER."

Helen Maria Williams wrote this sweet hymn, probably about the year
1800. She was a brilliant woman, better known in literary society for
her political verses and essays than by her hymns; but the hymn here
noted bears sufficient witness to her deep religious feeling:

    While Thee I seek, Protecting Power,
      Be my vain wishes stilled,
    And may this consecrated hour
      With better hopes be filled.
    Thy love the power of thought bestowed;
      To Thee my thoughts would soar,
    Thy mercy o'er my life has flowed,
      That mercy I adore.

Miss Williams was born in the north of England, Nov. 30, 1762, but spent
much of her life in London, and in Paris, where she died, Dec. 14, 1827.


_THE TUNE._

Wedded so many years to the gentle, flowing music of Pleyel's "Brattle
Street," few lovers of the hymn recall its words without the melody of
that emotional choral.

The plain psalm-tune, "Simpson," by Louis Spohr, divides the stanzas
into quatrains.


"JESUS MY ALL TO HEAVEN IS GONE."

This hymn, by Cennick, was familiarized to the public more than two
generations ago by its revival tune, sometimes called "Duane Street,"
long-metre double. It is staffed in various keys, but its movement is
full of life and emphasis, and its melody is contagious. The piece was
composed by Rev. George Coles, in 1835.

The fact that this hymn of Cennick with Coles's tune appears in the _New
Methodist Hymnal_ indicates the survival of both in modern favor.

[Illustration: Augustus Montague Toplady]

    Jesus my all to heaven is gone,
    He whom I fixed my hopes upon;
    His track I see, and I'll pursue
    The narrow way till Him I view.
    The way the holy prophets went,
    The road that leads from banishment,
    The King's highway of holiness
    I'll go for all Thy paths are peace.

The memory has not passed away of the hearty unison with which
prayer-meeting and camp-meeting assemblies used to "crescendo" the last
stanza--

    Then will I tell to sinners round
    What a dear Saviour I have found;
    I'll point to His redeeming blood,
    And say "Behold the way to God."

The Rev. George Coles was born in Stewkley, Eng., Jan. 2, 1792, and died
in New York City, May 1, 1858. He was editor of the _N.Y. Christian
Advocate_, and _Sunday School Advocate_, for several years, and was a
musician of some ability, besides being a good singer.


"SWEET THE MOMENTS, RICH IN BLESSING."

The Hon. and Rev. Walter Shirley, Rector of Loughgree, county of Galway,
Ireland, revised this hymn under the chastening discipline of a most
trying experience. His brother, the Earl of Ferrars, a licentious man,
murdered an old and faithful servant in a fit of rage, and was executed
at Tyburn for the crime. Sir Walter, after the disgrace and long
distress of the imprisonment, trial, and final tragedy, returned to his
little parish in Ireland, humbled but driven nearer to the Cross.

    Sweet the moments, rich in blessing
      Which before the Cross I spend;
    Life and health and peace possessing
      From the sinner's dying Friend.

All the emotion of one who buries a mortifying sorrow in the heart of
Christ, and tries to forget, trembles in the lines of the above hymn as
he changed and adapted it in his saddest but devoutest hours. Its
original writer was the Rev. James Allen, nearly twenty years younger
than himself, a man of culture and piety, but a Christian of shifting
creeds. It is not impossible that he sent his hymn to Shirley to revise.
At all events it owes its present form to Shirley's hand.

    Truly blessed is the station
      Low before His cross to lie,
    While I see Divine Compassion
      Beaming in His gracious eye.[11]

[Footnote 11: "Floating in His languid eye" seems to have been the
earlier version.]

The influence of Sir Walter's family misfortune is evident also in the
mood out of which breathed his other trustful lines--

    Peace, troubled soul, whose plaintive moan
    Hath taught these rocks the notes of woe,

(changed now to "hath taught _these scenes_" etc).

Sir Walter Shirley, cousin of the Countess of Huntingdon, was born 1725,
and died in 1786. Even in his last sickness he continued to preach to
his people in his house, seated in his chair.

Rev. James Oswald Allen was born at Gayle, Yorkshire, Eng., June 24,
1743. He left the University of Cambridge after a year's study, and
became an itinerant preacher, but seems to have been a man of unstable
religious views. After roving from one Christian denomination to another
several times, he built a Chapel, and for forty years ministered there
to a small Independent congregation. He died in Gayle, Oct. 31, 1804.

The tune long and happily associated with "Sweet the Moments" is
"Sicily," or the "Sicilian Hymn"--from an old Latin hymn-tune, "O
Sanctissima."


"O FOR A CLOSER WALK WITH GOD."

The author, William Cowper, son of a clergyman, was born at
Berkhampstead, Hertfordshire, Eng., Nov. 15, 1731, and died at Dereham,
Norfolk, April 25, 1800. Through much of his adult life he was afflicted
with a mental ailment inducing melancholia and at times partial
insanity, during which he once attempted suicide. He sought literary
occupation as an antidote to his disorder of mind, and besides a great
number of lighter pieces which diverted him and his friends, composed
"The Task," an able and delightful moral and domestic poetic treatise in
blank verse, and in the same style of verse translated Homer's _Odyssey_
and _Iliad_.

One of the most beloved of English poets, this suffering man was also a
true Christian, and wrote some of our sweetest and most spiritual hymns.
Most of these were composed at Olney, where he resided for a time with
John Newton, his fellow hymnist, and jointly with him issued the volume
known as the _Olney Hymns_.


_THE TUNE._

Music more or less closely identified with this familiar hymn is
Gardiner's "Dedham," and also "Mear," often attributed to Aaron
Williams. Both, about equally with the hymn, are seasoned by time, but
have not worn out their harmony--or their fitness to Cowper's prayer.

William Gardiner was born in Leicester, Eng., March 15, 1770, and died
there Nov. 11, 1853. He was a vocal composer and a "musicographer" or
writer on musical subjects.

One Aaron Williams, to whom "Mear" has by some been credited, was of
Welsh descent, a composer of psalmody and clerk of the Scotch church in
London. He was born in 1734, and died in 1776. Another account, and the
more probable one, names a minister of Boston of still earlier date as
the author of the noble old harmony. It is found in a small New England
collection of 1726, but not in any English or Scotch collection. "Mear"
is presumably an American tune.


"WHAT VARIOUS HINDRANCES WE MEET."

Another hymn of Cowper's; and no one ever suffered more deeply the
plaintive regret in the opening lines, or better wrought into poetic
expression an argument for prayer.

    What various hindrances we meet
    In coming to a mercy-seat!
    Yet who that knows the worth of prayer
    But wishes to be often there?

    Prayer makes the darkest clouds withdraw,
    Prayer climbs the ladder Jacob saw.

The whole hymn is (or once was) so thoroughly learned by heart as to be
fixed in the church among its household words. Preachers to the
diffident do not forget to quote--

    Have you no words? ah, think again;
    Words flow apace when you _complain_.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Were half the breath thus vainly spent
    To Heaven in supplication sent,
    Our cheerful song would oftener be,
    "Hear what the Lord hath done for me!"

And there is all the lifetime of a proverb in the couplet--

    Satan trembles when he sees
    The weakest saint upon his knees.

Tune, Lowell Mason's "Rockingham."


"MY GRACIOUS REDEEMER I LOVE."

This is one of Benjamin Francis's lays of devotion. The Christian
Welshman who bore that name was a Gospel minister full of Evangelical
zeal, who preached in many places, though his pastoral home was with the
Baptist church in Shortwood, Wales. Flattering calls to London could not
tempt him away from his first and only parish, and he remained there
till his triumphant death. He was born in 1734, and died in 1799.

    My gracious Redeemer I love,
      His praises aloud I'll proclaim,
    And join with the armies above,
      To shout His adorable name.
    To gaze on His glories divine
      Shall be my eternal employ;
    To see them incessantly shine,
      My boundless, ineffable joy.

Tune, "Birmingham"--an English melody. Anonymous.


"BLEST BE THE TIE THAT BINDS."

Perhaps the best hymn-expression of sacred brotherhood, at least it has
had, and still has the indorsement of constant use. The author, John
Fawcett, D.D., is always quoted as the example of his own words, since
he sacrificed ambition and personal interest to Christian affection.

Born near Bradford, Yorkshire, Jan. 6, 1739, and converted under the
preaching of Whitefield, he joined the Methodists, but afterwards
became a member of the new Baptist church in Bradford. Seven years later
he was ordained over the Baptist Society at Wainsgate. In 1772 he
received a call to succeed the celebrated Dr. Gill, in London, and
accepted. But at the last moment, when his goods were packed for
removal, the clinging love of his people, weeping their farewells around
him, melted his heart. Their passionate regrets were more than either he
or his good wife could withstand.

"I will _stay_," he said; "you may unpack my goods, and we will live for
the Lord lovingly together."

It was out of this heart experience that the tender hymn was born.

    Our fears, our hopes, our aims are one,
      Our comforts and our cares.

Dr. Fawcett died July 25, 1817.

Tune, "Boylston," L. Mason; or "Dennis," H.G. Naegeli.


"I LOVE THY KINGDOM, LORD."

"Dr. Dwight's Hymn," as this is known _par eminence_ among many others
from his pen, is one of the imperishable lyrics of the Christian Church.
The real spirit of the hundred and twenty-second Psalm is in it, and it
is worthy of Watts in his best moments.

Timothy Dwight was born at Northampton, Mass, May 14, 1752, and
graduated at Yale College at the age of thirteen. He wrote several
religious poems of considerable length. In 1795 he was elected President
of Yale College, and in 1800 he revised Watts' Psalms, at the request of
the General Association of Connecticut, adding a number of translations
of his own.

    I love Thy kingdom, 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.

Dr. Dwight died Jan. 11, 1817.

Tune, "St. Thomas," Aaron Williams, (1734-1776.)

Mr. Hubert P. Main, however, believes the author to be Handel. It
appeared as the second movement of a four-movement tune in Williams's
1762 collection, which contained pieces by the great masters, with his
own; but while not credited to Handel, Williams did not claim it
himself.


"MID SCENES OF CONFUSION."

This hymn, common in chapel hymnbooks half a century and more ago, is
said to have been written by the Rev. David Denham, about 1826.


_THE TUNE._

"Home, Sweet Home" was composed, according to the old account, by John
Howard Payne as one of the airs in his opera of "Clari, the Maid of
Milan," which was brought out in London at Drury Lane in 1823. But
Charles Mackay, the English poet, in the London Telegraph, asserts that
Sir Henry Bishop, an eminent musician, in his vain search for a Sicilian
national air, _invented_ one, and that it was the melody of "Home, sweet
Home," which he afterwards set to Howard Payne's words. Mr. Mackay had
this story from Sir Henry himself.

    Mid scenes of confusion and creature complaints
    How sweet to my soul is communion with saints,
    To find at the banquet of mercy there's room
    And feel in the presence of Jesus at home.
      Home, home, sweet, sweet home!
    Prepare me, dear Savior for glory, my home.

John Howard Payne, author at least, of the original _words_ of "Home,
Sweet Home," was born in New York City June 9, 1791. He was a singer,
and became an actor and theatrical writer. He composed the words of his
immortal song in the year 1823, when he was himself homeless and hungry
and sheltered temporarily in an attic in Paris.

His fortunes improved at last, and he was appointed to represent his
native country as consul in Tunis, where he died, Apr. 9, 1852.


"O, COULD I SPEAK THE MATCHLESS WORTH."

The writer of this hymn of worshiping ardor and exalted Christian love
was an English Baptist minister, the Rev. Samuel Medley. He was born at
Cheshunt, Hertfordshire, June 23, 1738, and at eighteen years of age
entered the Royal Navy, where, though he had been piously educated, he
became dissipated and morally reckless. Wounded in a sea fight off Cape
Lagos, and in dread of amputation he prayed penitently through nearly a
whole night, and in the morning the surprised surgeon told him his limb
could be saved.

The voice of his awakened conscience was not wholly disregarded, though
it was not till some time after he left the navy that his vow to begin a
religious life was sincerely kept. After teaching school for four years,
he began to preach in 1766, Wartford in Hertfordshire being the first
scene of his godly labors. He died in Liverpool July 17, 1799, at the
end of a faithful ministry there of twenty-seven years. A small edition
of his hymns was published during his lifetime, in 1789.

    O could I speak the matchless worth,
    O could I sound the glories forth
      Which in my Saviour shine,
    I'd soar and touch the heavenly strings
    And vie with Gabriel while he sings,
      In notes almost divine!


_THE TUNE._

"Colebrook," a plain choral; but with a noble movement, by Henry Smart,
is the English music to this fine lyric, but Dr. Mason's "Ariel" is the
American favorite. It justifies its name, for it has wings--in both full
harmony and duet--and its melody feels the glory of the hymn at every
bar.


"ROCK OF AGES CLEFT FOR ME."

Augustus Montagu Toplady, author of this almost universal hymn, was born
at Farnham, Surrey, Eng., Nov. 4, 1740. Educated at Westminster School,
and Trinity College, Dublin, he took orders in the Established Church.
In his doctrinal debates with the Wesleys he was a harsh
controversialist; but his piety was sincere, and marked late in life by
exalted moods. Physically he was frail, and his fiery zeal wore out his
body. Transferred from his vicarage at Broad Hembury, Devonshire, to
Knightsbridge, London, at twenty-eight years of age, his health began to
fail before he was thirty-five, and in one of his periods of illness he
wrote--

    When languor and disease invade
      This trembling house of clay,
   'Tis sweet to look beyond my pains
      And long to fly away.

And the same homesickness for heaven appears under a different figure in
another hymn--

    At anchor laid remote from home,
    Toiling I cry, "Sweet Spirit, come!
    Celestial breeze, no longer stay,
    But swell my sails, and speed my way!"

Possessed of an ardent religious nature, his spiritual frames
exemplified in a notable degree the emotional side of Calvinistic piety.
Edward Payson himself, was not more enraptured in immediate view of
death than was this young London priest and poet. Unquestioning faith
became perfect certainty. As in the bold metaphor of "Rock of Ages," the
faith finds voice in--

    A debtor to mercy alone,

--and other hymns in his collection of 1776, two years before the end
came. Most of this devout writing was done in his last days, and he
continued it as long as strength was left, until, on the 11th of August,
1778, he joyfully passed away.

Somehow there was always something peculiarly heartsome and "filling" to
pious minds in the lines of Toplady in days when his minor hymns were
more in vogue than now, and they were often quoted, without any idea
whose making they were. "At anchor laid" was crooned by good old ladies
at their spinning-wheels, and godly invalids found "When languor and
disease invade" a comfort next to their Bibles.

"Rock of Ages" is said to have been written after the author, during a
suburban walk, had been forced to shelter himself from a thunder
shower, under a cliff. This is, however, but one of several stories
about the birth-occasion of the hymn.

It has been translated into many languages. One of the foreign
dignitaries visiting Queen Victoria at her "Golden Jubilee" was a native
of Madagascar, who surprised her by asking leave to sing, but delighted
her, when leave was given, by singing "Rock of Ages." It was a favorite
of hers--and of Prince Albert, who whispered it when he was dying.
People who were school-children when Rev. Justus Vinton came home to
Willington, Ct., with two Karen pupils, repeat to-day the "la-pa-ta,
i-oo-i-oo" caught by sound from the brown-faced boys as they sang their
native version of "Rock of Ages."

Gen. J.E.B. Stuart, the famous Confederate Cavalry leader, mortally
wounded at Yellow Tavern, Va., and borne to a Richmond hospital, called
for his minister and requested that "Rock of Ages" be sung to him.

The last sounds heard by the few saved from the wreck of the steamer
"London" in the Bay of Biscay, 1866, were the voices of the helpless
passengers singing "Rock of Ages" as the ship went down.

A company of Armenian Christians sang "Rock of Ages" in their native
tongue while they were being massacred in Constantinople.

No history of this grand hymn of faith forgets the incident of Gladstone
writing a Latin translation of it while sitting in the House of
Commons. That remarkable man was as masterly in his scholarly
recreations as in his statesmanship. The supreme Christian sentiment of
the hymn had permeated his soul till it spoke to him in a dead language
as eloquently as in the living one; and this is what he made of it:


_TOPLADY._

    Rock of ages, cleft for me,
    Let me hide myself in Thee;
    Let the water and the blood,
    From Thy riven side which flowed,
    Be of sin the double cure,
    Cleanse me from its guilt and power.

    Not the labor of my hands
    Can fulfil Thy law's demands;
    Could my zeal no respite know,
    Could my tears for ever flow,
    All for sin could not atone,
    Thou must save, and Thou alone.

    Nothing in my hand I bring,
    Simply to Thy cross I cling;
    Naked, come to Thee for dress,
    Helpless, look to Thee for grace:
    Foul, I to the fountain fly;
    Wash, me, Saviour, or I die.

    Whilst I draw this fleeting breath,
    When my eyestrings break in death;
    When I soar through tracts unknown,
    See Thee on Thy judgment throne,
    Rock of ages, cleft for me,
    Let me hide myself in Thee.


_GLADSTONE._

    Jesus, pro me perforatus,
    Condar intra tuum latus;
    Tu per lympham profluentem,
    Tu per sanguinem tepentem,
    In peccata mi redunda,
    Tolle culpam, sordes munda!

    Coram Te nec justus forem
    Quamvis tota vi laborem,
    Nec si fide nunquam cesso,
    Fletu stillans indefesso;
    Tibi soli tantum munus--
    Salva me, Salvator Unus!

    Nil in manu mecum fero,
    Sed me versus crucem gero:
    Vestimenta nudus oro,
    Opem debilis imploro,
    Fontem Christi quaero immundus,
    Nisi laves, moribundus.

    Dum hos artus vita regit,
    Quando nox sepulcro legit;
    Mortuos quum stare jubes,
    Sedens Judex inter nubes;--
    Jesus, pro me perforatus,
    Condar intra tuum latus!

The wonderful hymn has suffered the mutations common to time and taste.

    When I soar thro' tracts unknown

--becomes--

    When I soar to worlds unknown,

--getting rid of the unpoetic word, and bettering the elocution, but
missing the writer's thought (of the unknown _path_,--instead of going
to many "worlds"). The Unitarians have their version, with substitutes
for the "atonement lines."

But the Christian lyric maintains its life and inspiration through the
vicissitudes of age and use, as all intrinsically superior things can
and will,--and as in the twentieth line,--

    When my eyestrings break in death;

--modernized to--

    When my eyelids close in death,

--the hymn will ever adapt itself to the new exigencies of common
speech, without losing its vitality and power.


_THE TUNE._

A happy inspiration of Dr. Thomas Hastings made the hymn and music
inevitably one. Almost anywhere to call for the tune of "Toplady"
(namesake of the pious poet) is as unintelligible to the multitude as
"Key" would be to designate the "Star-spangled Banner." The common
people--thanks to Dr. Hastings--have learned "Rock of Ages" by _sound_.

Thomas Hastings was born in Washington, Ct., 1784. For eight years he
was editor of the _Western Recorder_, but he gave his life to church
music, and besides being a talented tone-poet he wrote as many as six
hundred hymns. In 1832, by invitation from twelve New York churches, he
went to that city, and did the main work of his life there, dying, in
1872, at the good old age of eighty-nine. His musical collections number
fifty-three. He wrote his famous tune in 1830.

[Illustration: Thomas Hastings]


"MY SOUL BE ON THY GUARD"

Strangely enough, this hymn, a trumpet note of Christian warning and
resolution, was written by one who himself fell into unworthy ways.[12]
But the one strong and spiritual watch-song by which he is remembered
appeals for him, and lets us know possibly, something of his own
conflicts. We can be thankful for the struggle he once made, and for the
hymn it inspired. It is a voice of caution to others.

[Footnote 12: I have been unable to verify this statement found in Mr.
Butterworth's "Story of the Hymns."--T.B.]

George Heath, the author, was an English minister, born in 1781; died
1822. For a time he was pastor of a Presbyterian Church at Honiton,
Devonshire, and was evidently a prolific writer, having composed a
hundred and forty-four hymns, an edition of which was printed.


_THE TUNE._

No other has been so familiarly linked with the words as Lowell Mason's
"Laban" (1830). It has dash and animation enough to reenforce the hymn,
and give it popular life, even if the hymn had less earnestness and
vigor of its own.

    Ne'er think the vict'ry won
      Nor lay thine armor down:
    Thy arduous work will not be done
      Till thou hast gained thy crown.

    Fight on, my soul till death
      Shall bring thee to thy God;
    He'll take thee at thy parting breath
      To His divine abode.


"PEOPLE OF THE LIVING GOD."

Montgomery _felt_ every line of this hymn as he committed it to paper.
He wrote it when, after years in the "swim" of social excitements and
ambitions, where his young independence swept him on, he came back to
the little church of his boyhood. His father and mother had gone to the
West Indies as missionaries, and died there. He was forty-three years
old when, led by divine light, he sought readmission to the Moravian
"meeting" at Fulneck, and anchored happily in a haven of peace.

    People of the living God
      I have sought the world around,
    Paths of sin and sorrow trod,
      Peace and comfort nowhere found:

    Now to you my spirit turns--
      Turns a fugitive unblest;
    Brethren, where your altar burns,
      Oh, receive me into rest.

James Montgomery, son of Rev. John Montgomery, was born at Irvine,
Ayrshire, Scotland, Nov. 4, 1771, and educated at the Moravian Seminary
at Fulneck, Yorkshire, Eng. He became the editor of the _Sheffield
Iris_, and his pen was busy in non-professional as well as professional
work until old age. He died in Sheffield, April 30, 1854.

His literary career was singularly successful; and a glance through any
complete edition of his poems will tell us why. His hymns were all
published during his lifetime, and all, as well as his longer pieces,
have the purity and polished beauty, if not the strength, of Addison's
work. Like Addison, too, he could say that he had written no line which,
dying, he would wish to blot.

The best of Montgomery was in his hymns. These were too many to
enumerate here, and the more enduring ones too familiar to need
enumeration. The church and the world will not soon forget "The Home in
Heaven,"--

    Forever with the Lord,
    Amen, so let it be.
    Life from the dead is in that word;
   'Tis immortality.

Nor--

    O where shall rest be found,

--with its impressive couplet--

   'Tis not the whole of life to live
    Nor all of death to die.

Nor the haunting sweetness of--

    There is a calm for those who weep.

Nor, indeed, the hymn of Christian love just now before us.


_THE TUNE._

The melody exactly suited to the gentle trochaic step of the home-song,
"People of the living God," is "Whitman," composed for it by Lowell
Mason. Few Christians, in America, we venture to say, could hear an
instrument play "Whitman" without mentally repeating Montgomery's words.


"TO LEAVE MY DEAR FRIENDS."

This hymn, called "The Bower of Prayer," was dear to Christian hearts in
many homes and especially in rural chapel worship half a century ago and
earlier, and its sweet legato melody still lingers in the memories of
aged men and women.

Elder John Osborne, a New Hampshire preacher of the "Christian"
(_Christ-ian_) denomination, is said to have composed the tune (and
possibly the words) about 1815--though apparently the music was arranged
from a flute interlude in one of Haydn's themes. The warbling notes of
the air are full of heart-feeling, and usually the best available treble
voice sang it as a solo.

    To leave my dear friends and from neighbors to part,
    And go from my home, it affects not my heart
    Like the thought of absenting myself for a day
    From that blest retreat I have chosen to pray,
              I have chosen to pray.

    The early shrill notes of the loved nightingale
    That dwelt in the bower, I observed as my bell:
    It called me to duty, while birds in the air
    Sang anthems of praises as I went to prayer,
              As I went to prayer.[13]

    How sweet were the zephyrs perfumed by the pine,
    The ivy, the balsam, the wild eglantine,
    But sweeter, O, sweeter superlative were
    The joys that I tasted in answer to prayer,
              In answer to prayer.

[Footnote 13: The _American Vocalist_ omits this stanza as too fanciful
as well as too crude]


"SAVIOUR, THY DYING LOVE."

This hymn of grateful piety was written in 1862, by Rev. S. Dryden
Phelps, D.D., of New Haven, and first published in _Pure Gold_, 1871;
afterwards in the (earlier) _Baptist Hymn and Tune Book_.

    Saviour, Thy dying love
      Thou gavest me,
    Nor should I aught withhold
      Dear Lord, from Thee.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Give me a faithful heart,
      Likeness to Thee,
    That each departing day
      Henceforth may see
    Some work of love begun,
    Some deed of kindness done,
    Some wand'rer sought and won,
      Something for Thee.

The penultimate line, originally "Some sinful wanderer won," was altered
by the author himself. The hymn is found in most Baptist hymnals, and
was inserted by Mr. Sankey in _Gospel Hymns No. 1_. It has since won its
way into several revival collections and undenominational manuals.

Rev. Sylvester Dryden Phelps, D.D., was born in Suffield, Ct., May 15,
1816, and studied at the Connecticut Literary Institution in that town.
An early call to the ministry turned his talents to the service of the
church, and his long settlement--comprising what might be called his
principal life work--was in New Haven, where he was pastor of the First
Baptist church twenty-nine years. He died there Nov. 23, 1895.


_THE TUNE._

The Rev. Robert Lowry admired the hymn, and gave it a tune perfectly
suited to its metre and spirit. It has never been sung in any other. The
usual title of it is "Something for Jesus." The meaning and sentiment of
both words and music are not unlike Miss Havergal's--

    I gave my life for thee.


"IN SOME WAY OR OTHER."

This song of Christian confidence was written by Mrs. Martha A.W. Cook,
wife of the Rev. Parsons Cook, editor of the _Puritan Recorder_, Boston.

It was published in the _American Messenger_ in 1870, and is still in
use here, as a German version of it is in Germany. The first stanza
follows, in the two languages:

    In some way or other the Lord will provide.
        It may not be my way,
        It may not be thy way,
        And yet in His own way
        The Lord will provide.

    Sei's so oder anders, der Herr wird's versehn;
        Mag's nicht sein, wie ich will,
        Mag's nicht sein, wie du willst,
        Doch wird's sein, wie Er will:
        Der Herr wird's versehn.

In the English version the easy flow of the two last lines into one
sentence is an example of rhythmic advantage over the foreign syntax.

Mrs. Cook was married to the well-known clergyman and editor, Parsons
Cook, (1800-1865) in Bridgeport, Ct., and survived him at his death in
Lynn, Mass. She was Miss Martha Ann Woodbridge, afterwards Mrs. Hawley,
and a widow at the time of her re-marriage as Mr. Cook's second wife.


_THE TUNE._

Professor Calvin S. Harrington, of Wesleyan University, Middletown, Ct.,
set music to the words as printed in _Winnowed Hymns_ (1873) and
arranged by Dr. Eben Tourjee, organizer of the great American Peace
Jubilee in Boston. In the _Gospel Hymns_ it is, however, superseded by
the more popular composition of Philip Phillips.

Dr. Eben Tourjee, late Dean of the College of Music in Boston
University, and founder and head of the New England Conservatory, was
born in Warwick, R.I., June 1, 1834. With only an academy education he
rose by native genius, from a hard-working boyhood to be a teacher of
music and a master of its science. From a course of study in Europe he
returned and soon made his reputation as an organizer of musical schools
and sangerfests. The New England Conservatory of Music was first
established by him in Providence, but removed in 1870 to Boston, its
permanent home. His doctorate of music was conferred upon him by
Wesleyan University. Died in Boston, April 12, 1891.

Philip Phillips, known as "the singing Pilgrim," was born in Jamestown,
Chautauqua, Co., N.Y., Aug. 13, 1834. He compiled twenty-nine
collections of sacred music for Sunday schools, gospel meetings, etc.;
also a _Methodist Hymn and Tune Book_, 1866. He composed a great number
of tunes, but wrote no hymns. Some of his books were published in
London, for he was a cosmopolitan singer, and traveled through Europe
and Australia as well as America. Died in Delaware, O., June 25, 1875.


"NEARER, MY GOD, TO THEE."

Mr. William Stead, fond of noting what is often believed to be the
"providential chain of causes" in everything that happens, recalls the
fact that Benjamin Flower, editor of the _Cambridge Intelligencer_,
while in jail (1798) at the instigation of Bp. Watson for an article
defending the French Revolution, and criticising the Bishop's political
course, was visited by several sympathizing ladies, one of whom was Miss
Eliza Gould. The young lady's first acquaintance with him there in his
cell led to an attachment which eventuated in marriage. Of that marriage
Sarah Flower was born. By the theory of providential sequences Mr. Stead
makes it appear that the forgotten vindictiveness of a British prelate
"was the _causa causans_ of one of the most spiritual and aspiring hymns
in the Christian Hymnary."

"Nearer, My God, to Thee" was on the lips of President McKinley as he
lay dying by a murderer's wicked shot. It is dear to President Roosevelt
for its memories of the battle of Las Quasimas, where the Rough Riders
sang it at the burial of their slain comrades. Bishop Marvin was saved
by it from hopeless dejection, while practically an exile during the
Civil War, by hearing it sung in the wilds of Arkansas, by an old woman
in a log hut.

A letter from Pittsburg, Pa., to a leading Boston paper relates the name
and experience of a forger who had left the latter city and wandered
eight years a fugitive from justice. On the 5th of November, (Sunday,)
1905, he found himself in Pittsburg, and ventured into the Dixon
Theatre, where a religious service was being held, to hear the music.
The hymn "Nearer, My God, to Thee" so overcame him that he went out
weeping bitterly. He walked the floor of his room all night, and in the
morning telephoned for the police, confessed his name and crime, and
surrendered himself to be taken back to the Boston authorities.

Mrs. Sarah Flower Adams, author of the noble hymn (supposed to have been
written in 1840), was born at Harlow, Eng., Feb. 22, 1805, and died
there in 1848. At her funeral another of her hymns was sung, ending--

    When falls the shadow, cold in death
    I yet will sing with fearless breath,
    As comes to me in shade or sun,
   "Father, Thy will, not mine, be done."

The attempts to _evangelize_ "Nearer, My God, to Thee" by those who
cannot forget that Mrs. Adams was a Unitarian, are to be deplored. Such
zeal is as needless as trying to sectarianize an Old Testament Psalm.
The poem is a perfect religious piece--to be sung as it stands, with
thanks that it was ever created.


_THE TUNE._

In English churches (since 1861) the hymn was and may still be sung to
"Horbury," composed by Rev. John B. Dykes, and "St. Edmund," by Sir
Arthur Sullivan. Both tunes are simple and appropriate, but such a hymn
earns and inevitably acquires a single tune-voice, so that its music
instantly names it by its words when played on instruments. Such a voice
was given it by Lowell Mason's "Bethany," (1856). (Why not "Bethel,"
instead, every one who notes the imagery of the words must wonder.)
"Bethany" appealed to the popular heart, and long ago (in America) hymn
and tune became each other's property. It is even simpler than the
English tunes, and a single hearing fixes it in memory.


"I NEED THEE EVERY HOUR."

Mrs. Annie Sherwood Hawks, who wrote this hymn in 1872, was born in
Hoosick, N.Y., in 1835.

She sent the hymn (five stanzas) to Dr. Lowry, who composed its tune,
adding a chorus, to make it more effective. It first appeared in a small
collection of original songs prepared by Lowry and Doane for the
National Baptist Sunday School Association, which met at Cincinnati, O.,
November, 1872, and was sung there.

    I need Thee every hour,
      Most gracious Lord,
    No tender voice like Thine
      Can peace afford.

  CHORUS.
    I need Thee, Oh, I need Thee,
    Every hour I need Thee;
    Oh, bless me now, my Saviour,
      I come to Thee!

One instance, at least, of a hymn made doubly impressive by its chorus
will be attested by all who have sung or heard the pleading words and
music of Mrs. Hawks' and Dr. Lowry's "I need Thee, Oh, I need Thee."


"I GAVE MY LIFE FOR THEE."

This was written in her youth by Frances Ridley Havergal, and was
suggested by the motto over the head of Christ in the great picture,
"Ecce Homo," in the Art Gallery of Dusseldorf, Prussia, where she was at
school. The sight--as was the case with young Count Zinzendorf--seems to
have had much to do with the gifted girl's early religious experience,
and indeed exerted its influence on her whole life. The motto read "I
did this for thee; what doest thou for me?" and the generative effect of
the solemn picture and its question soon appeared in the hymn that
flowed from Miss Havergal's heart and pen.

    I gave my life for thee,
      My precious blood I shed,
    That thou might'st ransomed be
      And quickened from the dead.
    I gave my life for thee:
    What hast thou given for me?

Miss Frances Ridley Havergal, sometimes called "The Theodosia of the
19th century," was born at Astley, Worcestershire, Eng., Dec. 14, 1836.
Her father, Rev. William Henry Havergal, a clergyman of the Church of
England, was himself a poet and a skilled musician, and much of the
daughter's ability came to her by natural bequest as well as by
education. Born a poet, she became a fine instrumentalist, a composer
and an accomplished linguist. Her health was frail, but her life was a
devoted one, and full of good works. Her consecrated _words_ were
destined to outlast her by many generations.

"Writing is _praying_ with me," she said. Death met her in 1879, when
still in the prime of womanhood.


_THE TUNE._

The music that has made this hymn of Miss Havergal familiar in America
is named from its first line, and was composed by the lamented Philip P.
Bliss (christened Philipp Bliss[14]), a pupil of Dr. George F. Root.

[Footnote 14: Mr. Bliss himself changed the spelling of his name,
preferring to let the third P. do duty alone, as a middle initial.]

He was born in Rome, Pa., Jan. 9, 1838, and less than thirty-nine years
later suddenly ended his life, a victim of the awful railroad disaster
at Ashtabula O., Dec. 29, 1876, while returning from a visit to his aged
mother. His wife, Lucy Young Bliss, perished with him there, in the
swift flames that enveloped the wreck of the train.

The name of Mr. Bliss had become almost a household word through his
numerous popular Christian melodies, which were the American beginning
of the series of _Gospel Hymns_. Many of these are still favorite
prayer-meeting tunes throughout the country and are heard in
song-service at Sunday-school and city mission meetings.


"JESUS KEEP ME NEAR THE CROSS."

This hymn, one of the best and probably most enduring of Fanny J.
Crosby's sacred lyrics, was inspired by Col. 1:29.

Frances Jane Crosby (Mrs. Van Alstyne) the blind poet and hymnist, was
born in Southeast, N.Y., March 24, 1820. She lost her eyesight at the
age of six. Twelve years of her younger life were spent in the New York
Institution for the Blind, where she became a teacher, and in 1858 was
happily married to a fellow inmate, Mr. Alexander Van Alstyne, a
musician.

George F. Root was for a time musical instructor at the Institution, and
she began early to write words to his popular song-tunes. "Rosalie, the
Prairie Flower," and the long favorite melody, "There's Music in the
Air" are among the many to which she supplied the text and the song
name.

She resides in Bridgeport, Ct., where she enjoys a serene and happy old
age. She has written over six thousand hymns, and possibly will add
other pearls to the cluster before she goes up to join the singing
saints.

    Jesus, keep me near the Cross,
      There a precious Fountain
    Free to all, a healing stream,
      Flows from Calv'ry's mountain.

  CHORUS.
    In the Cross, in the Cross
      Be my glory ever,
    Till my raptured soul shall find
      Rest beyond the river.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Near the Cross! O Lamb of God,
      Bring its scenes before me;
    Help me walk from day to day
      With its shadows o'er me.

  CHORUS.

William Howard Doane, writer of the music to this hymn, was born in
Preston, Ct., Feb. 3, 1831. He studied at Woodstock Academy, and
subsequently acquired a musical education which earned him the degree of
Doctor of Music conferred upon him by Denison University in 1875. Having
a mechanical as well as musical gift, he patented more than seventy
inventions, and was for some years engaged with manufacturing concerns,
both as employee and manager, but his interest in song-worship and in
Sunday-school and church work never abated, and he is well known as a
trainer of choirs and composer of some of the best modern devotional
tunes. His home is in Cincinnati, O.


"I WOULD NOT LIVE ALWAY."

This threnody (we may almost call it) of W.A. Muhlenberg, illustrating
one phase of Christian experience, was the outpouring of a poetic
melancholy not uncommon to young and finely strung souls. He composed it
in his twenties,--long before he became "Doctor" Muhlenberg,--and for
years afterwards tried repeatedly to alter it to a more cheerful tone.
But the poem had its mission, and it had fastened itself in the public
imagination, either by its contagious sentiment or the felicity of its
tune, and the author was obliged to accept the fame of it as it
originally stood.

William Augustus Muhlenberg D.D. was born in Philadelphia, Sept. 16,
1796, the great-grandson of Dr. Henry M. Muhlenberg, founder of the
Lutheran church in America. In 1817 he left his ancestral communion, and
became an Episcopal priest.

As Rector of St. James church, Lancaster, Pa., he interested himself in
the improvement of ecclesiastical hymnody, and did much good reforming
work. After a noble and very active life as promoter of religious
education and Christian union, and as a friend and benefactor of the
poor, he died April, 8, 1877, in St. Luke's Hospital, N.Y.


_THE TUNE._

This was composed by Mr. George Kingsley in 1833, and entitled
"Frederick" (dedicated to the Rev. Frederick T. Gray). Issued first as
sheet music, it became popular, and soon found a place in the hymnals.
Dr. Louis Benson says of the conditions and the fancy of the time, "The
standard of church music did not differ materially from that of parlor
music.... Several editors have attempted to put a newer tune in the
place of Mr. Kingsley's. It was in vain, simply because words and melody
both appeal to the same taste."

[Illustration: Frances Ridley Havergal]


"SUN OF MY SOUL, MY SAVIOUR DEAR."

This gem from Keble's _Christian Year_ illustrates the life and
character of its pious author, and, like all the hymns of that
celebrated collection, is an incitive to spiritual thought for the
thoughtless, as well as a language for those who stand in the Holy of
Holies.

The Rev. John Keble was born in Caln, St. Aldwyn, April 25, 1792. He
took his degree of A.M. and was ordained and settled at Fairford, where
he began the parochial work that ceased only with his life. He died at
Bournmouth, March 29, 1866.

His settlement at Fairford, in charge of three small curacies, satisfied
his modest ambition, though altogether they brought him only about L100
per year. Here he preached, wrote his hymns and translations, performed
his pastoral work, and was happy. Temptation to wider fields and larger
salary never moved him.


_THE TUNE._

The music to this hymn of almost unparalleled poetic and spiritual
beauty was arranged from a German Choral of Peter Ritter (1760-1846) by
William Henry Monk, Mus. Doc., born London, 1823. Dr. Monk was a
lecturer, composer, editor, and professor of vocal music at King's
College. This noble tune appears sometimes under the name "Hursley" and
supersedes an earlier one ("Halle") by Thomas Hastings.

    Sun of my soul, my Saviour dear,
    It is not night if Thou be near.
    O may no earth-born cloud arise
    To hide Thee from Thy servants' eyes.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Abide with me from morn till eve,
    For without Thee I cannot live
    Abide with me when night is nigh,
    For without Thee I cannot die.

The tune "Hursley" is a choice example of polyphonal sweetness in
uniform long notes of perfect chord.

The tune of "Canonbury," by Robert Schumann, set to Keble's hymn, "New
every morning is the love," is deservedly a favorite for flowing long
metres, but it could never replace "Hursley" with "Sun of my soul."


"DID CHRIST O'ER SINNERS WEEP?"

The Rev. Benjamin Beddome wrote this tender hymn-poem while pastor of
the Baptist Congregation at Bourton-on-the-water, Gloucestershire, Eng.
He was born at Henley, Chatwickshire, Jan. 23, 1717. Settled in 1743,
he remained with the same church till his death, Sept. 3, 1795. His
hymns were not collected and published till 1818.


_THE TUNE._

"Dennis," a soft and smoothly modulated harmony, is oftenest sung to the
words, and has no note out of sympathy with their deep feeling.

    Did Christ o'er sinners weep,
      And shall our cheeks be dry?
    Let floods of penitential grief
      Burst forth from every eye.

    The Son of God in tears
      Admiring angels see!
    Be thou astonished, O my soul;
      He shed those tears for thee.

    He wept that we might weep;
      Each sin demands a tear:
    In heaven alone no sin is found,
      And there's no weeping there.

The tune of "Dennis" was adapted by Lowell Mason from Johann Georg
Naegeli, a Swiss music publisher, composer and poet. He was born in
Zurich, 1768. It is told of him that his irrepressible genius once
tempted him to violate the ethics of authorship. While publishing
Beethoven's three great solo sonatas (Opus 31) he interpolated two bars
of his own, an act much commented upon in musical circles, but which
does not seem to have cost him Beethoven's friendship. Possibly, like
Murillo to the servant who meddled with his paintings, the great master
forgave the liberty, because the work was so good.

Naegeli's compositions are mostly vocal, for school and church use,
though some are of a gay and playful nature. The best remembered of his
secular and sacred styles are his blithe aria to the song of Moore,
"Life let us cherish, while yet the taper glows" and the sweet choral
that voices Beddome's hymn.


"MY JESUS, I LOVE THEE."

The real originator of the _Coronation Hymnal_, a book into whose making
went five years of prayer, was Dr. A.J. Gordon, late Pastor of the
Clarendon St. Baptist church, Boston. While the volume was slowly taking
form and plan he was wont to hum to himself, or cause to be played by
one of his family, snatches and suggestions of new airs that came to him
in connection with his own hymns, and others which seemed to have no
suitable music. The anonymous hymn, "My Jesus, I Love Thee," he found in
a London hymn-book, and though the tune to which it had been sung in
England was sent to him some time later, it did not sound sympathetic.
Dissatisfied, and with the ideal in his mind of what the feeling should
be in the melody to such a hymn, he meditated and prayed over the words
till in a moment of inspiration the beautiful air sang itself to him[15]
which with its simple concords has carried the hymn into the chapels of
every denomination.

[Footnote 15: The fact that this sweet melody recalls to some a similar
tune sung sixty years ago reminds us again of the story of the tune
"America." It is not impossible that an unconscious _memory_ helped to
shape the air that came to Dr. Gordon's mind; though unborrowed
similarities have been inevitable in the whole history of music.]

    My Jesus, I love Thee, I know Thou art mine,
    For Thee all the pleasures of sin I resign;
    My gracious Redeemer, my Saviour art Thou,
    If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, 'tis now.

       *       *       *       *       *

    I will love Thee in life, I will love Thee in death,
    And praise Thee as long as Thou lendest me breath,
    And say when the death-dew lies cold on my brow,
    If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, 'tis now.

    In mansions of glory and endless delight
    I'll ever adore Thee, unveiled to my sight,
    And sing, with the glittering crown on my brow,
    If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, 'tis now.

The memory of the writer returns to a day in a railway-car en route to
the great Columbian Fair in Chicago when the tired passengers were
suddenly surprised and charmed by the music of this melody. A young
Christian man and woman, husband and wife, had begun to sing "My Jesus,
I love Thee." Their voices (a tenor and soprano) were clear and sweet,
and every one of the company sat up to listen with a look of mingled
admiration and relief. Here was something, after all, to make a long
journey less tedious. They sang all the four verses and paused. There
was no clapping of hands, for a reverential hush had been cast over the
audience by the sacred music. Instead of the inevitable applause that
follows mere entertainment, a gentle but eager request for more secured
the repetition of the delightful duet. This occurred again and again,
till every one in the car--and some had never heard the tune or words
before--must have learned them by heart. Fatigue was forgotten, miles
had been reduced to furlongs in a weary trip, and a company of strangers
had been lifted to a holier plane of thought.

Besides this melody there are four tunes by Dr. Gordon in his
collection, three of them with his own words. In all there are eleven of
his hymns. Of these the "Good morning in Glory," set to his music, is an
emotional lyric admirable in revival meetings, and the one beginning "O
Holy Ghost, Arise" is still sung, and called for affectionately as
"Gordon's Hymn."

Rev. Adoniram Judson Gordon D.D. was born in New Hampton, N.H., April
19, 1836, and died in Boston, Feb. 2d, 1895, after a life of unsurpassed
usefulness to his fellowmen and devotion to his Divine Master. Like
Phillips Brooks he went to his grave "in all his glorious prime," and
his loss is equally lamented. He was a descendant of John Robinson of
Leyden.




CHAPTER IV.

MISSIONARY HYMNS.


"JESUS SHALL REIGN WHERE'ER THE SUN."

One of Watts' sublimest hymns, this Hebrew ode to the final King and His
endless dominion expands the majestic prophesy in the seventy-second
Psalm:

    Jesus shall reign where'er the sun
    Does his successive journeys run,
    His kingdom stretch from shore to shore
    Till moons shall wax and wane no more.

The hymn itself could almost claim to be known "where'er the sun" etc.,
for Christian missionaries have sung it in every land, if not in every
language.

One of the native kings in the South Sea Islands, who had been converted
through the ministry of English missionaries, substituted a Christian
for a pagan constitution in 1862. There were five thousand of his
subjects gathered at the ceremonial, and they joined as with one voice
in singing this hymn.


_THE TUNE._

"Old Hundred" has often lent the notes of its great plain-song to the
sonorous lines, and "Duke Street," with superior melody and scarcely
inferior grandeur, has given them wings; but the choice of many for
music that articulates the life of the hymn would be the tune of
"Samson," from Handel's Oratorio so named. It appears as No. 469 in the
_Evangelical Hymnal_.

Handel had no peer in the art or instinct of making a note speak a word.


"JOY TO THE WORLD! THE LORD IS COME!"

This hymn, also by Watts, is often sung as a Christmas song; but "The
Saviour Reigns" and "He Rules the World" are bursts of prophetic triumph
always apt and stimulating in missionary meetings.

Here, again, the great Handel lends appropriate aid, for "Antioch," the
popular tone-consort of the hymn, is an adaptation from his "Messiah."
The arrangement has been credited to Lowell Mason, but he seems to have
taken it from an English collection by Clark of Canterbury.


"O'ER THE GLOOMY HILLS OF DARKNESS."

_Dros y brinian tywyl niwliog._

This notable hymn was written, probably about 1750, by the Rev. William
Williams, a Welsh Calvinistic Methodist, born at Cefnycoed, Jan. 7,
1717, near Llandovery. He began the study of medicine, but took deacon's
orders, and was for a time an itinerant preacher, having left the
established Church. Died at Pantycelyn, Jan. 1, 1781.

His hymn, like the two preceding, antedates the great Missionary
Movement by many years.

    O'er the gloomy hills of darkness
      Look my soul! be still, and gaze!
    See the promises advancing
      To a glorious Day of grace!
        Blessed Jubilee,
    Let thy glorious morning dawn!

    Let the dark, benighted pagan,
      Let the rude barbarian see
    That divine and glorious conquest
      Once obtained on Calvary.
        Let the Gospel
    Loud resound from pole to pole.

This song of anticipation has dropped out of the modern hymnals, but the
last stanza lingers in many memories.

    Fly abroad, thou mighty Gospel!
      Win and conquer, never cease;
    May thy lasting wide dominion
      Multiply and still increase.
        Sway Thy scepter,
    Saviour, all the world around!


_THE TUNE._

Oftener than any other the music of "Zion" has been the expression of
William Williams' Missionary Hymn. It was composed by Thomas Hastings,
in Washington, Ct., 1830.


"HASTEN, LORD, THE GLORIOUS TIME."

    Hasten, Lord, the glorious time
      When beneath Messiah's sway
    Every nation, every clime
      Shall the Gospel call obey.
    Mightiest kings its power shall own,
      Heathen tribes His name adore,
    Satan and his host o'erthrown
      Bound in chains shall hurt no more.

Miss Harriet Auber, the author of this melodious hymn, was a daughter of
James Auber of London, and was born in that city, Oct. 4, 1773. After
leaving London she led a secluded life at Broxbourne and Hoddesdon, in
Hertfordshire, writing devotional poetry and sacred songs and
paraphrases.

Her _Spirit of the Psalms_, published in 1829, was a collection of
lyrics founded on the Biblical Psalms. "Hasten Lord," etc., is from Ps.
72, known for centuries to Christendom as one of the Messianic Psalms.
Her best-known hymns have the same inspiration, as--

    Wide, ye heavenly gates, unfold.

    Sweet is the work, O Lord.

    With joy we hail the sacred day.

Miss Auber died in Hoddesdon, Jan. 20, 1862. She lived to witness and
sympathise with the pioneer missionary enterprise of the 19th century,
and, although she could not stand among the leaders of the battle-line
in extending the conquest of the world for Christ, she was happy in
having written a campaign hymn which they loved to sing. (It is curious
that so pains-taking a work as Julian's _Dictionary of Hymns and
Hymn-writers_ credits "With joy we hail the sacred day" to both Miss
Auber and Henry Francis Lyte. Coincidences are known where different
hymns by different authors begin with the same line; and in this case
one writer was dead before the other's works were published. Possibly
the collector may have seen a forgotten hymn of Lyte's, with that first
line.)

The tune that best interprets this hymn in spirit and in living _music_
is Lowell Mason's "Eltham." Its harmony is like a chime of bells.


"LET PARTY NAMES NO MORE."

    Let party names no more
      The Christian world o'erspread;
    Gentile and Jew, and bond and free,
      Are one in Christ the Head.

This hymn of Rev. Benjamin Beddome sounds like a prelude to the grand
rally of the Christian Churches a generation later for united advance
into foreign fields. It was an after-sermon hymn--like so many of Watts
and Doddridge--and spoke a good man's longing to see all sects stand
shoulder to shoulder in a common crusade.

Tune--Boylston.


"WATCHMAN, TELL US OF THE NIGHT."

The tune written to this pealing hymn of Sir John Bowring by Lowell
Mason has never been superseded. In animation and vocal splendor it
catches the author's own clear call, echoing the shout of Zion's
sentinels from city to city, and happily reproducing in movement and
phrase the great song-dialogue. Words and music together, the piece
ranks with the foremost missionary lyrics. Like the greater Mason-Heber
world-song, it has acquired no arbitrary name, appearing in Mason's own
tune-books under its first hymn-line and likewise in many others. A few
hymnals have named it "Bowring," (and why not?) and some later ones
simply "Watchman."

      1.
    Watchman, tell us of the night.
      What its signs of promise are!
              (Antistrophe)
    Traveler, on yon mountain height.
      See that glory-beaming star!

      2
    Watchman, does its beauteous ray
      Aught of hope or joy foretell?
              (Antistrophe)
    Trav'ler, yes; it brings the day,
      Promised day of Israel.

      3
    Watchman, tell us of the night;
      Higher yet that star ascends.
              (Antistrophe)
    Trav'ler, blessedness and light
      Peace and truth its course portends.

      4
    Watchman, will its beams alone
      Gild the spot that gave them birth?
              (Antistrophe)
    Trav'ler, ages are its own.
      See! it bursts o'er all the earth.


"YE CHRISTIAN HERALDS, GO PROCLAIM."

In some versions "Ye Christian _heroes_," etc.

Professor David R. Breed attributes this stirring hymn to Mrs. Vokes (or
Voke) an English or Welsh lady, who is supposed to have written it
somewhere near 1780, and supports the claim by its date of publication
in _Missionary and Devotional Hymns_ at Portsea, Wales, in 1797. In this
Dr. Breed follows (he says) "the accepted tradition." On the other hand
the _Coronation Hymnal_ (1894) refers the authorship to a Baptist
minister, the Rev. Bourne Hall Draper, of Southampton (Eng.), born 1775,
and this choice has the approval of Dr. Charles Robinson. The question
occurs whether, when the hymn was published in good faith as Mrs.
Vokes', it was really the work of a then unknown youth of twenty-two.

The probability is that the hymn owns a mother instead of a father--and
a grand hymn it is; one of the most stimulating in Missionary
song-literature.

The stanza--

    God shield you with a wall of fire!
    With flaming zeal your breasts inspire;
    Bid raging winds their fury cease,
    And hush the tumult into peace,

--has been tampered with by editors, altering the last line to "Calm the
troubled seas," etc., (for the sake of the longer vowel;) but the
substitution, "_He'll_ shield you," etc., in the first line, turns a
prayer into a mere statement.

The hymn was--and should remain--a God-speed to men like William
Carey, who had already begun to think and preach his immortal motto,
"Attempt great things for God; expect great things of God."


_THE TUNE_

Is the "Missionary Chant," and no other. Its composer, Heinrich
Christopher Zeuner, was born in Eisleben, Saxony, Sept. 20, 1795. He
came to the United States in 1827, and was for many years organist at
Park Street Church, Boston, and for the Handel and Haydn Society. In
1854 he removed to Philadelphia where he served three years as organist
to St. Andrews Church, and Arch Street Presbyterian. He became insane in
1857, and in November of that year died by his own hand.

He published an oratorio "The Feast of Tabernacles," and two popular
books, the _American Harp_, 1832, and _The Ancient Lyre_, 1833. His
compositions are remarkably spirited and vigorous, and his work as a
tune-maker was much in demand during his life, and is sure to continue,
in its best examples, as long as good sacred music is appreciated.

To another beautiful missionary hymn of Mrs. Vokes, of quieter tone, but
songful and sweet, Dr. Mason wrote the tune of "Migdol." It is its
musical twin.

    Soon may the last glad song arise
    Through all the millions of the skies.
    That song of triumph which records
    That "all the earth is now the Lord's."


"ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP APPEARING."

This admired and always popular church hymn was written near the
beginning of the last century by the Rev. Thomas Kelly, born in Dublin,
1760. He was the son of the Hon. Chief Baron Thomas Kelly of that city,
a judge of the Irish Court of Common Pleas. His father designed him for
the legal profession, but after his graduation at Trinity College he
took holy orders in the Episcopal Church, and labored as a clergyman
among the scenes of his youth for more than sixty years, becoming a
Nonconformist in his later ministry. He was a sweet-souled man, who made
troops of friends, and was honored as much for his piety as for his
poetry, music, and oriental learning.

"I expect never to die," he said, when Lord Plunkett once told him he
would reach a great age. He finished his earthly work on the 14th of
May, 1855, when he was eighty-five years old. But he still lives. His
zeal for the coming of the Kingdom of Christ prompted his best hymn.

    On the mountain-top appearing,
      Lo! the sacred herald stands,
    Joyful news to Zion bearing,
      Zion long in hostile lands;
        Mourning captive,
    God himself will loose thy bands.

    Has the night been long and mournful?
      Have thy friends unfaithful proved?
    Have thy foes been proud and scornful,
      By thy sighs and tears unmoved?
        Cease thy mourning;
    Zion still is well beloved.


_THE TUNE._

To presume that Kelly made both words and music together is possible,
for he was himself a composer, but no such original tune seems to
survive. In modern use Dr. Hastings' "Zion" is most frequently attached
to the hymn, and was probably written for it.


"YE CHRISTIAN HEROES, WAKE TO GLORY."

This rather crude parody on the "Marseillaise Hymn" (see Chap. 9) is
printed in the _American Vocalist_, among numerous samples of early New
England psalmody of untraced authorship. It might have been sung at
primitive missionary meetings, to spur the zeal and faith of a Francis
Mason or a Harriet Newell. It expresses, at least, the new-kindled
evangelical spirit of the long-ago consecrations in American church life
that first sent the Christian ambassadors to foreign lands, and followed
them with benedictions.

[Illustration: The Right Rev. Reginald Heber, D.D.]

    Ye Christian heroes, wake to glory:
      Hark, hark! what millions bid you rise!
    See heathen nations bow before you,
      Behold their tears, and hear their cries.
    Shall pagan priest, their errors breeding,
      With darkling hosts, and flags unfurled,
    Spread their delusions o'er the world,
      Though Jesus on the Cross hung bleeding?
          To arms! To arms!
        Christ's banner fling abroad!
    March on! March on! all hearts resolved
      To bring the world to God.

    O, Truth of God! can man resign thee,
      Once having felt thy glorious flame?
    Can rolling oceans e'er prevent thee,
      Or gold the Christian's spirit tame?
    Too long we slight the world's undoing;
      The word of God, salvation's plan,
    Is yet almost unknown to man,
      While millions throng the road to ruin.
          To arms! to arms!
      The Spirit's sword unsheath:
    March on! March on! all hearts resolved,
          To victory or death.


"HAIL TO THE LORD'S ANOINTED."

James Montgomery (says Dr. Breed) is "distinguished as the only layman
besides Cowper among hymn-writers of the front rank in the English
language." How many millions have recited and sung his fine and
exhaustively descriptive poem,--

    Prayer is the soul's sincere desire,

--selections from almost any part of which are perfect definitions, and
have been standard hymns on prayer for three generations. English
Hymnology would as unwillingly part with his missionary hymns,--

    The king of glory we proclaim.

    Hark, the song of jubilee!

--and, noblest of all, the lyric of prophecy and praise which heads
this paragraph.

    Hail to the Lord's anointed,
      King David's greater Son!
    Hail, in the time appointed
      His reign on earth begun.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Arabia's desert ranger
      To Him shall bow the knee,
    The Ethiopian stranger
      His glory come to see.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Kings shall fall down before Him
      And gold and incense bring;
    All nations shall adore Him,
      His praise all people sing.

The hymn is really the seventy-second Psalm in metre, and as a version
it suffers nothing by comparison with that of Watts. Montgomery wrote
it as a Christmas ode. It was sung Dec. 25, 1821, at a Moravian
Convocation, but in 1822 he recited it at a great missionary meeting in
Liverpool, and Dr. Adam Clarke was so charmed with it that he inserted
it in his famous _Commentary_. In no long time afterwards it found its
way into general use.

The spirit of his missionary parents was Montgomery's Christian legacy,
and in exalted poetical moments it stirred him as the divine afflatus
kindled the old prophets.


_THE TUNE._

The music editors in some hymnals have borrowed the favorite choral
variously named "Webb" in honor of its author, and "The Morning Light is
Breaking" from the first line of its hymn. Later hymnals have chosen
Sebastian Wesley's "Aurelia" to fit the hymn, with a movement similar to
that of "Webb"; also a German B flat melody "Ellacombe," undated, with
livelier step and a ringing chime of parts. No one of these is
inappropriate.

Samuel Sebastian Wesley, grandson of Charles Wesley the great hymnist,
was born in London, 1810. Like his father, Samuel, he became a
distinguished musician, and was organist at Exeter, Winchester and
Gloucester Cathedrals. Oxford gave him the degree of Doctor of Music.
He composed instrumental melodies besides many anthems, services, and
other sacred pieces for choir and congregational singing. Died in
Gloucester, April 19, 1876.


"FROM GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS."

The familiar story of this hymn scarcely needs repeating; how one
Saturday afternoon in the year 1819, young Reginald Heber, Rector of
Hodnet, sitting with his father-in-law, Dean Shipley, and a few friends
in the Wrexham Vicarage, was suddenly asked by the Dean to "write
something to sing at the missionary meeting tomorrow," and retired to
another part of the room while the rest went on talking; how, very soon
after, he returned with three stanzas, which were hailed with delighted
approval; how he then insisted upon adding another octrain to the hymn
and came back with--

    Waft, waft, ye winds, His story,
      And you, ye waters, roll;

--and how the great lyric was sung in Wrexham Church on Sunday morning
for the first time in its life. The story is old but always fresh.
Nothing could better have emphasized the good Dean's sermon that day in
aid of "The Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign Parts,"
than that unexpected and glorious lyric of his poet son-in-law.

By common consent Heber's "Missionary Hymn" is the silver trumpet among
all the rallying bugles of the church.


_THE TUNE._

The union of words and music in this instance is an example of spiritual
affinity. "What God hath joined together let no man put asunder." The
story of the tune is a record of providential birth quite as interesting
as that of the hymn. In 1823, a lady in Savannah, Ga., having received
and admired a copy of Heber's lyric from England, desired to sing it or
hear it sung, but knew no music to fit the metre. She finally thought of
a young clerk in a bank close by, Lowell Mason by name, who sometimes
wrote music for recreation, and sent her son to ask him if he would make
a tune that would sing the lines. The boy returned in half an hour with
the composition that doubled Heber's fame and made his own.

In the words of Dr. Charles Robinson, "Like the hymn it voices, it was
done at a stroke, and it will last through the ages."


"THE MORNING LIGHT IS BREAKING."

Not far behind Dr. Heber's _chef-d'oeuvre_ in lyric merit is the still
more famous missionary hymn of Dr. S.F. Smith, author of "My Country,
'Tis of Thee." Another missionary hymn of his which is widely used is--

    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?

Drs. Nutter and Breed speak of "The Morning Light is Breaking," and its
charm as a hymn of peace and promise, and intimate that it has "gone
farther and been more frequently sung than any other missionary hymn."
Besides the English, there are versions of it in four Latin nations, the
Italian, Spanish, Portuguese and French, and oriental translations in
Chinese and several East Indian tongues and dialects, as well as one in
Swedish. It author had the rare felicity, while on a visit to his son, a
missionary in Burmah, of hearing it sung by native Christians in their
language, and of being welcomed with an ovation when they knew who he
was.

    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.

    Rich dews of grace come o'er us
      In many a gentle shower,
    And brighter scenes before us
      Are opening every hour.
    Each cry to heaven going
      Abundant answer brings,
    And heavenly gales are blowing
      With peace upon their wings.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Blest river of Salvation,
      Pursue thy 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, D.D., was born in Boston in 1808, and educated in
Harvard University (1825-1829). He prepared for the ministry, and was
pastor of Baptist churches at Waterville, Me., and Newton, Mass., before
entering the service of the American Baptist Missionary union as editor
of its _Missionary Magazine_.

He was a scholarly and graceful writer, both in verse and prose, and
besides his editorial work, he was frequently an invited participant or
guest of honor on public occasions, owing to his fame as author of the
national hymn. His pure and gentle character made him everywhere beloved
and reverenced, and to know him intimately in his happy old age was a
benediction. He died suddenly and painlessly in his seat on a railway
train, November 16, 1895 in his eighty-eighth year.

Dr. Smith wrote twenty-six hymns now more or less in use in church
worship, and eight for Sabbath school collections.


_THE TUNE._

"Millennial Dawn" is the title given it by a Boston compiler, about
1844, but since the music and hymn became "one and indivisable" it has
been named "Webb," and popularly _known_ as "Morning Light" or oftener
still by its first hymn-line, "The morning light is breaking."

George James Webb was born near Salisbury, Wiltshire, Eng., June 24,
1803. He studied music in Salisbury and for several years played the
organ at Falmouth Church. When still a young man (1830), he came to the
United States, and settled in Boston where he was long the leading
organist and music teacher of the city. He was associate director of the
Boston Academy of Music with Lowell Mason, and joint author and editor
with him of several church-music collections. Died in Orange, N.J., Nov.
7, 1887.

Dr. Webb's own account of the tune "Millennial Dawn" states that he
wrote it at sea while on his way to America--and to secular words and
that he had no idea who first adapted it to the hymn, nor when.


"IF I WERE A VOICE, A PERSUASIVE VOICE."

This animating lyric was written by Charles Mackay. Sung by a good
vocalist, the fine solo air composed (with its organ chords) by I.B.
Woodbury, is still a feature in some missionary meetings, especially the
fourth stanza--

    If I were a voice, an immortal voice,
      I would fly the earth around:
    And wherever man to his idols bowed,
    I'd publish in notes both long and loud
      The Gospel's joyful sound.
    I would fly, I would fly, on the wings of day,
    Proclaiming peace on my world-wide way,
    Bidding the saddened earth rejoice--
    If I were a voice, an immortal voice,
      I would fly, I would fly,
    I would fly on the wings of day.

Charles Mackay, the poet, was born in Perth, Scotland, 1814, and
educated in London and Brussels; was engaged in editorial work on the
_London Morning Chronicle_ and _Glasgow Argus_, and during the Corn Law
agitation wrote popular songs, notably "The Voice of the Crowd" and
"There's a Good Time Coming," which (like the far inferior poetry of
Ebenezer Elliot) won the lasting love of the masses for a superior man
who could be "The People's Singer and Friend." He came to the United
States in 1857 as a lecturer, and again in 1862, remaining three years
as war correspondent of the _London Times_. Glasgow University made him
LL.D. in 1847. His numerous songs and poems were collected in a London
edition. Died Dec. 24, 1889.

Isaac Baker Woodbury was born in Beverly, Mass., 1819, and rose from the
station of a blacksmith's apprentice to be a tone-teacher in the church.
He educated himself in Europe, returned and sang his life songs, and
died in 1858 at the age of thirty-nine.

A tune preferred by many as the finer music is the one written to the
words by Mr. Sankey, _Sacred Songs_, No. 2.


"SPEED AWAY! SPEED AWAY!"

This inspiriting song of farewell to departing missionaries was written
in 1890 to Woodbury's appropriate popular melody by Fanny J. Crosby, at
the request of Ira D. Sankey. The key-word and refrain are adapted from
the original song by Woodbury (1848), but in substance and language the
three hymn-stanzas are the new and independent work of this later
writer.

    Speed away! speed away on your mission of light,
    To the lands that are lying in darkness and night;
    'Tis the Master's command; go ye forth in His name,
    The wonderful gospel of Jesus proclaim;
    Take your lives in your hand, to the work while 'tis day,
    Speed away! speed away! speed away!

    Speed away, speed away with the life-giving Word,
    To the nations that know not the voice of the Lord;
    Take the wings of the morning and fly o'er the wave,
    In the strength of your Master the lost ones to save;
    He is calling once more, not a moment's delay,
    Speed away! speed away! speed away!

    Speed away, speed away with the message of rest,
    To the souls by the tempter in bondage oppressed;
    For the Saviour has purchased their ransom from sin,
    And the banquet is ready. O gather them in;
    To the rescue make haste, there's no time for delay,
    Speed away! speed away! speed away!


"ONWARD CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS!"

Rev. Sabine Baring-Gould, the author of this rousing hymn of Christian
warfare, a rector of the Established Church of England and a writer of
note, was born at Exeter, Eng., Jan. 28, 1834. Educated at Clare
College, Cambridge, he entered the service of the church, and was
appointed Rector of East Mersea, Essex, in 1871. He was the author of
several hymns, original and translated, and introduced into England from
Flanders, numbers of carols with charming old Christmas music. The
"Christian Soldiers" hymn is one of his (original) processionals, and
the most inspiring.

    Onward, Christian soldiers,
      Marching as to war,
    With the cross of Jesus
      Going on before.
    Christ the Royal Master
    Leads against the foe;
    Forward into battle,
      See, His banners go!
        Onward, Christian soldiers, etc.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Like a mighty army
      Moves the Church of God;
    Brothers, we are treading
      Where the saints have trod;
    We are not divided,
      All one body we,
    One in hope, in doctrine,
      One in charity.


_THE TUNE._

Sir Arthur Seymour Sullivan, Doctor of Music, who wrote the melody for
this hymn, was born in London, May 13, 1842. He gained the Mendelssohn
Scholarship at the Royal Academy of Music, and also at the Conservatory
of Leipsic. He was a fertile genius, and his compositions included
operettas, symphonies, overtures, anthems, hymn-tunes, an oratorio ("The
Prodigal Son"), and almost every variety of tone production, vocal and
instrumental. Queen Victoria knighted him in 1883.

The grand rhythm of "Onward, Christian Soldiers"--hymn and tune--is
irresistible whether in band march or congregational worship. Sir Arthur
died in London, November 22, 1900.


"O CHURCH ARISE AND SING"

Designed originally for children's voices, the hymn of five stanzas
beginning with this line was written by Hezekiah Butterworth, author of
the _Story of the Hymns_ (1875), _Story of the Tunes_ (1890), and many
popular books of historic interest for the young, the most widely read
of which is _Zigzag Journeys in Many Lands_. He also composed and
published many poems and hymns. He was born in Warren, R.I., Dec. 22,
1839, and for twenty-five years was connected with the _Youth's
Companion_ as regular contributor and member of its editorial staff. He
died in Warren, R.I., Sept. 5, 1905.

The hymn "O Church, arise" was sung in Mason's tune of "Dort" until
Prof. Case wrote a melody for it, when it took the name of the
"Convention Hymn."

Professor Charles Clinton Case, music composer and teacher, was born in
Linesville, Pa., June, 1843. Was a pupil of George F. Root and pursued
musical study in Chicago, Ill., Ashland, O., and South Bend, Ind. He was
associated with Root, McGranahan, and others in making secular and
church music books, and later with D.L. Moody in evangelical work.

As author and compiler he has published numerous works, among them
_Church Anthems_, the _Harvest Song_ and _Case's Chorus Collection_.

    O Church! arise and sing
    The triumphs of your King,
      Whose reign is love;
    Sing your enlarged desires,
    That conquering faith inspires,
    Renew your signal fires,
      And forward move!

       *       *       *       *       *

    Beneath the glowing arch
    The ransomed armies march,
      We follow on;
    Lead on, O cross of Light,
    From conquering height to height,
    And add new victories bright
      To triumphs won!


"THE BANNER OF IMMANUEL!"

This hymn, set to music and copyrighted in Buffalo as a floating waif of
verse by an unknown author, and used in Sunday-school work, first
appeared in Dr. F.N. Peloubet's _Select Songs_ (Biglow and Main, 1884)
with a tune by Rev. George Phipps.

The hymn was written by Rev. Theron Brown, a Baptist minister, who was
pastor (1859-1870) of churches in South Framingham and Canton, Mass. He
was born in Willimantic, Ct., April 29, 1832.

Retired from pastoral work, owing to vocal disability, he has held
contributory and editorial relations with the _Youth's Companion_ for
more than forty years, for the last twenty years a member of the office
staff.

Between 1880 and 1890 he contributed hymns more or less regularly to the
quartet and antiphonal chorus service at the Ruggles St. Church, Boston,
the "Banner of Immanuel" being one of the number. _The Blount Family_,
_Nameless Women of the Bible_, _Life Songs_ (a volume of poems), and
several books for boys, are among his published works.

    The banner of Immanuel! beneath its glorious folds
    For life or death to serve and fight we pledge our loyal souls.
    No other flag such honor boasts, or bears so proud a name,
    And far its red-cross signal flies as flies the lightning's flame.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Salvation by the blood of Christ! the shouts of triumph ring;
    No other watchword leads the host that serves so grand a King.
    Then rally, soldiers of the Cross! Keep every fold unfurled,
    And by Redemption's holy sign we'll conquer all the world.

The Rev. George Phipps, composer of the tune, "Immanuel's Banner," was
born in Franklin, Mass., Dec. 11, 1838, was graduated at Amherst
College, 1862, and at Andover Theological Seminary, 1865. Settled as
pastor of the Congregational Church in Wellesley, Mass., ten years, and
at Newton Highlands fifteen years.

He has written many Sunday-school melodies, notably the music to "My
Saviour Keeps Me Company."




CHAPTER V.

HYMNS OF SUFFERING AND TRUST.


One inspiring chapter in the compensations of life is the record of
immortal verses that were sorrow-born. It tells us in the most affecting
way how affliction refines the spirit and "the agonizing throes of
thought bring forth glory." Often a broken life has produced a single
hymn. It took the long living under trial to shape the supreme
experience.

    --The anguish of the singer
    Made the sweetness of the song.

Indeed, if there had been no sorrow there would have been no song.

[Illustration: George James Webb]


"MY LORD, HOW FULL OF SWEET CONTENT."

Jeanne M.B. de la Mothe--known always as Madame Guyon--the lady who
wrote these words in exile, probably sang more "songs in the night" than
any hymn-writer outside of the Dark Ages. She was born at Montargis,
France, in 1648, and died in her seventieth year, 1771, in the ancient
city of Blois, on the Loire.

A convent-educated girl of high family, a wife at the age of fifteen,
and a widow at twenty-eight, her early piety, ridiculed in the dazzling
but corrupt society of Louis XIV's time, blossomed through a long life
in religious ministries and flowers of sacred poetry.

She became a mystic, and her book _Spiritual Torrents_ indicates the
impetuous ardors of her soul. It was the way Divine Love came to her.
She was the incarnation of the spiritualized Book of Canticles. An
induction to these intense subjective visions and raptures had been the
remark of a pious old Franciscan father, "Seek God in your heart, and
you will find Him."

She began to teach as well as enjoy the new light so different from the
glitter of the traditional worship. But her "aggressive holiness" was
obnoxious to the established Church. "Quietism" was the brand set upon
her written works and the offense that was punished in her person.
Bossuet, the king of preachers, was her great adversary. The saintly
Fenelon was her friend, but he could not shield her. She was shut up
like a lunatic in prison after prison, till, after four years of dungeon
life in the Bastile, expecting every hour to be executed for heresy, she
was banished to a distant province to end her days.

Question as we may the usefulness of her pietistic books, the visions of
her excessively exalted moods, and the passionate, almost erotic
phraseology of her _Contemplations_, Madame Guyon has held the world's
admiration for her martyr spirit, and even her love-flights of devotion
in poetry and prose do not conceal the angel that walked in the flame.

Today, when religious persecution is unknown, we can but dimly
understand the perfect triumph of her superior soul under suffering and
the transports of her utter absorption in God that could make the stones
of her dungeon "look like jewels." When we emulate a faith like
hers--with all the weight of absolute certainty in it--we can sing her
hymn:

    My Lord, how full of sweet content
    I pass my years of banishment.
    Where'er I dwell, I dwell with Thee,
    In heaven or earth, or on the sea.

    To me remains nor place nor time:
    My country is in every clime;
    I can be calm and free from care
    On any shore, since God is there.

And could a dearer _vade mecum_ enrich a Christian's outfit than these
lines treasured in memory?

    While place we seek or place we shun,
    The soul finds happiness in none;
    But, with a God to guide our way,
    'Tis equal joy to go or stay.

Cowper, and also Dr. Thomas Upham, translated (from the French) the
religious poems of Madame Guyon. This hymn is Cowper's translation.


_THE TUNE._

A gentle and sympathetic melody entitled "Alsace" well represents the
temper of the words--and in name links the nationalities of writer and
composer. It is a choral arranged from a sonata of the great Ludwig von
Beethoven, born in Bonn, Germany, 1770, and died in Vienna, Mar. 1827.
Like the author of the hymn he felt the hand of affliction, becoming
totally deaf soon after his fortieth year. But, in spite of the
privation, he kept on writing sublime and exquisite strains that only
his soul could hear. His fame rests upon his oratorio, "The Mount of
Olives," the opera of "Fidelio" and his nine wonderful "Symphonies."


"NO CHANGE IN TIME SHALL EVER SHOCK."

Altered to common metre from the awkward long metre of Tate and Brady,
the three or four stanzas found in earlier hymnals are part of their
version (probably Tate's) of the 31st Psalm--and it is worth calling to
mind here that there is no hymn treasury so rich in tuneful faith and
reliance upon God in trouble as the Book of Psalms. This feeling of the
Hebrew poet was never better expressed (we might say, translated) in
English than by the writer of this single verse--

    No change of time shall ever shock
      My trust, O Lord, in Thee,
    For Thou hast always been my Rock,
      A sure defense to me.


_THE TUNE._

The sweet, tranquil choral long ago wedded to this hymn is lost from the
church collections, and its very name forgotten. In fact the hymn itself
is now seldom seen. If it ever comes back, old "Dundee" (Guillaume Franc
1500-1570) will sing for it, or some new composer may rise up to put the
spirit of the psalm into inspired notes.


"WHY DO WE MOURN DEPARTED FRIENDS?"

This hymn of holy comfort, by Dr. Watts, was long associated with a
remarkable tune in C minor, "a queer medley of melody" as Lowell Mason
called it, still familiar to many old people as "China." It was composed
by Timothy Swan when he was about twenty-six years of age (1784) and
published in 1801 in the _New England Harmony_. It may have sounded
consolatory to mature mourners, singers and hearers in the days when
religious emotion habitually took a sad key, but its wild and thrilling
chords made children weep. The tune is long out of use--though, strange
to say, one of the most recent hymnals prints the hymn with a _new
minor_ tune.

    Why do we mourn departed friends,
      Or shake at death's alarms?
   'Tis but the voice that Jesus sends
      To call them to His arms.

    Are we not tending upward too
      As fast as time can move?
    Nor should we wish the hours more slow
      To keep us from our Love.

    The graves of all His saints He blessed
      And softened every bed:
    Where should the dying members rest
      But with their dying Head?

Timothy Swan was born in Worcester, Mass., July 23, 1758, and died in
Suffield, Ct., July 23, 1842. He was a self-taught musician, his only
"course of study" lasting three weeks,--in a country singing school at
Groton. When sixteen years old he went to Northfield, Mass., and learned
the hatter's trade, and while at work began to practice making
psalm-tunes. "Montague," in two parts, was his first achievement. From
that time for thirty years, mostly spent in Suffield, Ct., he wrote and
taught music while supporting himself by his trade. Many of his tunes
were published by himself, and had a wide currency a century ago.

Swan was a genius in his way, and it was a true comment on his work that
"his tunes were remarkable for their originality as well as
singularity--unlike any other melodies." "China," his masterpiece, will
be long kept track of as a curio, and preserved in replicates of old
psalmody to illustrate self-culture in the art of song. But the major
mode will replace the minor when tender voices on burial days sing--

    Why do we mourn departed friends?

Another hymn of Watts,--

    God is the refuge of His saints
      When storms of sharp distress invade,

--sung to Lowell Mason's liquid tune of "Ward," and the priceless
stanza,--

    Jesus can make a dying bed
      Feel soft as downy pillows are,

doubly prove the claim of the Southampton bard to a foremost place with
the song-preachers of Christian trust.

The psalm (Amsterdam version), "God is the refuge," etc., is said to
have been sung by John Howland in the shallop of the Mayflower when an
attempt was made to effect a landing in spite of tempestuous weather. A
tradition of this had doubtless reached Mrs. Hemans when she wrote--

    Amid the storm they sang, etc.


"FATHER, WHATE'ER OF EARTHLY BLISS."

This hymn had originally ten stanzas, of which the three usually sung
are the three last. The above line is the first of the eighth stanza,
altered from--

    And O, whate'er of earthly bliss.

Probably for more than a century the familiar surname "Steele" attached
to this and many other hymns in the hymn-books conveyed to the general
public no hint of a mind and hand more feminine than Cowper's or
Montgomery's. Even intelligent people, who had chanced upon sundry
copies of _The Spectator_, somehow fell into the habit of putting
"Steele" and "Addison" in the same category of hymn names, and Sir
Richard Steele got a credit he never sought. But since stories of the
hymns began to be published--and made the subject of evening talks in
church conference rooms--many have learned what "Steele" in the
hymn-book means. It introduces us now to a very retiring English lady,
Miss Anna Steele, a Baptist minister's daughter. She was born in 1706,
at Broughton, Hampshire, in her father's parsonage, and in her father's
parsonage she spent her life, dying there Nov. 1778.

She was many years a severe sufferer from bodily illness, and a lasting
grief of mind and heart was the loss of her intended husband, who was
drowned the day before their appointed wedding. It is said that this
hymn was written under the recent sorrow of that loss.

In 1760 and 1780 volumes of her works in verse and prose were published
with her name, "Theodosia," and reprinted in 1863 as "_Hymns, Psalms,
and Poems_, by Anna Steele." The hymn "Father, whate'er," etc., is
estimated as her best, though some rank it only next to her--

    Dear Refuge of my weary soul.

Other more or less well-known hymns of this devout and loving writer
are,--

    Lord, how mysterious are Thy ways,

    O Thou whose tender mercy hears,

    Thou lovely Source of true delight,

    Alas, what hourly dangers rise,

    So fades the lovely blooming flower.

--to a stanza of which latter the world owes the tune of "Federal St."


_THE TUNE._

The true musical mate of the sweet hymn-prayer came to it probably about
the time of its hundredth birthday; but it came to stay. Lowell Mason's
"Naomi" blends with it like a symphony of nature.

    Father, whate'er of earthly bliss
      Thy sovereign will denies,
    Accepted at Thy throne of grace
      Let this petition rise.

    Give me a calm and thankful heart
      From every murmer free.
    The blessings of Thy grace impart,
      And make me live to Thee.


"GUIDE ME, O THOU GREAT JEHOVAH."

This great hymn has a double claim on the name of Williams. We do not
have it exactly in its original form as written by Rev. William
Williams, "The Watts of Wales," familiarly known as "Williams of
Pantycelyn." His fellow countryman and contemporary, Rev. Peter
Williams, or "Williams of Carmarthen," who translated it from Welsh into
English (1771) made alterations and substitutions in the hymn with the
result that only the first stanza belongs indisputably to Williams of
Pantycelyn, the others being Peter's own or the joint production of the
two. As the former, however, is said to have approved and revised the
English translation, we may suppose the hymn retained the name of its
original author by mutual consent.

    Guide me, O Thou Great Jehovah,
      Pilgrim through this barren land.
    I am weak, but Thou art mighty,
      Hold me by Thy powerful hand;
        Bread of heaven,
      Feed me till I want no more.

    Open Thou the crystal Fountain
      Whence the healing streams do flow,
    Let the fiery cloudy pillar
      Lead me all my journey through.
        Strong Deliverer,
      Be Thou still my Strength and Shield!

    When I tread the verge of Jordan
      Bid my anxious fears subside;
    Death of death, and hell's destruction,
      Land me safe on Canaan's side.
        Songs of praises
      I will ever give to Thee.

    Musing on my habitation,
      Musing on my heavenly home,
    Fills my heart with holy longing;
      Come, Lord Jesus, quickly come.
        Vanity is all I see,
      Lord, I long to be with Thee.

The second and third stanzas have not escaped the touch of critical
editors. The line,--

    Whence the healing streams do flow

--becomes,--

    Whence the healing waters flow,

--with which alteration there is no fault to find except that it is
needless, and obliterates the ancient mark. But the third stanza,
besides losing its second line for--

    Bid the swelling stream divide,

--is weakened by a more needless substitution. Its original third line--

    Death of death, and hell's destruction,

--is exchanged for the commonplace--

    Bear me through the swelling current.

That is modern taste; but when modern taste meddles with a stalwart old
hymn it is sometimes more nice than wise.

It is probable that the famous hymn was sung in America before it
obtained a European reputation. Its history is as follows: Lady
Huntingdon having read one of Williams' books with much spiritual
satisfaction, persuaded him to prepare a collection of hymns, to be
called the _Gloria in Excelsis_, for special use in Mr. Whitefield's
Orphans' House in America. In this collection appeared the original
stanzas of "Guide me, O Thou Great Jehovah." In 1774, two years after
its publication in the _Gloria in Excelsis_, it was republished in
England in Mr. Whitefield's collections of hymns.

The Rev. Peter Williams was born in the parish of Llansadurnen,
Carmarthenshire, Wales, Jan. 7, 1722, and was educated in Carmarthen
College. He was ordained in the Established Church and appointed to a
curacy, but in 1748 joined the Calvinistic Methodists. He was an
Independent of the Independents however, and preached where ever he
chose. Finally he built a chapel for himself on his paternal estate,
where he ministered during the rest of his life. Died Aug. 8, 1796.


_THE TUNE._

If "Sardius," the splendid old choral (triple time) everywhere
identified with the hymn, be not its original music, its age at least
entitles it to its high partnership. _The Sacred Lyre_ (1858) ascribes
it to Ludovic Nicholson, of Paisley, Scotland, violinist and amateur
composer, born 1770; died 1852; but this is not beyond dispute. Of
several names one more confidently referred to as its author is F.H.
Barthelemon (1741-1808).


"PEACE, TROUBLED SOUL"

Is the brave faith-song of a Christian under deep but blameless
humiliation--Sir Walter Shirley[16].

[Footnote 16: See page 127]


_THE TUNE._

Apparently the favorite in several (not recent) hymnals for the subdued
but confident spirit of this hymn of Sir Walter Shirley is Mazzinghi's
"Palestine," appearing with various tone-signatures in different books.
The treble and alto lead in a sweet duet with slur-flights, like an
obligato to the bass and tenor. The melody needs rich and cultured
voices, and is unsuited for congregational singing. So, perhaps, is the
hymn itself.

    Peace, troubled soul, whose plaintive moan
      Hath taught these rocks the notes of woe;
    Cease thy complaint--suppress thy groan,
      And let thy tears forget to flow;
    Behold the precious balm is found,
    To lull thy pain, to heal thy wound.

    Come, freely come, by sin oppressed,
      Unburden here thy weighty load;
    Here find thy refuge and thy rest,
      And trust the mercy of thy God.
    Thy God's thy Saviour--glorious word!
    For ever love and praise the Lord.

As now sung the word "scenes" is substituted for "rocks" in the second
line, eliminating the poetry. Rocks give an _echo_; and the vivid
thought in the author's mind is flattened to an unmeaning generality.

Count Joseph Mazzinghi, son of Tommasso Mazzinghi, a Corsican musician,
was born in London, 1765. He was a boy of precocious talent. When only
ten years of age he was appointed organist of the Portuguese Chapel, and
when nineteen years old was made musical director and composer at the
King's Theatre. For many years he held the honor of Music Master to the
Princess of Wales, afterwards Queen Caroline, and his compositions were
almost numberless. Some of his songs and glees that caught the popular
fancy are still remembered in England, as "The Turnpike Gate," "The
Exile," and the rustic duet, "When a Little Farm We Keep."

Of sacred music he composed only one mass and six hymn-tunes, of which
latter "Palestine" is one. Mazzinghi died in 1844, in his eightieth
year.


"BEGONE UNBELIEF, MY SAVIOUR IS NEAR."

The Rev. John Newton, author of this hymn, was born in London, July 24,
1725. The son of a sea-captain, he became a sailor, and for several
years led a reckless life. Converted, he took holy orders and was
settled as curate of Olney, Buckinghamshire, and afterwards Rector of
St. Mary of Woolnoth, London, where he died, Dec. 21, 1807. It was
while living at Olney that he and Cowper wrote and published the _Olney
Hymns_. His defiance to doubt in these lines is the blunt utterance of a
sailor rather than the song of a poet:

    Begone, unbelief, my Saviour is near,
    And for my relief will surely appear.
    By prayer let me wrestle and He will perform;
    With Christ in the vessel I smile at the storm.


_THE TUNE_

Old "Hanover," by William Croft (1677-1727), carries Newton's hymn
successfully, but Joseph Haydn's choral of "Lyons" is more familiar--and
better music.

"Hanover" often accompanies Charles Wesley's lyric,--

    Ye servants of God, your Master proclaim.


"HOW FIRM A FOUNDATION."

The question of the author of this hymn is treated at length in Dr.
Louis F. Benson's _Studies of Familiar Hymns_. The utmost that need to
be said here is that two of the most thorough and indefatigable
hymn-chasers, Dr. John Julian and Rev. H.L. Hastings, working
independently of each other, found evidence fixing the authorship with
strong probability upon Robert Keene, a precentor in Dr. John Rippon's
church. Dr. Rippon was pastor of a Baptist Church in London from 1773
to 1836, and in 1787 he published a song-manual called _A Selection of
Hymns from the Best Authors_, etc., in which "How Firm a Foundation"
appears as a new piece, with the signature "K----."

The popularity of the hymn in America has been remarkable, and promises
to continue. Indeed, there are few more reviving or more spiritually
helpful. It is too familiar to need quotation. But one cannot suppress
the last stanza, with its powerful and affecting emphasis on the Divine
promise--

    The soul that on Jesus has leaned for repose
    I will not, I will not, desert to his foes;
    That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake,
    I'll never, no never, no never forsake.


_THE TUNE._

The grand harmony of "Portuguese Hymn" has always been identified with
this song of trust.

One opinion of the date of the music writes it "about 1780." Since the
habit of crediting it to John Reading (1677-1764) has been discontinued,
it has been in several hymnals ascribed to Marco Portogallo (Mark, the
Portuguese), a musician born in Lisbon, 1763, who became a composer of
operas in Italy, but was made Chapel-Master to the Portuguese King. In
1807, when Napoleon invaded the Peninsula and dethroned the royal house
of Braganza, Old King John VI. fled to Brazil and took Marco with him,
where he lived till 1815, but returned and died in Italy, in 1830. Such
is the story, and it is all true, only the man's name was Simao,
instead of Marco. _Grove's Dictionary_ appends to Simao's biography the
single sentence, "His brother wrote for the church." That the Brazilian
episode may have been connected with this brother's history by a
confusion of names, is imaginable, but it is not known that the
brother's name was Marco.

On the whole, this account of the authorship of the "Portuguese
Hymn"--originally written for the old Christmas church song "Adeste
Fideles"--is late and uncertain. Heard (perhaps for the first time) in
the Portuguese Chapel, London, it was given the name which still clings
to it. If proofs of its Portuguese origin exist, they may yet be found.

"How Firm a Foundation" was the favorite of Deborah Jackson, President
Andrew Jackson's beloved wife, and on his death-bed the warrior and
statesman called for it. It was the favorite of Gen. Robert E. Lee, and
was sung at his funeral. The American love and familiar preference for
the remarkable hymn was never more strikingly illustrated than when on
Christmas Eve, 1898, a whole corps of the United States army Northern
and Southern, encamped on the Quemados hills, near Havana, took up the
sacred tune and words--

   "Fear not, I am with thee, O be not dismayed."

Lieut. Col. Curtis Guild (since Governor Guild of Massachusetts) related
the story in the Sunday School Times for Dec. 7, 1901, and Dr. Benson
quotes it in his book.

[Illustration: John Wesley]


"WHILE THEE I SEEK, PROTECTING POWER."

Miss Helen Maria Williams, who wrote this gentle hymn of confidence, in
1786, was born in the north of England in 1762. When but a girl she won
reputation by her brilliant literary talents and a mental grasp and
vigor that led her, like Gail Hamilton, "to discuss public affairs,
besides clothing bright fancies and devout thoughts in graceful verse."
Most of her life was spent in London, and in Paris, where she died, Dec.
14, 1827.

    While Thee I seek, Protecting Power
      Be my vain wishes stilled,
    And may this consecrated hour
      With better hopes be filled:

       *       *       *       *       *

    When gladness wings my favored hour,
      Thy love my thoughts shall fill,
    Resigned where storms of sorrow lower
      My soul shall meet Thy will.

    My lifted eye without a tear
      The gathering storm shall see:
    My steadfast heart shall know no fear:
      My heart will rest on Thee.


_THE TUNES._

Old "Norwich," from _Day's Psalter_, and "Simpson," adapted from Louis
Spohr, are found with the hymn in several later manuals. In the memories
of older worshipers "Brattle-Street," with its melodious choral and duet
arranged from Pleyel by Lowell Mason, is inseparable from Miss
Williams' words; but modern hymnals have dropped it, probably because
too elaborate for average congregational use.

Ignaz Joseph Pleyel was born June 1, 1757, at Ruppersthal, Lower
Austria. He was the _twenty-fourth_ child of a village schoolmaster. His
early taste and talent for music procured him friends who paid for his
education. Haydn became his master, and long afterwards spoke of him as
his best and dearest pupil. Pleyel's work--entirely instrumental--was
much admired by Mozart.

During a few years spent in Italy, he composed the music of his
best-known opera, "Iphigenia in Aulide," and, besides the thirty-four
books of his symphonies and chamber-pieces, the results of his prolific
genius make a list too long to enumerate. Most of his life was spent in
Paris, where he founded the (present) house of Pleyel and Wolfe, piano
makers and sellers. He died in that city, Nov. 14, 1831.


"COME UNTO ME."

    Come unto Me, when shadows darkly gather,
    When the sad heart is weary and distressed,
    Seeking for comfort from your heavenly Father,
    Come unto Me, and I will give you rest.

This sweet hymn, by Mrs. Catherine Esling, is well known to many
thousands of mourners, as also is its equally sweet tune of "Henley," by
Lowell Mason. Melody and words melt together like harp and flute.

    Large are the mansions in thy Father's dwelling,
    Glad are the homes that sorrows never dim,
    Sweet are the harps in holy music swelling.
    Soft are the tones that raise the heavenly hymn.

Mrs. Catherine Harbison Waterman Esling was born in Philadelphia, Apr.
12, 1812. A writer for many years under her maiden name, Waterman, she
married, in 1840, Capt. George Esling, of the Merchant Marine, and lived
in Rio Janeiro till her widowhood, in 1844.


JOHN WESLEY'S HYMN.

    How happy is the pilgrim's lot,
    How free from every anxious thought.

These are the opening lines of "John Wesley's Hymn," so called because
his other hymns are mostly translations, and because of all his own it
is the one commonly quoted and sung.

John Wesley, the second son in the famous Epworth family of ministers,
was a man who knew how to endure "hardness as a good soldier of Christ."
He was born June 27, 1703, and studied at Charterhouse, London, and at
Christ Church, Oxford, becoming a Fellow of Lincoln College. After
taking holy orders he went as a missionary to Georgia, U.S., in 1735,
and on his return began his remarkable work in England, preaching a more
spiritual type of religion, and awakening the whole kingdom with his
revival fervor and his brother's kindling songs. The following paragraph
from his itinerant life, gathered probably from a page of his own
journals, gives a glimpse of what the founder of the great Methodist
denomination did and suffered while carrying his Evangelical message
from place to place.

On February 17, 1746, when days were short and weather far from
favorable, he set out on horseback from Bristol to Newcastle, a distance
between three and four hundred miles. The journey occupied ten days.
Brooks were swollen, and in some places the roads were impassable,
obliging the itinerant to go round through the fields. At Aldrige Heath,
in Staffordshire, the rain turned to snow, which the northerly wind
drove against him, and by which he was soon crusted over from head to
foot. At Leeds the mob followed him, and pelted him with whatever came
to hand. He arrived at Newcastle, February 26, "free from every anxious
thought," and "every worldly fear."

How lightly he regarded hardship and molestation appears from his
verses--

    Whatever molests or troubles life,
    When past, as nothing we esteem,
    And pain, like pleasure, is a dream.

And that he actually enjoys the heroic freedom of a rough-rider
missionary life is hinted in his hymn--

    Confined to neither court nor cell,
    His soul disdains on earth to dwell,
      He only sojourns here.

God evidently built John Wesley fire-proof and water-proof with a view
to precisely what he was to undertake and accomplish. His frame was
vigorous, and his spirit unconquerable. Besides all this he had the
divine gift of a religious faith that could move mountains and a
confidence in his mission that became a second nature. No wonder he
could suffer, and _last_. The brave young man at thirty was the brave
old man at nearly ninety. He died in London, March 2, 1791.

    Blest with the scorn of finite good,
    My soul is lightened of its load
      And seeks the things above.

    There is my house and portion fair;
    My treasure and my heart are there,
      And my abiding home.

    For me my elder brethren stay,
    And angels beckon me away.
      And Jesus bids me come.


_THE TUNE._

An air found in the _Revivalist_ (1869), in sextuple time, that has the
real camp-meeting swing, preserves the style of music in which the hymn
was sung by the circuit-preachers and their congregations--ringing out
the autobiographical verses with special unction. The favorite was--

    No foot of land do I possess,
    No cottage in this wilderness;
      A poor wayfaring man,
    I lodge awhile in tents below,
    Or gladly wander to and fro
      Till I my Canaan gain.

More modern voices sing the John Wesley hymn to the tune "Habakkuk," by
Edward Hodges. It has a lively three-four step, and finer melody than
the old.

Edward Hodges was born in Bristol, Eng., July 20, 1796, and died there
Sept. 1876. Organist at Bristol in his youth, he was graduated at
Cambridge and in 1825 received the doctorate of music from that
University. In 1835 he went to Toronto, Canada, and two years later to
New York city, where he was many years Director of Music at Trinity
Church. Returned to Bristol in 1863.


"WHEN GATHERING CLOUDS AROUND I VIEW."

One of the restful strains breathed out of illness and affliction to
relieve one soul and bless millions. It was written by Sir Robert Grant
(1785-1838).

    When gathering clouds around I view,
    And days are dark, and friends are few,
    On Him I lean who not in vain
    Experienced every human pain.

The lines are no less admirable for their literary beauty than for their
feeling and their faith. Unconsciously, it may be, to the writer, in
this and the following stanza are woven an epitome of the Saviour's
history. He--

    Experienced every human pain,
    --felt temptation's power,
    --wept o'er Lazarus dead,

--and the crowning assurance of Jesus' human sympathy is expressed in
the closing prayer,--

    --when I have safely passed
    Thro' every conflict but the last,
    Still, still unchanging watch beside
    My painful bed--for _Thou hast died_.


_THE TUNE._

Of the few suitable six-line long metre part songs, the charming Russian
tone-poem of "St. Petersburg" by Dimitri Bortniansky is borrowed for the
hymn in some collections, and with excellent effect. It accords well
with the mood and tenor of the words, and deserves to stay with it as
long as the hymn holds its place.

Dimitri Bortniansky, called "The Russian Palestrina," was born in 1752
at Gloukoff, a village of the Ukraine. He studied music in Moscow, St.
Petersburg, Vienna, Rome and Naples. Returning to his native land, he
was made Director of Empress Catharine's church choir. He reformed and
systematized Russian church music, and wrote original scores in the
intervals of his teaching labors. His works are chiefly motets and
concertos, which show his genius for rich harmony. Died 1825.


"JUST AS I AM, WITHOUT ONE PLEA."

Charlotte Elliott, of Brighton, Eng., would have been well-known through
her admired and useful hymns,--

    My God, my Father, while I stray,

    My God, is any hour so sweet,

    With tearful eyes I look around,

--and many others. But in "Just as I am" she made herself a voice in the
soul of every hesitating penitent. The currency of the hymn has been too
swift for its authorship and history to keep up with, but it is a
blessed law of influence that good works out-run biographies. This
master-piece of metrical gospel might be called Miss Elliott's
spiritual-birth hymn, for a reply of Dr. Caesar Malan of Geneva was its
prompting cause. The young lady was a stranger to personal religion
when, one day, the good man, while staying at her father's house, in his
gentle way introduced the subject. She resented it, but afterwards,
stricken in spirit by his words, came to him with apologies and an
inquiry that confessed a new concern of mind. "You speak of coming to
Jesus, but how? I'm not fit to come."

"Come just as you are," said Dr. Malan.

The hymn tells the result.

Like all the other hymns bound up in her _Invalid's Hymn-book_, it was
poured from out the heart of one who, as the phrase is, "never knew a
well day"--though she lived to see her eighty-second year.

Illustrative of the way it appeals to the afflicted, a little anecdote
was told by the eloquent John B. Gough of his accidental seat-mate in a
city church service. A man of strange appearance was led by the kind
usher or sexton to the pew he occupied. Mr. Gough eyed him with strong
aversion. The man's face was mottled, his limbs and mouth twitched, and
he mumbled singular sounds. When the congregation sang he attempted to
sing, but made fearful work of it. During the organ interlude he leaned
toward Mr. Gough and asked how the next verse began. It was--

    Just as I am, poor, wretched, blind.

"That's it," sobbed the strange man, "I'm blind--God help me!"--and the
tears ran down his face--"and I'm wretched--and paralytic," and then he
tried hard to sing the line with the rest.

"After that," said Mr. Gough, "the poor paralytic's singing was as
sweet to me as a Beethoven symphony."

Charlotte Elliott was born March 18, 1789, and died in Brighton, Sept.
22, 1871. She stands in the front rank of female hymn-writers.

The tune of "Woodworth," by William B. Bradbury, has mostly superseded
Mason's "Elliott," and is now the accepted music of this lyric of
perfect faith and pious surrender.

    Just as I am,--Thy love unknown
    Hath broken every barrier down,
    Now to be Thine, yea, Thine alone,
    O Lamb of God, I come, I come.


"MY HOPE IS BUILT ON NOTHING LESS."

The Rev. Edward Mote was born in London, 1797. According to his own
testimony his parents were not God-fearing people, and he "went to a
school where no Bible was allowed;" but at the age of sixteen he
received religious impressions from a sermon of John Hyatt in Tottenham
Court Chapel, was converted two years later, studied for the ministry,
and ultimately became a faithful preacher of the gospel. Settled as
pastor of the Baptist Church in Horsham, Sussex, he remained there
twenty-six years--until his death, Nov. 13, 1874. The refrain of his
hymn came to him one Sabbath when on his way to Holborn to exchange
pulpits:

    On Christ the solid rock I stand,
    All other ground is sinking sand.

There were originally six stanzas, the first beginning:

    Nor earth, nor hell, my soul can move,
    I rest upon unchanging love.

The refrain is a fine one, and really sums up the whole hymn, keeping
constantly at the front the corner-stone of the poet's trust.

    My hope is built on nothing less
    Than Jesus' blood and righteousness.
    I dare not trust the sweetest frame,
    But only lean on Jesus' name.
    On Christ the solid Rock I stand
    All other ground is sinking sand.

    When darkness veils His lovely face
    I trust in His unchanging grace,
    In every high and stormy gale
    My anchor holds within the veil.
    On Christ the solid Rock, etc.

Wm. B. Bradbury composed the tune (1863). It is usually named "The Solid
Rock."


"ABIDE WITH ME! FAST FALLS THE EVENTIDE."

The Rev. Henry Francis Lyte, author of this melodious hymn-prayer, was
born at Ednam, near Kelso, Scotland, June first, 1793. A scholar,
graduated at Trinity College, Dublin; a poet and a musician, the
hard-working curate was a man of frail physique, with a face of almost
feminine beauty, and a spirit as pure and gentle as a little child's.
The shadow of consumption was over him all his life. His memory is
chiefly associated with the district church at Lower Brixham,
Devonshire, where he became "perpetual curate" in 1823. He died at Nice,
France, Nov. 20, 1847.

On the evening of his last Sunday preaching and communion service he
handed to one of his family the manuscript of his hymn, "Abide with me,"
and the music he had composed for it. It was not till eight years later
that Henry Ward Beecher introduced it, or a part of it, to American
Congregationalists, and fourteen years after the author's death it began
to be sung as we now have it, in this country and England.

    Abide with me! Fast falls the eventide,
    The darkness deepens,--Lord with me abide!
    When other helpers fail, and comforts flee,
    Help of the helpless, O abide with me!

       *       *       *       *       *

    Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes;
    Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies;
    Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;
    In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me!


_THE TUNE_

There is a pathos in the neglect and oblivion of Lyte's own tune set by
himself to his words, especially as it was in a sense the work of a
dying man who had hoped that he might not be "wholly mute and useless"
while lying in his grave, and who had prayed--

      O Thou whose touch can lend
    Life to the dead. Thy quickening grace supply,
    And grant me swan-like my last breath to spend
      In song that may not die!

His prayer was answered in God's own way. Another's melody hastened his
hymn on its useful career, and revealed to the world its immortal
value.

By the time it had won its slow recognition in England, it was probably
tuneless, and the compilers of _Hymns Ancient and Modern_ (1861)
discovering the fact just as they were finishing their work, asked Dr.
William Henry Monk, their music editor, to supply the want. "In ten
minutes," it is said, "Dr. Monk composed the sweet, pleading chant that
is wedded permanently to Lyte's swan song."

William Henry Monk, Doctor of Music, was born in London, 1823. His
musical education was early and thorough, and at the age of twenty-six
he was organist and choir director in King's College, London. Elected
(1876) professor of the National Training School, he interested himself
actively in popular musical education, delivering lectures at various
institutions, and establishing choral services.

His hymn-tunes are found in many song-manuals of the English Church and
in Scotland, and several have come to America.

Dr. Monk died in 1889.


"COME, YE DISCONSOLATE."

By Thomas Moore--about 1814. The poem in its original form differed
somewhat from the hymn we sing. Thomas Hastings--whose religious
experience, perhaps, made him better qualified than Thomas Moore for
spiritual expression--changed the second line,--

    Come, at God's altar fervently kneel,

--to--

    Come to the mercy seat,

--and in the second stanza replaced--

    Hope when all others die,

--with--

    Hope of the penitent;

--and for practically the whole of the last stanza--

    Go ask the infidel what boon he brings us,
    What charm for aching hearts he can reveal.
    Sweet as that heavenly promise hope sings us,
    "Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal,"

--Hastings substituted--

    Here see the Bread of life, see waters flowing
    Forth from the throne of God, pure from above!
    Come to the feast Love, come ever knowing
    Earth has no sorrow but heaven can remove.

Dr. Hastings was not much of a poet, but he could make a _singable_
hymn, and he knew the rhythm and accent needed in a hymn-tune. The
determination was to make an evangelical hymn of a poem "too good to
lose," and in that view perhaps the editorial liberties taken with it
were excusable. It was to Moore, however, that the real hymn-thought and
key-note first came, and the title-line and the sweet refrain are his
own--for which the Christian world has thanked him, lo these many
years.


_THE TUNE._

Those who question why Dr. Hastings' interest in Moore's poem did not
cause him to make a tune for it, must conclude that it came to him with
its permanent melody ready made, and that the tune satisfied him.

The "German Air" to which Moore tells us he wrote the words, probably
took his fancy, if it did not induce his mood. Whether Samuel Webbe's
tune now wedded to the hymn is an arrangement of the old air or wholly
his own is immaterial. One can scarcely conceive a happier yoking of
counterparts. Try singing "Come ye Disconsolate" to "Rescue the
Perishing," for example, and we shall feel the impertinence of divorcing
a hymn that has found its musical affinity.


"JESUS, I MY CROSS HAVE TAKEN."

This is another well-known and characteristic hymn of Henry Francis
Lyte--originally six stanzas. We have been told that, besides his bodily
affliction, the grief of an unhappy division or difference in his church
weighed upon his spirit, and that it is alluded to in these lines--

    Man may trouble and distress me,
   'Twill but drive me to Thy breast,
    Life with trials hard may press me,
      Heaven will bring me sweeter rest.

    O, 'tis not in grief to harm me
      While Thy love is left to me,
    O, 'tis not in joy to charm me
      Were that joy unmixed with Thee.

Tunes, "Autumn," by F.H. Barthelemon, or "Ellesdie," (formerly called
"Disciple") from Mozart--familiar in either.


"FROM EVERY STORMY WIND THAT BLOWS."

This is the much-sung and deeply-cherished hymn of Christian peace that
a pious Manxman, Hugh Stowell, was inspired to write nearly a hundred
years ago. Ever since it has carried consolation to souls in both
ordinary and extraordinary trials.

It was sung by the eight American martyrs, Revs. Albert Johnson, John E.
Freeman, David E. Campbell and their wives, and Mr. and Mrs. McMullen,
when by order of the bloody Nana Sahib the captive missionaries were
taken prisoners and put to death at Cawnpore in 1857. Two little
children, Fannie and Willie Campbell, suffered with their parents.

    From every stormy wind that blows,
    From every swelling tide of woes
    There is a calm, a sure retreat;
   'Tis found beneath the Mercy Seat.

    Ah, whither could we flee for aid
    When tempted, desolate, dismayed,
    Or how the hosts of hell defeat
    Had suffering saints no Mercy Seat?

    There, there on eagle wings we soar,
    And sin and sense molest no more,
    And heaven comes down our souls to greet
    While glory crowns the Mercy Seat.

[Illustration: John B. Dykes]

Rev. Hugh Stowell was born at Douglas on the Isle of Man, Dec. 3, 1799.
He was educated at Oxford and ordained to the ministry 1823, receiving
twelve years later the appointment of Canon to Chester Cathedral.

He was a popular and effective preacher and a graceful writer.
Forty-seven hymns are credited to him, the above being the best known.
To presume it is "his best," leaves a good margin of merit for the
remainder.

"From every stormy wind that blows" has practically but one tune. It has
been sung to Hastings "Retreat" ever since the music was made.


"CHILD OF SIN AND SORROW."

    Child of sin and sorrow, filled with dismay,
    Wait not for tomorrow, yield thee today.
    Heaven bids thee come, while yet there's room,
    Child of sin and sorrow, hear and obey.

Words and music by Thomas Hastings.


"LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT."

John Henry Newman, born in London, Feb. 21, 1801--known in religious
history as Cardinal Newman--wrote this hymn when he was a young
clergyman of the Church of England. "Born within the sound of Bow
bells," says Dr. Benson, "he was an imaginative boy, and so
superstitious, that he used constantly to cross himself when going into
the dark." Intelligent students of the fine hymn will note this habit of
its author's mind--and surmise its influence on his religious musings.

The agitations during the High Church movement, and the persuasions of
Hurrell Froude, a Romanist friend, while he was a tutor at Oxford,
gradually weakened his Protestant faith, and in his unrest he travelled
to the Mediterranean coast, crossed to Sicily, where he fell violently
ill, and after his recovery waited three weeks in Palermo for a return
boat. On his trip to Marseilles he wrote the hymn--with no thought that
it would ever be called a hymn.

When complimented on the beautiful production after it became famous he
modestly said, "It was not the hymn but the _tune_ that has gained the
popularity. The tune is Dykes' and Dr. Dykes is a great master."

Dr. Newman was created a Cardinal of the Church of Rome in the Catholic
Cathedral of London, 1879. Died Aug. 11, 1890.


_THE TUNE._

"Lux Benigna," by Dr. Dykes, was composed in Aug. 1865, and was the tune
chosen for this hymn by a committee preparing the Appendix to _Hymns
Ancient and Modern_. Dr. Dykes' statement that the tune came into his
head while walking through the Strand in London "presents a striking
contrast with the solitary origin of the hymn itself" (Benson).

    Lead, kindly Light, amid th' encircling gloom,
      Lead Thou me on.
    The night is dark and I am far from home;
      Lead Thou me on.
    Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
    The distant scene,--one step enough for me.

       *       *       *       *       *

    So long Thy power hath bless'd me, sure it still
      Will lead me on,
    O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till
      The night is gone,
    And with the morn those angel faces smile
    Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.


"I HEARD THE VOICE OF JESUS SAY."

Few if any Christian writers of his generation have possessed tuneful
gifts in greater opulence or produced more vital and lasting treasures
of spiritual verse than Horatius Bonar of Scotland. He inherited some of
his poetic faculty from his grandfather, a clergyman who wrote several
hymns, and it is told of Horatius that hymns used to "come to" him while
riding on railroad trains. He was educated in the Edinburgh University
and studied theology with Dr. Chalmers, and his life was greatly
influenced by Dr. Guthrie, whom he followed in the establishment of the
Free Church of Scotland.

Born in 1808 in Edinburgh, he was about forty years old when he came
back from a successful pastorate at Kelso to the city of his home and
Alma Mater, and became virtually Chalmers' successor as minister of the
Chalmers Memorial Church.

The peculiar richness of Bonar's sacred songs very early created for
them a warm welcome in the religious world, and any devout lyric or poem
with his name attached to it is sure to be read.

Dr. Bonar died in Edinburgh, July 31, 1889. Writing of the hymn, "I
heard the voice," etc., Dr. David Breed calls it "one of the most
ingenious hymns in the language," referring to the fact that the
invitation and response exactly halve each stanza between them--song
followed by countersong. "Ingenious" seems hardly the right word for a
division so obviously natural and almost automatic. It is a simple art
beauty that a poet of culture makes by instinct. Bowring's "Watchman,
tell us of the night," is not the only other instance of similar
countersong structure, and the regularity in Thomas Scott's little hymn,
"Hasten, sinner, to be wise," is only a simpler case of the way a poem
plans itself by the compulsion of its subject.

    I heard the voice of Jesus say,
      Come unto me and rest,
    Lay down, thou weary one, lay down
      Thy head upon My breast:

    I came to Jesus as I was,
      Weary and worn and sad,
    I found in Him a resting-place,
      And He has made me glad.


_THE TUNE._

The old melody of "Evan," long a favorite; and since known everywhere
through the currency given to it in the _Gospel Hymns_, has been in many
collections connected with the words. It is good congregational
psalmody, and not unsuited to the sentiment, taken line by line, but it
divides the stanzas into quatrains, which breaks the happy continuity.
"Evan" was made by Dr. Mason in 1850 from a song written four years
earlier by Rev. William Henry Havergal, Canon of Worcester Cathedral,
Eng. He was the father of Frances Ridley Havergal.

The more ancient "Athens," by Felice Giardini (1716-1796), author of the
"Italian Hymn," has clung, and still clings lovingly to Bonar's hymn in
many communities. Its simplicity, and the involuntary accent of its
sextuple time, exactly reproducing the easy iambic of the verses,
inevitably made it popular, and thousands of older singers today will
have no other music with "I heard the voice of Jesus say."

"Vox Jesu," from the andante in one of the quartets of Louis Spohr
(1784-1859), is a psalm-tune of good harmony, but too little feeling.

An excellent tune for all the shades of expression in the hymn, is the
arrangement by Hubert P. Main from Franz Abt--in A flat, triple time.
Gentle music through the first fifteen bars, in alternate duet and
quartet, utters the Divine Voice with the true accent of the lines, and
the second portion completes the harmony in glad, full chorus--the
answer of the human heart.

"Vox Dilecti," by Dr. Dykes, goes farther and writes the Voice in B flat
_minor_--which seems a needless substitution of divine sadness for
divine sweetness. It is a tune of striking chords, but its shift of key
to G natural (major) after the first four lines marks it rather for
trained choir performance than for assembly song.

It is possible to make too much of a dramatic perfection or a supposed
indication of structural design in a hymn. Textual equations, such as
distinguish Dr. Bonar's beautiful stanzas, are not necessarily
technical. To emphasize them as ingenious by an ingenious tune seems,
somehow, a reflection on the spontaneity of the hymn.

Louis Spohr was Director of the Court Theatre Orchestra in Cassel,
Prussia, in the first half of the last century. He was an eminent
composer of both vocal and instrumental music, and one of the greatest
violinists of Europe.

Hubert Platt Main was born in Ridgefield, Ct., Aug. 17, 1839. He read
music at sight when only ten years old, and at sixteen commenced writing
hymn-tunes. Was assistant compiler with both Bradbury and Woodbury in
their various publications, and in 1868 became connected with the firm
of Biglow and Main, and has been their book-maker until the present
time. As music editor in the partnership he has superintended the
publication of more than five hundred music-books, services, etc.


"I LOVE TO STEAL AWHILE AWAY."

The burdened wife and mother who wrote this hymn would, at the time,
have rated her history with "the short and simple annals of the poor."
But the poor who are "remembered for what they have done," may have a
larger place in history than many rich who did nothing.

Phebe Hinsdale Brown, was born in Canaan, N.Y., in 1783. Her father,
George Hinsdale, who died in her early childhood, must have been a man
of good abilities and religious feeling, being the reputed composer of
the psalm-tune, "Hinsdale," found in some long-ago collections.

Left an orphan at two years of age, Phebe "fell into the hands of a
relative who kept the county jail," and her childhood knew little but
the bitter fare and ceaseless drudgery of domestic slavery. She grew up
with a crushed spirit, and was a timid, shrinking woman as long as she
lived. She married Timothy H. Brown, a house-painter of Ellington, Ct.,
and passed her days there and in Monson, Mass., where she lived some
twenty-five years.

In her humble home in the former town her children were born, and it was
while caring for her own little family of four, and a sick sister, that
the incident occurred (August 1818), which called forth her tender hymn.
She was a devout Christian, and in pleasant weather, whenever she could
find the leisure, she would "steal away" at sunset from her burdens a
little while, to rest and commune with God. Her favorite place was a
wealthy neighbor's large and beautiful flower garden. A servant reported
her visits there to the mistress of the house, who called the "intruder"
to account.

"If you want anything, why don't you come in?" was the rude question,
followed by a plain hint that no stealthy person was welcome.

Wounded by the ill-natured rebuff, the sensitive woman sat down the next
evening with her baby in her lap, and half-blinded by her tears, wrote
"An Apology for my Twilight Rambles," in the verses that have made her
celebrated.

She sent the manuscript (nine stanzas) to her captious neighbor--with
what result has never been told.

Crude and simple as the little rhyme was, it contained a germ of lyric
beauty and life. The Rev. Dr. Charles Hyde of Ellington, who was a
neighbor of Mrs. Brown, procured a copy. He was assisting Dr. Nettleton
to compile the _Village Hymns_, and the humble bit of devotional verse
was at once judged worthy of a place in the new book. Dr. Hyde and his
daughter Emeline giving it some kind touches of rhythmic amendment,

    I love to steal awhile away
      From little ones and care,

--became,--

    I love to steal awhile away
      From _every cumb'ring_ care.

In the last line of this stanza--

    In gratitude and prayer

--was changed to--

    In humble, grateful prayer,

--and the few other defects in syllabic smoothness or literary grace
were affectionately repaired, but the slight furbishing it received did
not alter the individuality of Mrs. Brown's work. It remained
_hers_--and took its place among the immortals of its kind, another
illustration of how little poetry it takes to make a good hymn. Only
five stanzas were printed, the others being voted redundant by both
author and editor. The second and third, as now sung, are--

    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 on mercies past
      And future good implore,
    And all my cares and sorrows cast
      On Him whom I adore.

Phebe Brown died at Henry, Ill., in 1861; but she had made the church
and the world her debtor not only for her little lyric of pious trust,
but by rearing a son, the Rev. Samuel Brown, D.D., who became the
pioneer American missionary to Japan--to which Christian calling two of
her grandchildren also consecrated themselves.


_THE TUNE._

Mrs. Brown's son Samuel, who, besides being a good minister, inherited
his grandfather's musical gift, composed the tune of "Monson," (named in
his mother's honor, after her late home), and it may have been the first
music set to her hymn. It was the fate of his offering, however, to lose
its filial place, and be succeeded by different melodies, though his own
still survives in a few collections, sometimes with Collyer's "O Jesus
in this solemn hour." It is good music for a hymn of _praise_ rather
than for meditative verse. Many years the hymn has been sung to
"Woodstock," an appropriate and still familiar tune by Deodatus Dutton.

Dutton's "Woodstock" and Bradbury's "Brown," which often replaces it,
are worthy rivals of each other, and both continue in favor as fit
choral interpretations of the much-loved hymn.

Deodatus Dutton was born Dec. 22, 1808, and educated at Brown University
and Washington College (now Trinity) Hartford Ct. While there he was a
student of music and played the organ at Dr. Matthews' church. He
studied theology in New York city, and had recently entered the ministry
when he suddenly died, Dec. 16, 1832, a moment before rising to preach a
sermon. During his brief life he had written several hymn-tunes, and
published a book of psalmody. Mrs. Sigourney wrote a poem on his death.


"THERE'S A WIDENESS IN GOD'S MERCY."

Frederick William Faber, author of this favorite hymn-poem, had a
peculiar genius for putting golden thoughts into common words, and
making them sing. Probably no other sample of his work shows better than
this his art of combining literary cleverness with the most reverent
piety. Cant was a quality Faber never could put into his religious
verse.

He was born in Yorkshire, Eng., June 28, 1814, and received his
education at Oxford. Settled as Rector of Elton, in Huntingdonshire, in
1843, he came into sympathy with the "Oxford Movement," and followed
Newman into the Romish Church. He continued his ministry as founder and
priest for the London branch of the Catholic congregation of St. Philip
Neri for fourteen years, dying Sept. 26, 1863, at the age of forty-nine.

His godly hymns betray no credal shibboleth or doctrinal bias, but are
songs for the whole earthly church of God.

    There's a wideness in God's mercy
      Like the wideness of the sea;
    There's a kindness in His justice
      Which is more than liberty.
    There is welcome for the sinner
      And more graces for the good;
    There is mercy with the Saviour,
      There is healing in His blood.

    There's no place where earthly sorrows
      Are more felt than up in heaven;
    There's no place where earthly failings
      Have such kindly judgment given.
    There is plentiful redemption
      In the blood that has been shed,
    There is joy for all the members
      In the sorrows of the Head.

    For the love of God is broader
      Than the measure of man's mind,
    And the heart of the Eternal
      Is most wonderfully kind.
    If our love were but more simple
      We should take Him at His word,
    And our lives would be all sunshine
      In the sweetness of the Lord.

No tone of comfort has breathed itself more surely and tenderly into
grieved hearts than these tuneful and singularly expressive sentences of
Frederick Faber.


_THE TUNE._

The music of S.J. Vail sung to Faber's hymn is one of that composer's
best hymn-tunes, and its melody and natural movement impress the
meaning as well as the simple beauty of the words.

Silas Jones Vail, an American music-writer, was born Oct., 1818, and
died May 20, 1883. Another charming tune is "Wellesley," by Lizzie S.
Tourjee, daughter of the late Dr. Eben Tourjee.


"HE LEADETH ME! OH, BLESSED THOUGHT."

Professor Gilmore, of Rochester University, N.Y., when a young Baptist
minister (1861) supplying a pulpit in Philadelphia "jotted down this
hymn in Deacon Watson's parlor" (as he says) and passed it to his wife,
one evening after he had made "a conference-room talk" on the 23d Psalm.

Mrs. Gilmore, without his knowledge, sent it to the _Watchman and
Reflector_ (now the _Watchman_).

Years after its publication in that paper, when a candidate for the
pastorate of the Second Baptist Church in Rochester, he was turning the
leaves of the vestry hymnal in use there, and saw his hymn in it. Since
that first publication in the _Devotional Hymn and Tune Book_ (1865) it
has been copied in the hymnals of various denominations, and steadily
holds its place in public favor. The refrain added by the tunemaker
emphasizes the sentiment of the lines, and undoubtedly enhances the
effect of the hymn.

"He leadeth me" has the true hymn quality, combining all the simplicity
of spontaneous thought and feeling with perfect accent and liquid
rhythm.

    He leadeth me! Oh, blessed thought,
    Oh, words with heavenly comfort fraught;
    Whate'er I do, where'er I be,
    Still 'tis God's hand that leadeth me!

       *       *       *       *       *

    Lord, I would clasp Thy hand in mine,
    Nor ever murmur nor repine--
    Content, whatever lot I see,
    Since 'tis my God that leadeth me.

Professor Joseph Henry Gilmore was born in Boston, April 29, 1834. He
was graduated at Phillips Academy, Andover, at Brown University, and at
the Newton Theological Institution, where he was afterwards Hebrew
instructor.

After four years of pastoral service he was elected (1867) professor of
the English Language and Literature in Rochester University. He has
published _Familiar Chats on Books and Reading_, also several college
text-books on rhetoric, logic and oratory.


_THE TUNE._

The little hymn of four stanzas was peculiarly fortunate in meeting the
eye of Mr. William B. Bradbury, (1863) and winning his musical sympathy
and alliance. Few composers have so exactly caught the tone and spirit
of their text as Bradbury did when he vocalized the gliding measures of
"He leadeth me."




CHAPTER VI.

CHRISTIAN BALLADS.


Echoes of Hebrew thought, if not Hebrew psalmody, may have made their
way into the more serious pagan literature. At least in the more
enlightened pagans there has ever revealed itself more or less the
instinct of the human soul that "feels after" God. St. Paul in his
address to the Athenians made a tactful as well as scholarly point to
preface a missionary sermon when he cited a line from a poem of Aratus
(B.C. 272) familiar, doubtless, to the majority of his hearers.

Dr. Lyman Abbot has thus translated the passage in which the line
occurs:

    Let us begin from God. Let every mortal raise
    The grateful voice to tune God's endless praise,
    God fills the heaven, the earth, the sea, the air;
    We feel His spirit moving everywhere,
    And we His offspring are.[17] He, ever good,
    Daily provides for man his daily food.
    To Him, the First, the Last, all homage yield,--
    Our Father wonderful, our help, our shield.

[Footnote 17: [Greek: Tou gar kai genos esmen.]]


"RISE, CROWNED WITH LIGHT."

Alexander Pope, a Roman Catholic poet, born in London 1688, died at
Twickenham 1744, was not a hymnist, but passages in his most serious and
exalted flights deserve a tuneful accompaniment. His translations of
Homer made him famous, but his ethical poems, especially his "Essay on
Man," are inexhaustible mines of quotation, many of the lines and
couplets being common as proverbs. His "Messiah," written about 1711, is
a religious anthem in which the prophecies of Holy Writ kindle all the
splendor of his verse.


_THE TUNE._

The closing strain, indicated by the above line, has been divided into
stanzas of four lines suitable to a church hymn-tune. The melody
selected by the compilers of the _Plymouth Hymnal_, and of the
_Unitarian Hymn and Tune Book_ is "Savannah," an American sounding name
for what is really one of Pleyel's chorals. The music is worthy of
Pope's triumphal song.

    The seas shall waste, the skies to smoke decay,
    Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away,
    But fixed His Word; His saving power remains:
    Thy realm shall last; thy own Messiah reigns.


"OH, WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT?"

This is a sombre poem, but its virile strength and its literary merit
have given it currency, and commended it to the taste of many people,
both weak and strong, who have the pensive temperament. Abraham Lincoln
loved it and committed it to memory in his boyhood. Philip Phillips set
it to music, and sang it--or a part of it--one day during the Civil war
at the anniversary of the Christian Sanitary Commission, when President
Lincoln, who was present, called for its repetition.[18] It was written
by William Knox, born 1789, son of a Scottish farmer.

[Footnote 18: This account so nearly resembles the story of Mrs. Gates'
"Your Mission," sung to a similar audience, on a similar occasion, by
the same man, that a possible confusion by the narrators of the incident
has been suggested. But that Mr. Phillips sang twice before the
President during the war does not appear to be contradicted. To what air
he sang the above verses is uncertain.]

The poem has fourteen stanzas, the following being the first and two
last--

    Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
    Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud
    A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave,
    He passeth from life to rest in the grave.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Yea, hope and despondency, pleasure and pain,
    Are mingled together like sunshine and rain;
    And the smile and the tear, the song and the dirge,
    Still follow each other like surge upon surge.

   'Tis the wink of an eye; 'tis the draft of a breath
    From the blossom of health to the paleness of death,
    From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud,
    Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud?

Philip Phillips was born in Jamestown, Chautauqua Co., N.Y., Aug. 11,
1834, and died in Delaware, O., June 25, 1895. He wrote no hymns and was
not an educated musician, but the airs of popular hymn-music came to him
and were harmonized for him by others, most frequently by his friends,
S.J. Vail and Hubert P. Main. He compiled and published thirty-one
collections for Sunday-schools and gospel meetings, besides the
_Methodist Hymn and Tune Book_, issued in 1866.

He was a pioneer gospel singer, and his tuneful journeys through
America, England and Australia gave him the name of the "Singing
Pilgrim," the title of his song collection (1867).


"WHEN ISRAEL OF THE LORD BELOVED."

The "Song of Rebecca the Jewess," in "Ivanhoe," was written by Sir
Walter Scott, author of the Waverly Novels, "Marmion," etc., born in
Edinburgh, 1771, and died at Abbotsford, 1832. The lines purport to be
the Hebrew hymn with which Rebecca closed her daily devotions while in
prison under sentence of death.

    When Israel of the Lord beloved
      Out of the land of bondage came
    Her fathers' God before her moved,
      An awful Guide in smoke and flame.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Then rose the choral hymn of praise,
      And trump and timbrel answered keen,
    And Zion's daughters poured their lays.
      With priest's and warrior's voice between.

       *       *       *       *       *

    By day along th' astonished lands
      The cloudy Pillar glided slow,
    By night Arabia's crimson'd sands
      Returned the fiery Column's glow.

       *       *       *       *       *

    And O, when gathers o'er our path
      In shade and storm the frequent night
    Be Thou, long suffering, slow to wrath,
      A burning and a shining Light!

The "Hymn of Rebecca" has been set to music though never in common use
as a hymn. Old "Truro", by Dr. Charles Burney (1726-1814) is a grand
Scotch psalm harmony for the words, though one of the Unitarian hymnals
borrows Zeuner's sonorous choral, the "Missionary Chant." Both sound the
lyric of the Jewess in good Christian music.


"WE SAT DOWN AND WEPT BY THE WATERS."

The 137th Psalm has been for centuries a favorite with poets and
poetical translators, and its pathos appealed to Lord Byron when engaged
in writing his _Hebrew Melodies_.

Byron was born in London, 1788, and died at Missolonghi, Western Greece,
1824.

    We sat down and wept by the waters
      Of Babel, and thought of the day
    When the foe, in the hue of his slaughters,
      Made Salem's high places his prey,
    And ye, Oh her desolate daughters,
      Were scattered all weeping away.

--Written April, 1814. It was the fashion then for musical societies to
call on the popular poets for contributions, and tunes were composed for
them, though these have practically passed into oblivion.

Byron's ringing ballad (from II Kings 19:35)--

    Th' Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold
    And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold,

--has been so much a favorite for recitation and declamation that the
loss of its tune is never thought of.

Another poetic rendering of the "Captivity Psalm" is worthy of notice
among the lay hymns not unworthy to supplement clerical sermons. It was
written by the Hon. Joel Barlow in 1799, and published in a pioneer
psalm-book at Northampton, Mass. It is neither a translation nor
properly a hymn but a poem built upon the words of the Jewish lament,
and really reproducing something of its plaintive beauty. Two stanzas of
it are as follows:

    Along the banks where Babel's current flows
      Our captive bands in deep despondence strayed,
    While Zion's fall in deep remembrance rose,
      Her friends, her children mingled with the dead.

    The tuneless harps that once with joy we strung
      When praise employed, or mirth inspired the lay,
    In mournful silence on the willows hung,
      And growing grief prolonged the tedious day.

Like Pope, this American poet loved onomatope and imitative verse, and
the last line is a word-picture of home-sick weariness. This "psalm"
was the best piece of work in Mr. Barlow's series of attempted
improvements upon Isaac Watts--which on the whole were not very
successful. The sweet cantabile of Mason's "Melton" gave "Along the
banks" quite an extended lease of life, though it has now ceased to be
sung.

Joel Barlow was a versatile gentleman, serving his country and
generation in almost every useful capacity, from chaplain in the
continental army to foreign ambassador. He was born in Redding, Ct.,
1755, and died near Cracow, Poland, Dec. 1812.


"AS DOWN IN THE SUNLESS."

Thomas Moore, the poet of glees and love-madrigals, had sober thoughts
in the intervals of his gaiety, and employed his genius in writing
religious and even devout poems, which have been spiritually helpful in
many phases of Christian experience. Among them was this and the four
following hymns, with thirty-four others, each of which he carefully
labelled with the name of a music composer, though the particular tune
is left indefinite. "The still prayer of devotion" here answers, in
rhyme and reality, the simile of the sea-flower in the unseen deep, and
the mariner's compass represents the constancy of a believer.

    As, still to the star of its worship, though clouded,
      The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea,
    So, dark as I roam in this wintry world shrouded,
      The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee.

It is sung in _Plymouth Hymnal_ to Barnby's "St. Botolph."


"THE TURF SHALL BE MY FRAGRANT SHRINE"

Is, in part, still preserved in hymn collections, and sung to the noble
tune of "Louvan," Virgil Taylor's piece. The last stanza is especially
reminiscent of the music.

    There's nothing bright above, below,
    From flowers that bloom to stars that glow;
    But in its light my soul can see
    Some feature of Thy deity.


"O THOU WHO DRY'ST THE MOURNER'S TEAR"

Is associated in the _Baptist Praise Book_ with Woodbury's "Siloam."


"THE BIRD LET LOOSE IN EASTERN SKIES"

Has been sung in Mason's "Coventry," and the _Plymouth Hymnal_ assigns
it to "Spohr"--a namesake tune of Louis Spohr, while the _Unitarian Hymn
and Tune Book_ unites to it a beautiful triple-time melody from Mozart,
and bearing his name.


"THOU ART, O GOD, THE LIFE AND LIGHT."

This is the best of the Irish poet's sacred songs--always excepting,
"Come, Ye Disconsolate." It is said to have been originally set to a
secular melody composed by the wife of Hon. Richard Brinsley Sheridan.
It is joined to the tune of "Brighton" in the Unitarian books, and
William Monk's "Matthias" voices the words for the _Plymouth Hymnal_.
The verses have the true lyrical glow, and make a real song of praise as
well a composition of more than ordinary literary beauty.

    Thou art, O God, the life and light
      Of all this wondrous world we see;
    Its glow by day, its smile by night
      Are but reflections caught from Thee.
    Where'er we turn Thy glories shine,
      And all things fair and bright are Thine.

       *       *       *       *       *

    When night with wings of starry gloom
      O'ershadows all the earth, and skies
    Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume
      Is sparkling with unnumbered eyes,
    That sacred gloom, those fires divine,
      So grand, so countless, Lord, are Thine.

    When youthful spring around us breathes,
      Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh,
    And every flower the summer wreathes
      Is born beneath that kindling eye.
    Where'er we turn Thy glories shine,
      And all things fair and bright are Thine.


"MOURNFULLY, TENDERLY, BEAR ON THE DEAD."

A tender funeral ballad by Henry S. Washburn, composed in 1846 and
entitled "The Burial of Mrs. Judson." It is rare now in sheet-music form
but the _American Vocalist_, to be found in the stores of most great
music publishers and dealers, preserves the full poem and score.

Its occasion was the death at sea, off St. Helena, of the Baptist
missionary, Mrs. Sarah Hall Boardman Judson, and the solemn committal of
her remains to the dust on that historic island, Sept. 1, 1845. She was
on her way to America from Burmah at the time of her death, and the ship
proceeded on its homeward voyage immediately after her burial. The
touching circumstances of the gifted lady's death, and the strange
romance of her entombment where Napoleon's grave was made twenty-four
years before, inspired Mr. Washburn, who was a prominent layman of the
Baptist denomination, and interested in all its ecclesiastical and
missionary activities, and he wrote this poetic memorial of the event:

    Mournfully, tenderly, bear on the dead;
    Where the warrior has lain, let the Christian be laid.
    No place more befitting, O rock of the sea;
    Never such treasure was hidden in thee.

    Mournfully, tenderly, solemn and slow;
    Tears are bedewing the path as ye go;
    Kindred and strangers are mourners today;
    Gently, so gently, O bear her away.

    Mournfully, tenderly, gaze on that brow;
    Beautiful is it in quietude now.
    One look, and then settle the loved to her rest
    The ocean beneath her, the turf on her breast.

Mrs. Sarah Judson was the second wife of the Rev. Adoniram Judson, D.D.,
the celebrated pioneer American Baptist missionary, and the mother by
her first marriage, of the late Rev. George Dana Boardman, D.D., LL.D.,
of Philadelphia.

The Hon. Henry S. Washburn was born in Providence, R.I., 1813, and
educated at Brown University. During most of his long life he resided in
Massachusetts, and occupied there many positions of honor and trust,
serving in the State Legislature both as Representative and Senator. He
was the author of many poems and lyrics of high merit, some of
which--notably "The Vacant Chair"--became popular in sheet-music and in
books of religious and educational use. He died in 1903.


_THE TUNE._

"The Burial of Mrs. Judson" became favorite parlor music when Lyman
Heath composed the melody for it--of the same name. Its notes and
movement were evidently inspired by the poem, for it reproduces the
feeling of every line. The threnody was widely known and sung in the
middle years of the last century, by people, too, who had scarcely heard
of Mrs. Judson, and received in the music and words their first hint of
her history. The poem prompted the tune, but the tune was the garland of
the poem.

Lyman Heath of Bow, N.H., was born there Aug. 24, 1804. He studied
music, and became a vocalist and vocal composer. Died July 30, 1870.


"TELL ME NOT IN MOURNFUL NUMBERS."

Longfellow's "Psalm of Life" was written when he was a young man, and
for some years it carried the title he gave it, "What the Young Man's
Heart Said to the Psalmist"--a caption altogether too long to bear
currency.

The history of the beloved poet who wrote this optimistic ballad of hope
and courage is too well known to need recounting here. He was born in
Portland, Me., in 1807, graduated at Bowdoin College, and was for more
than forty years professor of Belles Lettres in Harvard University. Died
in Cambridge, March 4, 1882. Of his longer poems the most read and
admired are his beautiful romance of "Evangeline," and his epic of
"Hiawatha," but it is hardly too much to say that for the last sixty
years, his "Psalm of Life" has been the common property of all American,
if not English school-children, and a part of their education. When he
was in London, Queen Victoria sent for him to come and see her at the
palace. He went, and just as he was seating himself in the waiting coach
after the interview, a man in working clothes appeared, hat in hand, at
the coach window.

"Please sir, yer honor," said he, "an' are you Mr. Longfellow?"

"I am Mr. Longfellow," said the poet.

"An' did you write the Psalm of Life?" he asked.

"I wrote the Psalm of Life," replied the poet.

"An', yer honor, would you be willing to take a workingman by the hand?"

Mr. Longfellow gave the honest Englishman a hearty handshake, "And"
(said he in telling the story) "I never in my life received a compliment
that gave me more satisfaction."

The incident has a delightful democratic flavor--and it is perfectly
characteristic of the amiable author of the most popular poem in the
English language. The "Psalm of Life" is a wonderful example of the
power of commonplaces put into tuneful and elegant verse.

The thought of setting the poem to music came to the compiler of one of
the Unitarian church singing books. Some will question, however, whether
the selection was the happiest that could have been made. The tune is
"Rathbun," Ithamar Conkey's melody that always recalls Sir John
Bowring's great hymn of praise.


"BUILD THEE MORE NOBLE MANSIONS."

This poem by Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, known among his works as "The
Chambered Nautilus," was considered by himself as his worthiest
achievement in verse, and his wish that it might live is likely to be
fulfilled. It is stately, and in character and effect a rhythmic sermon
from a text in "natural theology." The biography of one of the little
molluscan sea-navigators that continually enlarges its shell to adapt it
to its growth inspired the thoughtful lines. The third, fourth and
fifth stanzas are as follows:

      Year after year beheld the silent toil
        That spread the lustrous coil;
        Still, as the spiral grew,
      He left the last year's dwelling for the new,
      Stole with soft step the shining archway through,
        Built up its idle door,
    Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.

      Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,
        Child of the wand'ring sea,
        Cast from her lap forlorn!
      From thy dead lips a clearer note is born
      Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn!
        While on my ear it rings
    Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings,

     "Build thee more noble mansions, O my soul.
        As the swift seasons roll:
        Leave thy low-vaulted past!
      Let each new temple, nobler than the last,
      Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,
        Till thou at length art free,
    Leaving thy outgrown shell by life's unresting sea."

Dr. Frederic Hedge included the poem in his hymn-book but without any
singing-supplement to the words.


WHITTIER'S SERVICE SONG.

    It may not be our lot to wield
    The sickle in the harvest field.

If this stanza and the four following do not reveal all the strength of
John G. Whittier's spirit, they convey its serious sweetness. The
verses were loved and prized by both President Garfield and President
McKinley. On the Sunday before the latter went from his Canton, O., home
to his inauguration in Washington the poem was sung as a hymn at his
request in the services at the Methodist church where he had been a
constant worshipper.

The second stanza is the one most generally recognized and oftenest
quoted:

    Yet where our duty's task is wrought
    In unison with God's great thought,
    The near and future blend in one,
    And whatsoe'er is willed, is done.

John Greenleaf Whittier, the poet of the oppressed, was born in
Haverhill, Mass., 1807, worked on a farm and on a shoe-bench, and
studied at the local academy, until, becoming of age, he went to
Hartford, Conn., and began a brief experience in editorial life. Soon
after his return to Massachusetts he was elected to the Legislature, and
after his duties ended there he left the state for Philadelphia to edit
the _Pennsylvania Freeman_. A few years later he returned again, and
established his home in Amesbury, the town with which his life and works
are always associated.

He died in 1892 at Hampton Falls, N.H., where he had gone for his
health.


_THE TUNE._

"Abends," the smooth triple-time choral joined to Whittier's poem by the
music editor of the new _Methodist Hymnal_, speaks its meaning so well
that it is scarcely worth while to look for another. Sir Herbert Stanley
Oakeley, the composer, was born at Ealing, Eng., July 22, 1830, and
educated at Rugby and Oxford. He studied music in Germany, and became a
superior organist, winning great applause by his recitals at Edinburgh
University, where he was elected Musical Professor.

Archbishop Tait gave him the doctorate of music at Canterbury in 1871,
and he was knighted by Queen Victoria in 1876.

Besides vocal duets, Scotch melodies and student songs, he composed many
anthems and tunes for the church--notably "Edina" ("Saviour, blessed
Saviour") and "Abends," originally written to Keble's "Sun of my Soul."


"THE BIRD WITH THE BROKEN PINION."

This lay of a lost gift, with its striking lesson, might have been
copied from the wounded bird's own song, it is so natural and so
clear-toned. The opportune thought and pen of Mr. Hezekiah Butterworth
gave being to the little ballad the day he heard the late Dr. George
Lorimer preach from a text in the story of Samson's fall (Judges 16:21)
"The Philistines took him, and put out his eyes, and brought him down to
Gaza ... and he did grind in the prison-house." A sentence in the
course of the doctor's sermon, "The bird with a broken pinion never
soars as high again," was caught up by the listening author, and became
the refrain of his impressive song. Rev. Frank M. Lamb, the tuneful
evangelist, found it in print, and wrote a tune to it, and in his voice
and the voices of other singers the little monitor has since told its
story in revival meetings, and mission and gospel services throughout
the land.

    I walked through the woodland meadows
      Where sweet the thrushes sing,
    And found on a bed of mosses
      A bird with a broken wing.
    I healed its wound, and each morning
      It sang its old sweet strain,
    But the bird with a broken pinion
      Never soared as high again.

    I found a young life broken
      By sin's seductive art;
    And, touched with a Christ-like pity,
      I took him to my heart.
    He lived--with a noble purpose,
      And struggled not in vain;
    But the life that sin had stricken
      Never soared as high again.

    But the bird with a broken pinion
      Kept another from the snare,
    And the life that sin had stricken
      Saved another from despair.
    Each loss has its compensation,
      There is healing for every pain
    But the bird with a broken pinion
      Never soars as high again.

In the tune an extra stanza is added--as if something conventional were
needed to make the poem a hymn. But the professional tone of the
appended stanza, virtually all in its two lines--

    Then come to the dear Redeemer,
    He will cleanse you from every stain,

--is forced into its connection. The poem told the truth, and stopped
there; and should be left to fasten its own impression. There never was
a more solemn warning uttered than in this little apologue. It promises
"compensation" and "healing," but not perfect rehabilitation. Sin will
leave its scars. Even He who "became sin for us" bore them in His
resurrection body.

Rev. Frank M. Lamb, composer and singer of the hymn-tune, was born in
Poland, Me., 1860, and educated in the schools of Poland and Auburn. He
was licensed to preach in 1888, and ordained the same year, and has
since held pastorates in Maine, New York, and Massachusetts.

Besides his tune, very pleasing and appropriate music has been written
to the little ballad of the broken wing by Geo. C. Stebbins.

[Illustration: Ellen M.H. Gates]


UNDER THE PALMS.

In the cantata, "Under the Palms" ("Captive Judah in Babylon")--the
joint production of George F. Root[19] and Hezekiah Butterworth, several
of the latter's songs detached themselves, with their music, from the
main work, and lingered in choral or solo service in places where the
sacred operetta was presented, both in America and England. One of these
is an effective solo in deep contralto, with a suggestion of recitative
and chant--

        By the dark Euphrates' stream,
        By the Tigris, sad and lone
          I wandered, a captive maid;
          And the cruel Assyrian said,
       "Awake your harp's sweet tone!"

    I had heard of my fathers' glory from the lips of holy men,
    And I thought of the land of my fathers; I thought of my fathers'
        land then.

Another is--

    O church of Christ! our blest abode,
      Celestial grace is thine.
    Thou art the dwelling-place of God,
      The gate of joy divine.

    Whene'er I come to thee in joy,
      Whene'er I come in tears,
    Still at the Gate called Beautiful
      My risen Lord appears.

--with the chorus--

    Where'er for me the sun may set,
      Wherever I may dwell,
    My heart shall nevermore forget
      Thy courts, Immanuel!

[Footnote 19: See page 316.]


"IF YOU CANNOT ON THE OCEAN."

This popular Christian ballad, entitled "Your Mission," was written one
stormy day in the winter of 1861-2 by Miss Ellen M. Huntington (Mrs.
Isaac Gates), and made her reputation as one of the few didactic poets
whose exquisite art wins a hearing for them everywhere. In a moment of
revery, while looking through the window at the falling snow, the words
came to her:

    If you cannot on the ocean
    Sail among the swiftest fleet.

She turned away and wrote the lines on her slate, following with verse
after verse till she finished the whole poem. "It wrote itself," she
says in her own account of it.

Reading afterwards what she had written, she was surprised at her work.
The poem had a meaning and a "mission." So strong was the impression
that the devout girl fell on her knees and consecrated it to a divine
purpose. Free copies of it went to the Cooperstown, N.Y., local paper,
and to the New York _Examiner_, and appeared in both. From that time the
history and career of "Your Mission" presents a marked illustration of
"catenal influence," or transmitted suggestion.

In the later days of the Civil War Philip Phillips, who had a
wonderfully sweet tenor voice, was invited to sing at a great meeting of
the United States Christian Commission in the Senate Chamber at
Washington, February, 1865, President Lincoln and Secretary Seward
(then president of the commission) were there, and the hall was crowded
with leading statesmen, army generals, and friends of the Union. The
song selected by Mr. Phillips was Mrs. Gates' "Your Mission":

    If you cannot on the ocean
      Sail among the swiftest fleet,
    Rocking on the highest billows,
      Laughing at the storms you meet,
    You can stand among the sailors
      Anchored yet within the bay;
    You can lend a hand to help them
      As they launch their boats away.

The hushed audience listened spell-bound as the sweet singer went on,
their interest growing to feverish eagerness until the climax was
reached in the fifth stanza:

    If you cannot in the conflict
      Prove yourself a soldier true,
    If where fire and smoke are thickest
      There's no work for you to do,
    When the battlefield is silent
      You can go with careful tread;
    You can bear away the wounded,
      You can cover up the dead.

In the storm of enthusiasm that followed, President Lincoln handed a
hastily scribbled line on a bit of paper to Chairman Seward,

"Near the close let us have 'Your Mission' repeated."

Mr. Phillips' great success on this occasion brought him so many calls
for his services that he gave up everything and devoted himself to his
tuneful art. "Your Mission" so gladly welcomed at Washington made him
the first gospel songster, chanting round the world the divine message
of the hymns. It was the singing by Philip Phillips that first impressed
Ira D. Sankey with the amazing power of evangelical solo song, and
helped him years later to resign his lucrative business as a revenue
officer and consecrate his own rare vocal gift to the Christian ministry
of sacred music. Heaven alone can show the birth-records of souls won to
God all along the journeys of the "Singing Pilgrims," and the rich
succession of Mr. Sankey's melodies, that can be traced back by a chain
of causes to the poem that "wrote itself" and became a hymn. And the
chain may not yet be complete. In the words of that providential poem--

    Though they may forget the singer
      They will not forget the song.

Mrs. Ellen M.H. Gates, whose reputation as an author was made by this
beautiful and always timely poem, was born in Torrington, Ct., and is
the youngest sister of the late Collis P. Huntington. Her
hymns--included in this volume and in other publications--are much
admired and loved, both for their sweetness and elevated religious
feeling, and for their poetic quality. Among her published books of
verse are "Night," "At Noontide," and "Treasures of Kurium." Her address
is New York City.


_THE TUNE._

Sidney Martin Grannis, author of the tune, was born Sept. 23, 1827, in
Geneseo, Livingston county, N.Y. Lived in Leroy, of the same state, from
1831 to 1884, when he removed to Los Angeles, Cal., where several of his
admirers presented him a cottage and grounds, which at last accounts he
still occupies. Mr. Grannis won his first reputation as a popular
musician by his song "Do They Miss Me at Home," and his "Only Waiting,"
"Cling to the Union," and "People Will Talk You Know," had an equally
wide currency. As a solo singer his voice was remarkable, covering a
range of two octaves, and while travelling with members of the "Amphion
Troupe," to which he belonged, he sang at more than five thousand
concerts. His tune to "Your Mission" was composed in New Haven, Ct., in
1864.


"TOO LATE! TOO LATE! YE CANNOT ENTER NOW."

"Too Late" is a thrilling fragment or side-song of Alfred Tennyson's,
representing the vain plea of the five Foolish Virgins. Its tune bears
the name of a London lady, "Miss Lindsay" (afterwards Mrs. J.
Worthington Bliss). The arrangement of air, duo and quartet is very
impressive[20].

[Footnote 20: _Methodist Hymnal_, No. 743.]

     "Late, late, so late! and dark the night and chill:
      Late, late, so late! but we can enter still."
   "Too late! too late! ye cannot enter now!"

     "No light! so late! and dark and chill the night--
      O let us in that we may find the light!"
   "Too late! too late! ye cannot enter now!"

       *       *       *       *       *

     "Have we not heard the Bridegroom is so sweet?
      O let us in that we may kiss his feet!"
   "No, No--! too late! ye cannot enter now!"

The words are found in "Queen Guinevere," a canto of the "Idyls of the
King."


"OH, GALILEE, SWEET GALILEE."

This is the chorus of a charming poem of three stanzas that shaped
itself in the mind of Mr. Robert Morris while sitting over the ruins on
the traditional site of Capernaum by the Lake of Genneseret.

    Each cooing dove, each sighing bough,
      That makes the eve so blest to me,
    Has something far diviner now,
      It bears me back to Galilee.

  CHORUS
    Oh, Galilee, sweet Galilee,
      Where Jesus loved so much to be;
    Oh, Galilee, blue Galilee,
      Come sing thy song again to me.

Robert Morris, LL.D., born Aug. 31, 1818, was a scholar, and an expert
in certain scientific subjects, and wrote works on numismatics and the
"Poetry of Free Masonry." Commissioned to Palestine in 1868 on historic
and archaeological service for the United Order, he explored the scenes
of ancient Jewish and Christian life and event in the Holy Land, and
being a religious man, followed the Saviour's earthly footsteps with a
reverent zeal that left its inspiration with him while he lived. He died
in the year 1888, but his Christian ballad secured him a lasting place
in every devout memory.


_THE TUNE._

The author wrote out his hymn in 1874 and sent it to his friend, the
musician, Mr. Horatio R. Palmer,[21] and the latter learned it by heart,
and carried it with him in his musings "till it floated out in the
melody you know," (to use his own words.)

[Footnote 21: See page 311.]




CHAPTER VII.

OLD REVIVAL HYMNS.


The sober churches of the "Old Thirteen" states and of their successors
far into the nineteenth century, sustained evening prayer-meetings more
or less commonly, but necessity made them in most cases "cottage
meetings" appointed on Sunday and here and there in the scattered homes
of country parishes. Their intent was the same as that of "revival
meetings," since so called, though the method--and the music--were
different. The results in winning sinners, so far as they owed anything
to the hymns and hymn-tunes, were apt to be a new generation of
Christian recruits as sombre as the singing. "Lebanon" set forth the
appalling shortness of human life; "Windham" gave its depressing story
of the great majority of mankind on the "broad road," and other minor
tunes proclaimed God's sovereignty and eternal decrees; or if a psalm
had His love in it, it was likely to be sung in a similar melancholy
key. Even in his gladness the good minister, Thomas Baldwin, of the
Second Baptist Church, at Boston, North End, returning from Newport,
N.H., where he had happily harmonized a discordant church, could not
escape the strait-lace of a C minor for his thankful hymn--

    From whence doth this union arise,
    That hatred is conquered by love.

"The Puritans took their pleasures seriously," and this did not cease to
be true till at least two hundred years after the Pilgrims landed or
Boston was founded.

Time, that covered the ghastly faces on the old grave-stones with moss,
gradually stole away the unction of minor-tune singing.

The songs of the great revival of 1740 swept the country with positive
rather than negative music. Even Jonathan Edwards admitted the need of
better psalm-books and better psalmody.

Edwards, during his life, spent some time among the Indians as a
missionary teacher; but probably neither he nor David Brainerd ever saw
a Christian hymn composed by an Indian. The following, from the early
years of the last century, is apparently the first, certainly the only
surviving, effort of a converted but half-educated red man to utter his
thoughts in pious metre. Whoever trimmed the original words and measure
into printable shape evidently took care to preserve the broken English
of the simple convert. It is an interesting relic of the Christian
thought and sentiment of a pagan just learning to prattle prayer and
praise:

    In de dark wood, no Indian nigh,
    Den me look heaben, send up cry,
      Upon my knees so low.
    Dat God on high, in shinee place,
    See me in night, with teary face,
      De priest, he tell me so.

    God send Him angel take me care;
    Him come Heself and hear um prayer,
      If Indian heart do pray.
    God see me now, He know me here.
    He say, poor Indian, neber fear,
      Me wid you night and day.

    So me lub God wid inside heart;
    He fight for me, He take my part,
      He save my life before.
    God lub poor Indian in de wood;
    So me lub God, and dat be good;
      Me pray Him two times more.

    When me be old, me head be gray,
    Den He no lebe me, so He say:
      Me wid you till you die.
    Den take me up to shinee place,
    See white man, red man, black man's face,
      All happy 'like on high.

    Few days, den God will come to me,
    He knock off chains, He set me free,
      Den take me up on high.
    Den Indian sing His praises blest,
    And lub and praise Him wid de rest,
      And neber, neber cry.

The above hymn, which may be found in different forms in old New England
tracts and hymn-books, and which used to be sung in Methodist conference
and prayer-meetings in the same way that old slave-hymns and the
"Jubilee Singers" refrains are sometimes sung now, was composed by
William Apes, a converted Indian, who was born in Massachusetts, in
1798. His father was a white man, but married an Indian descended from
the family of King Philip, the Indian warrior, and the last of the
Indian chiefs. His grandmother was the king's granddaughter, as he
claimed, and was famous for her personal beauty. He caused his
autobiography and religious experience to be published. The original
hymn is quite long, and contains some singular and characteristic
expressions.

The authorship of the tune to which the words were sung has been claimed
for Samuel Cowdell, a schoolmaster of Annapolis Valley, Nova Scotia,
1820, but the date of the lost tune was probably much earlier.

In the early days of New England, before the Indian missions had been
brought to an end by the sweeping away of the tribes, several fine hymns
were composed by educated Indians, and were used in the churches. The
best known is that beginning--

    When shall we all meet again?

It was composed by three Indians at the planting of a memorial pine on
leaving Dartmouth College, where they had been studying. The lines
indicate an expectation of missionary life and work.

    When shall we all meet again?
    When shall we all meet again?
    Oft shall glowing hope expire,
    Oft shall wearied love retire,
    Oft shall death and sorrow reign
    Ere we all shall meet again.

    Though in distant lands we sigh,
    Parched beneath a burning sky,
    Though the deep between us rolls,
    Friendship shall unite our souls;
    And in fancy's wide domain,
    There we all shall meet again.

    When these burnished locks are gray,
    Thinned by many a toil-spent day,
    When around this youthful pine
    Moss shall creep and ivy twine,
    (Long may this loved bower remain!)
    Here may we all meet again.

    When the dreams of life are fled,
    When its wasted lamps are dead,
    When in cold oblivion's shade
    Beauty, health, and strength are laid,
    Where immortal spirits reign,
    There we all shall meet again.

This parting piece was sung in religious meetings as a hymn, like the
other once so common, but later,--

   "When shall we meet again,
      Meet ne'er to sever?"

--to a tune in B flat minor, excessively plaintive, and likely to sadden
an emotional singer or hearer to tears. The full harmony is found in the
_American Vocalist_, and the air is reprinted in the _Revivalist_
(1868). The fact that minor music is the natural Indian tone in song
makes it probable that the melody is as ancient as the hymn--though no
date is given for either.

Tradition says that nearly fifty years later the same three Indians were
providentially drawn to the spot where they parted, and met again, and
while they were together composed and sang another ode. Truth to tell,
however, it had only one note of gladness, and that was in the first
stanza:

    Parted many a toil-spent year,
    Pledged in youth to memory dear,
    Still to friendship's magnet true,
    We our social joys renew;
    Bound by love's unsevered chain,
    Here on earth we meet again.

The remaining three stanzas dwell principally on the ravages time has
made. The reunion ode of those stoical college classmates of a stoical
race could have been sung in the same B flat minor.


"AWAKED BY SINAI'S AWFUL SOUND."

The name of the Indian, Samson Occum, who wrote this hymn (variously
spelt Ockom, Ockum, Occam, Occom) is not borne by any public
institution, but New England owes the foundation of Dartmouth College to
his hard work. Dartmouth College was originally "Moore's Indian Charity
School," organized (1750) in Lebanon, Ct., by Rev. Eleazer Wheelock and
endowed (1755) by Joshua Moore (or More). Good men and women who had at
heart the spiritual welfare of a fading race contributed to the school's
support and young Indians resorted to it from both New England and the
Middle States, but funds were insufficient, and it was foreseen that the
charity must inevitably outgrow its missionary purpose and if continued
at all must depend on a wider and more liberal patronage.

Samson Occum was born in Mohegan, New London Co., Ct., probably in the
year 1722. Converted from paganism in 1740 (possibly under the preaching
of Whitefield, who was in this country at that time) he desired to
become a missionary to his people, and entered Eleazer Wheelock's
school. After four years study, then a young man of twenty-two, he began
to teach and preach among the Montauk Indians, and in 1759 the
Presbytery of Suffolk Co., L.I., ordained him to the ministry. A
benevolent society in Scotland, hearing of, his ability and zeal, gave
him an appointment, under its auspices, among the Oneidas in 1761, where
he labored four years. The interests of the school at Lebanon, where he
had been educated, were dear to him, and he was tireless in its cause,
procuring pupils for it, and working eloquently as its advocate with
voice and pen. In 1765 he crossed the Atlantic to solicit funds for the
Indian school, and remained four years in England and Scotland,
lecturing in its behalf, and preaching nearly four hundred sermons. As a
result he raised ten thousand pounds. The donation was put in charge of
a Board of Trustees of which Lord Dartmouth was chairman. When it was
decided to remove the school from Lebanon, Ct., the efforts of Governor
Wentworth, of New Hampshire, secured its location at Hanover in that
state. It was christened after Lord Dartmouth--and the names of Occum,
Moore and Wheelock retired into the encyclopedias.

The Rev. Samson Occum died in 1779, while laboring among the Stockbridge
(N.Y.) Indians. Several hymns were written by this remarkable man, and
also "An Account of the Customs and Manners of the Montauks." The hymn,
"Awaked by Sinai's Awful Sound," set to the stentorian tune of "Ganges,"
was a tremendous sermon in itself to old-time congregations, and is
probably as indicative of the doctrines which converted its writer as of
the contemporary belief prominent in choir and pulpit.

    Awaked by Sinai's awful sound,
    My soul in bonds of guilt I found,
      And knew not where to go,
    Eternal truth did loud proclaim
   "The sinner must be born again.
      Or sink in endless woe."

    When to the law I trembling fled,
    It poured its curses on my head:
      I no relief could find.
    This fearful truth increased my pain,
   "The sinner must be born again,"
      And whelmed my troubled mind.

       *       *       *       *       *

    But while I thus in anguish lay,
    Jesus of Nazareth passed that way;
      I felt His pity move.
    The sinner, once by justice slain,
    Now by His grace is born again,
      And sings eternal Love!

The rugged original has been so often and so variously altered and
"toned down," that only a few unusually accurate aged memories can
recall it. The hymn began going out of use fifty years ago, and is now
seldom seen.

The name "S. Chandler," attached to "Ganges," leaves the identity of the
composer in shadow. It is supposed he was born in 1760. The tune
appeared about 1790.


"WHERE NOW ARE THE HEBREW CHILDREN?"

This quaint old unison, repeating the above three times, followed by the
answer (thrice repeated) and climaxed with--

    Safely in the Promised Land,

--was a favorite at ancient camp-meetings, and a good leader could keep
it going in a congregation or a happy group of vocalists, improvising a
new start-line after every stop until his memory or invention gave out.

    They went up from the fiery furnace,
    They went up from the fiery furnace,
    They went up from the fiery furnace,
      Safely to the Promised Land.

Sometimes it was--

    Where now is the good Elijah?

--and,--

    He went up in a chariot of fire;

--and again,--

    Where now is the good old Daniel?

    He went up from the den of lions;

--and so on, finally announcing--

    By and by we'll go home for to meet him, [three times]
      Safely in the Promised Land.

The enthusiasm excited by the swinging rhythm of the tune sometimes rose
to a passionate pitch, and it was seldom used in the more controlled
religious assemblies. If any attempt was ever made to print the song[22]
the singers had little need to read the music. Like the ancient runes,
it came into being by spontaneous generation, and lived in phonetic
tradition.

[Footnote 22: Mr. Hubert P. Main believes he once saw "The Hebrew
Children" in print in one of Horace Waters' editions of the _Sabbath
Bell_.]

A strange, wild paean of exultant song was one often heard from Peter
Cartwright, the muscular circuit-preacher. A remembered fragment shows
its quality:

    Then my soul mounted higher
      In a chariot of fire,
    And the moon it was under my feet.

There is a tradition that he sang it over a stalwart blacksmith while
chastising him for an ungodly defiance and assault in the course of one
of his gospel journeys--and that the defeated blacksmith became his
friend and follower.

Peter Cartwright was born in Amherst county, Va., Sept. 1, 1785, and
died near Pleasant Plains, Sangamon county, Ill., Sept., 1872.


"THE EDEN OF LOVE."

This song, written early in the last century, by John J. Hicks, recalls
the name of the eccentric traveling evangelist, Lorenzo Dow, born in
Coventry, Ct., October 16, 1777; died in Washington, D.C., Feb. 2,
1834. It was the favorite hymn of his wife, the beloved Peggy Dow, and
has furnished the key-word of more than one devotional rhyme that has
uplifted the toiling souls of rural evangelists and their greenwood
congregations:

    How sweet to reflect on the joys that await me
      In yon blissful region, the haven of rest,
    Where glorified spirits with welcome shall greet me,
      And lead me to mansions prepared for the blest.
    There, dwelling in light, and with glory enshrouded,
      My happiness perfect, my mind's sky unclouded,
    I'll bathe in the ocean of pleasure unbounded,
      And range with delight through the Eden of love.

The words and tune were printed in _Leavitt's Christian Lyre_, 1830.

The same strain in the same metre is continued in the hymn of Rev. Wm.
Hunter, D.D., (1842) printed in his _Minstrel of Zion_ (1845). J.W.
Dadmun's _Melodian_ (1860) copied it, retaining, apparently, the
original music, with an added refrain of invitation, "Will you go? will
you go?"

    We are bound for the land of the pure and the holy,
      The home of the happy, the kingdom of love;
    Ye wand'rers from God on the broad road of folly,
      O say, will you go to the Eden above?

The old hymn-tune has a brisk out-door delivery, and is full of revival
fervor and the ozone of the pines.


"O CANA-AN, BRIGHT CANA-AN"

Was one of the stimulating melodies of the old-time awakenings, which
were simply airs, and were sung unisonously. "O Cana-an" (pronounced in
three syllables) was the chorus, the hymn-lines being either improvised
or picked up miscellaneously from memory, the interline, "I am bound for
the land of Cana-an," occurring between every two. John Wesley's "How
happy is the pilgrim's lot" was one of the snatched stanzas swept into
the current of the song. An example of the tune-leader's improvisations
to keep the hymn going was--

    If you get there before I do,--
     _I am bound for the land of Cana-an!_
    Look out for me, I'm coming too--
     _I am bound for the land of Cana-an!_

And then hymn and tune took possession of the assembly and rolled on in
a circle with--

    O Cana-an, bright Cana-an!
    I am bound for the land of Cana-an;
    O Cana-an it is my hap-py home,
    I am bound for the land of Cana-an

--till the voices came back to another starting-line and began again.
There was always a movement to the front when that tune was sung,
and--with all due abatement for superficial results in the sensation of
the moment--it is undeniable that many souls were truly born into the
kingdom of God under the sound of that rude woodland song.

Both its words and music are credited to Rev. John Maffit, who probably
wrote the piece about 1829.


"A CHARGE TO KEEP I HAVE."

This hymn of Charles Wesley was often heard at the camp grounds, from
the rows of tents in the morning while the good women prepared their
pancakes and coffee, and


_THE TUNE._

was invariably old "Kentucky," by Jeremiah Ingalls. Sung as a solo by a
sweet and spirited voice, it slightly resembled "Golden Hill," but
oftener its halting bars invited a more drawling style of execution
unworthy of a hymn that merits a tune like "St. Thomas."

Old "Kentucky" was not field music.


"CHRISTIANS, IF YOUR HEARTS ARE WARM."

Elder John Leland, born in Grafton, Mass., 1754, was not only a
strenuous personality in the Baptist denomination, but was well known
everywhere in New England, and, in fact, his preaching trip to
Washington (1801) with the "Cheshire Cheese" made his fame national. He
is spoken of as "the minister who wrote his own hymns"--a peculiarity in
which he imitated Watts and Doddridge. When some natural shrinking was
manifest in converts of his winter revivals, under his rigid rule of
immediate baptism, he wrote this hymn to fortify them:

    Christians, if your hearts are warm,
    Ice and cold can do no harm;
    If by Jesus you are prized
    Rise, believe and be baptized.

He found use for the hymn, too, in rallying church-members who staid
away from his meetings in bad weather. The "poetry" expressed what he
wanted to say--which, in his view, was sufficient apology for it. It was
sung in revival meetings like others that he wrote, and a few hymnbooks
now long obsolete contained it; but of Leland's hymns only one survives.
Gray-headed men and women remember being sung to sleep by their mothers
with that old-fashioned evening song to Amzi Chapin's[23] tune--

    The day is past and gone,
      The evening shades appear,
    O may we all remember well
      The night of death draws near;

--and with all its solemnity and other-worldness it is dear to
recollection, and its five stanzas are lovingly hunted up in the few
hymnals where it is found. Bradbury's "Braden," (_Baptist Praise Book_,
1873,) is one of its tunes.

[Footnote 23: Amzi Chapin has left, apparently, nothing more than the
record of his birth, March 2, 1768, and the memory of his tune. It
appeared as early as 1805.]

Elder Leland was a remarkable revival preacher, and his prayers--as was
said of Elder Jabez Swan's fifty or sixty years later--"brought heaven
and earth together." He traveled through the Eastern States as an
evangelist, and spent a season in Virginia in the same work. In 1801 he
revisited that region on a curious errand. The farmers of Cheshire,
Mass., where Leland was then a settled pastor, conceived the plan of
sending "the biggest cheese in America" to President Jefferson, and
Leland (who was a good democrat) offered to go to Washington on an
ox-team with it, and "preach all the way"--which he actually did.

The cheese weighed 1450 lbs.

Elder Leland died in North Adams, Mass., Jan. 14, 1844. Another of his
hymns, which deserved to live with his "Evening Song," seemed to be
answered in the brightness of his death-bed hope:

    O when shall I see Jesus
      And reign with Him above,
    And from that flowing fountain
      Drink everlasting love?


"AWAKE, MY SOUL, TO JOYFUL LAYS."

This glad hymn of Samuel Medley is his thanksgiving song, written soon
after his conversion. In the places of rural worship no lay of
Christian praise and gratitude was ever more heartily sung than this at
the testimony meetings.

    Awake, my soul, to joyful lays,
    And sing thy great Redeemer's praise;
    He justly claims a song from me:
    His loving-kindness, oh, how free!
    Loving-kindness, loving-kindness,
    His loving-kindness, oh, how free!


_THE TUNE,_

With its queer curvet in every second line, had no other name than
"Loving-Kindness," and was probably a camp-meeting melody in use for
some time before its publication. It is found in _Leavitt's Christian
Lyre_ as early as 1830. The name "William Caldwell" is all that is known
of its composer, though he is supposed to have lived in Tennessee.


"THE LORD INTO HIS GARDEN COMES."

Was a common old-time piece sure to be heard at every religious rally,
and every one present, saint and sinner, had it by heart, or at least
the chorus of it--

    Amen, amen, my soul replies,
    I'm bound to meet you in the skies,
      And claim my mansion there, etc.

The anonymous[24] "Garden Hymn, as old, at least, as 1800," has nearly
passed out of reach, except by the long arm of the antiquary; but it
served its generation.

[Footnote 24: A "Rev." Mr. Campbell, author of "The Glorious Light of
Zion," "There is a Holy City," and "There is a Land of Pleasure," has
been sometimes credited with the origin of the Garden Hymn.]

Its vigorous tune is credited to Jeremiah Ingalls (1764-1838).

    The Lord into His garden comes;
    The spices yield a rich perfume,
      The lilies grow and thrive,
      The lilies grow and thrive.
    Refreshing showers of grace divine
    From Jesus flow to every vine,
      Which makes the dead revive,
      Which makes the dead revive.


"THE CHARIOT! THE CHARIOT!"

Henry Hart Milman, generally known as Dean Milman, was born in 1791, and
was educated at Oxford. In 1821 he was installed as university professor
of poetry at Oxford, and it was while filling this position that he
wrote this celebrated hymn, under the title of "The Last Day." It is not
only a hymn, but a poem--a sublime ode that recalls, in a different
movement, the tones of the "Dies Irae."

Dean Milman (of St Paul's), besides his many striking poems and learned
historical works, wrote at least twelve hymns, among which are--

    Ride on, ride on in majesty,

    O help us Lord; each hour of need
      Thy heavenly succor give,

    When our heads are bowed with woe,

--which last may have been written soon after he laid three of his
children in one grave, in the north aisle of Westminster Abbey. He
lived a laborious and useful life of seventy-seven years, dying Sept.
24, 1868.

There were times in the old revivals when the silver clarion of the
"Chariot Hymn" must needs replace the ruder blast of Occum in old
"Ganges" and sinners unmoved by the invisible God of Horeb be made to
behold Him--in a vision of the "Last Day."

    The Chariot! the Chariot! its wheels roll in fire
    When the Lord cometh down in the pomp of His ire,
    Lo, self-moving, it drives on its pathway of cloud,
    And the heavens with the burden of Godhead are bowed.

       *       *       *       *       *

    The Judgment! the Judgment! the thrones are all set,
    Where the Lamb and the white-vested elders are met;
    There all flesh is at once in the sight of the Lord,
    And the doom of eternity hangs on His word.

The name "Williams" or "J. Williams" is attached to various editions of
the trumpet-like tune, but so far no guide book gives us location, date
or sketch of the composer.


"COME, MY BRETHREN."

Another of the "unstudied" revival hymns of invitation.

    Come, my brethren, let us try
      For a little season
    Every burden to lay by,
      Come and let us reason.

    What is this that casts you down.
      What is this that grieves you?
    Speak and let your wants be known;
      Speaking may relieve you.

This colloquial rhyme was apt to be started by some good brother or
sister in one of the chilly pauses of a prayer-meeting. The air (there
was never anything more to it) with a range of only a fifth, slurred the
last syllable of every second line, giving the quaint effect of a bent
note, and altogether the music was as homely as the verse. Both are
anonymous. But the little chant sometimes served its purpose wonderfully
well.


"BRETHREN, WHILE WE SOJOURN HERE."

This hymn was always welcome in the cottage meetings as well as in the
larger greenwood assemblies. It was written by Rev. Joseph Swain, about
1783.

    Brethren, while we sojourn here
    Fight we must, but should not fear.
    Foes we have, but we've a Friend,
    One who loves us to the end;
    Forward then with courage go;
    Long we shall not dwell below,
    Soon the joyful news will come,
   "Child, your Father calls, 'Come home.'"

The tune was sometimes "Pleyel's Hymn," but oftener it was sung to a
melody now generally forgotten of much the same movement but slurred in
peculiarly sweet and tender turns. The cadence of the last tune gave
the refrain line a melting effect:

    Child, your Father calls, "Come home."

Some of the spirit of this old tune (in the few hymnals where the hymn
is now printed) is preserved in Geo. Kingsley's "Messiah" which
accompanies the words, but the modulations are wanting.

Joseph Swain was born in Birmingham, Eng. in 1761. Bred among mechanics,
he was early apprenticed to the engraver's trade, but he was a boy of
poetic temperament and fond of writing verses. After the spiritual
change which brought a new purpose into his life, he was baptized by Dr.
Rippon and studied for the ministry. At the age of about twenty-five, he
was settled over the Baptist church in Walworth, where he remained till
his death, April 16, 1796.

For more than a century his hymns have lived and been loved in all the
English-speaking world. Among those still in use are--

    How sweet, how heavenly is the sight,

    Pilgrims we are to Canaan bound,

    O Thou in whose presence my soul takes delight.


"HAPPY DAY."

    O happy day that fixed my choice.
                                 --_Doddridge_.
    O how happy are they who the Saviour obey.
                                 --_Charles Wesley_.

These were voices as sure to be heard in converts' meetings as the
leader's prayer or text, the former sung inevitably to Rimbault's tune,
"Happy Day," and the latter to a "Western Melody" quite as closely akin
to Wesley's words.

Edward Francis Rimbault, born at Soho, Eng., June 13, 1816, was at
sixteen years of age organist at the Soho Swiss Church, and became a
skilled though not a prolific composer. He once received--and
declined--the offer of an appointment as professor of music in Harvard
College. Died of a lingering illness Sept, 26, 1876.


"COME, HOLY SPIRIT, HEAVENLY DOVE."
                               --_Watts_.

This was the immortal song-litany that fitted almost anywhere into every
service. The Presbyterians and Congregationalists sang it in Tansur's
"St. Martins," the Baptists in William Jones' "Stephens" and the
Methodists in Maxim's "Turner" (which had the most music), but the hymn
went about as well with one as with another.

The Rev. William Jones (1726-1800) an English rector, and Abraham Maxim
of Buckfield, Me., (1773-1829) contributed quite a liberal share of the
"continental" tunes popular in the latter part of the 18th century.
Maxim was eccentric, but the tradition that an unfortunate affair of the
heart once drove him into the woods to make away with himself, but a
bird on the roof of a logger's hut, making plaintive sounds,
interrupted him, and he sat down and wrote the tune "Hallowell," on a
strip of white birch bark, is more likely legendary. The following
words, said to have inspired his minor tune, are still set to it in the
old collections:

    As on some lonely building's top
      The sparrow makes her moan,
    Far from the tents of joy and hope
      I sit and grieve alone.[25]

[Footnote 25: Versified by Nahum Tate from Ps. 102:7.]

Maxim was fond of the minor mode, but his minors, like "Hallowell," "New
Durham," etc., are things of the past. His major chorals and fugues,
such as "Portland," "Buckfield," and "Turner" had in them the spirit of
healthier melody and longer life. He published at least two collections,
_The Oriental Harmony_, in 1802, and _The Northern Harmony_, in 1805.

William Tansur (Tans-ur), author of "St. Martins" (1669-1783), was an
organist, composer, compiler, and theoretical writer. He was born at
Barnes, Surrey, Eng., (according to one account,) and died at St.
Neot's.


"COME, THOU FOUNT OF EVERY BLESSING."

This hymn of Rev. Robert Robinson was almost always heard in the tune of
"Nettleton," composed by John Wyeth, about 1812. The more wavy melody of
"Sicily" (or "Sicilian Hymn") sometimes carried the verses, but never
with the same sympathetic unction. The sing-song movement and accent of
old "Nettleton" made it the country favorite.

Robert Robinson, born in Norfolk, Eng., Sept. 27, 1735, was a poor boy,
left fatherless at eight years of age, and apprenticed to a barber, but
was converted by the preaching of Whitefield and studied till he
obtained a good education, and was ordained to the Methodist ministry.
He is supposed to have written his well-known hymn in 1758. A certain
unsteadiness of mind, however, caused him to revise his religious
beliefs too often for his spiritual health or enjoyment, and after
preaching as a Methodist, a Baptist, and an Independent, he finally
became a Socinian. On a stage-coach journey, when a lady
fellow-passenger began singing "Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing," to
relieve the monotony of the ride, he said to her, "Madam, I am the
unhappy man who wrote that hymn many years ago; and I would give a
thousand worlds, if I had them, if I could feel as I felt then."

Robinson died June 9, 1790.

John Wyeth was born in Cambridge, Mass., 1792, and died at Harrisburg,
Pa., 1858. He was a musician and publisher, and issued a Music Book,
_Wyeth's Repository of Sacred Music_.


"A POOR WAYFARING MAN OF GRIEF,"

Written by James Montgomery, Dec., 1826, was a hymn of tide and headway
in George Coles' tune of "Duane St.," with a step that made every heart
beat time. The four picturesque eight-line stanzas made a practical
sermon in verse and song from Matt. 25:35, telling how--

    A poor wayfaring man of grief
      Hath often crossed me on my way,
    Who sued so humbly for relief
      That I could never answer nay.
    I had no power to ask his name,
      Whither he went or whence he came,
    Yet there was something in his eye
      That won my love, I knew not why;

--and in the second and third stanzas the narrator relates how he
entertained him, and this was the sequel--

    Then in a moment to my view
      The stranger started from disguise
    The token in His hand I knew;
      My Saviour stood before my eyes.

When once that song was started, every tongue took it up, (and it was
strange if every foot did not count the measure,) and the coldest
kindled with gospel warmth as the story swept on.[26]

[Footnote 26: Montgomery's poem, "The Stranger," has seven stanzas. The
full dramatic effect of their connection could only be produced by a set
piece.]


"WHEN FOR ETERNAL WORLDS I STEER."

It was no solitary experience for hearers in a house of prayer where the
famous Elder Swan held the pulpit, to feel a climactic thrill at the
sudden breaking out of the eccentric orator with this song in the very
middle of his sermon--

    When for eternal worlds I steer,
    And seas are calm and skies are clear,
    And faith in lively exercise,
    And distant hills of Canaan rise,
    My soul for joy then claps her wings,
    And loud her lovely sonnet sings,
     "Vain world, adieu!"

    With cheerful hope her eyes explore
    Each landmark on the distant shore,
    The trees of life, the pastures green,
    The golden streets, the crystal stream,
    Again for joy, she claps her wings,
    And loud her lovely sonnet sings,
     "Vain world, adieu!"

Elder Jabez Swan was born in Stonington, Ct., Feb. 23, 1800, and died
1884. He was a tireless worker as a pastor (long in New London, Ct.,)
and a still harder toiler in the field as an evangelist and as a helper
eagerly called for in revivals; and, through all, he was as happy as a
boy in vacation. He was unlearned in the technics of the schools, but
always eloquent and armed with ready wit; unpolished, but poetical as a
Hebrew prophet and as terrible in his treatment of sin. Scoffers and
"hoodlums" who interrupted him in his meetings never interrupted him but
once.

[Illustration: James Montgomery]

The more important and canonical hymnals and praise-books had no place
for "Sonnet," as the bugle-like air to this hymn was called. Rev.
Jonathan Aldrich, about 1860, harmonized it in his _Sacred Lyre_, but
this, and the few other old vestry and field manuals that contain it,
were compiled before it became the fashion to date and authenticate
hymns and tunes. In this case both are anonymous. Another (and probably
earlier) tune sung to the same words is credited to "S. Arnold," and
appears to have been composed about 1790.


"I'M A PILGRIM, AND I'M A STRANGER."

This hymn still lives--and is likely to live, at least in collections
that print revival music. Mrs. Mary Stanley (Bunce) Dana, born in
Beaufort, S.C., Feb. 15, 1810, wrote it while living in a northern
state, where her husband died. By the name Dana she is known in
hymnology, though she afterwards became Mrs. Shindler. The tune
identified with the hymn, "I'm a Pilgrim," is untraced, save that it is
said to be an "Italian Air," and that its original title was "Buono
Notte" (good night).

No other hymn better expresses the outreaching of ardent faith. Its very
repetitions emphasize and sweeten the vision of longed-for fruition.

    I can tarry, I can tarry but a night,
    Do not detain me, for I am going.

       *       *       *       *       *

    There the sunbeams are ever shining,
    O my longing heart, my longing heart is there.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Of that country to which I'm going,
    My Redeemer, my Redeemer is the light.
    There is no sorrow, nor any sighing,
    Nor any sin there, nor any dying,
      I'm a pilgrim, etc.

The same devout poetess also wrote (1840) the once popular consolatory
hymn,--

    O sing to me of heaven
    When I'm about to die,

--sung to the familiar tune by Rev. E.W. Dunbar; also to a melody
composed 1854 by Dr. William Miller.

The line was first written--

    When _I am called_ to die,

--in the author's copy. The hymn (occasioned by the death of a pious
friend) was written Jan. 15, 1840.

Mrs. Dana (Shindler) died in Texas, Feb. 8, 1883.


"JOYFULLY, JOYFULLY ONWARD I MOVE."

The maker of this hymn has been confounded with the maker of its
tune--partly, perhaps, from the fact that the real composer of the tune
also wrote hymns. The author of the words was the Rev. William Hunter,
D.D., an Irish-American, and a Methodist minister. He was born near
Ballymoney, County Antrim, Ire., May, 1811, and was brought to America
when a child six years old. He received his education in the common
schools and at Madison College, Hamilton, N.Y., (now Madison
University), and was successively a pastor, editor and Hebrew professor.
Besides his work in these different callings, he wrote many helpful
hymns--in all one hundred and twenty-five--of which "Joyfully,
Joyfully," dated 1842, is the best. It began originally with the line--

    Friends fondly cherished have passed on before,

--and the line,--

    Home to the land of delight I will go.

--was written,--

    Home to the land of bright spirits I'll go.

Dr. Hunter died in Ohio, 1877.


_THE TUNE._

Rev. Abraham Dow Merrill, the author of the music to this triumphal
death-song, was born in Salem, N.H., 1796, and died April 29, 1878. He
also was a Methodist minister, and is still everywhere remembered by the
denomination to which he belonged in New Hampshire and Vermont. He rode
over these states mingling in revival scenes many years. His picture
bears a close resemblance to that of Washington, and he was somewhat
famous for this resemblance. His work was everywhere blessed, and he
left an imperishable influence in New England. The tune, linked with Dr.
Hunter's hymn, formed the favorite melody which has been the dying song
of many who learned to sing it amid the old revival scenes:

    Death, with thy weapons of war lay me low;
    Strike, king of terrors; I fear not the blow.
    Jesus has broken the bars of the tomb,
    Joyfully, joyfully haste to thy home.


"TIS THE OLD SHIP OF ZION, HALLELUJAH!"

This may be found, vocalized with full harmony, in the _American
Vocalist_. With all the parts together (more or less) it must have made
a vociferous song-service, but the hymn was oftener sung simply in
soprano unison; and there was sound enough in the single melody to
satisfy the most zealous.

    All her passengers will land on the bright eternal shore,
        O, glory hallelujah!
    She has landed many thousands, and will land as many more,
        O, glory hallelujah!

Both hymn and tune have lost their creators' names, and, like many
another "voice crying in the wilderness," they have left no record of
their beginning of days.


"MY BROTHER, I WISH YOU WELL."

    My brother, I wish you well,
    My brother, I wish you well;
    When my Lord calls I trust you will
    Be mentioned in the Promised Land.

Echoes that remain to us of those fervid and affectionate, as well as
resolute and vehement, expressions of religious life as sung in the
early revivals of New England, in parts of the South, and especially in
the Middle West, are suggestive of spontaneous melody forest-born, and
as unconscious of scale, clef or tempo as the song of a bird. The above
"hand-shaking" ditty at the altar gatherings apparently took its tune
self-made, inspired in its first singer's soul by the feeling of the
moment--and the strain was so simple that the convert could join in at
once and chant--

    When my Lord comes I trust _I shall_

--through all the loving rotations of the crude hymn-tune. Such
song-births of spiritual enthusiasm are beyond enumeration--and it is
useless to hunt for author or composer. Under the momentum of a
wrestling hour or a common rapture of experience, counterpoint was
unthought of, and the same notes for every voice lifted pleading and
praise in monophonic impromptu. The refrains--

    O how I love Jesus,

    O the Lamb, the Lamb, the loving Lamb,

    I'm going home to die no more,

    Pilgrims we are to Canaan's land,

    O turn ye, O turn ye, for why will you die,

    Come to Jesus, come to Jesus, just now,

--each at the sound of its first syllable brought its own music to every
singer's tongue, and all--male and female--were sopranos together. This
habit in singing those rude liturgies of faith and fellowship was
recognized by the editors of the _Revivalist_, and to a multitude of
them space was given only for the printed melody, and of this sometimes
only the three or four initial bars. The tunes were the church's rural
field-tones that everybody knew.

Culture smiles at this unclassic hymnody of long ago, but its history
should disarm criticism. To wanderers its quaint music and "pedestrian"
verse were threshold call and door-way welcome into the church of the
living God. Even in the flaming days of the Second Advent following, in
1842-3, they awoke in many hardened hearts the spiritual glow that never
dies. The delusion passed away, but the grace remained.

The church--and the world--owe a long debt to the old evangelistic
refrains that rang through the sixty years before the Civil War, some of
them flavored with tuneful piety of a remoter time. They preached
righteousness, and won souls that sermons could not reach. They opened
heaven to thousands who are now rejoicing there.




CHAPTER VIII.

SUNDAY-SCHOOL HYMNS.


_SHEPHERD OF TENDER YOUTH._

[Greek: Stomion polon adaon]

We are assured by repeated references in the patristic writings that the
primitive years of the Christian Church were not only years of suffering
but years of song. That the despised and often persecuted "Nazarenes,"
scattered in little colonies throughout the Roman Empire, did not forget
to mingle tones of praise and rejoicing with their prayers could readily
be believed from the much-quoted letter of a pagan lawyer, written about
as long after Jesus' death, as from now back to the death of John Quincy
Adams--the letter of Pliny the younger to the Emperor Trajan, in which
he reports the Christians at their meetings singing "hymns to Christ as
to a god."

Those disciples who spoke Greek seem to have been especially tuneful,
and their land of poets was doubtless the cradle of Christian hymnody.
Believers taught their songs to their children, and it is as certain
that the oldest Sunday-school hymn was written somewhere in the classic
East as that the Book of Revelation was written on the Isle of Patmos.
The one above indicated was found in an appendix to the _Tutor_, a book
composed by Titus Flavius Clemens of Alexandria, a Christian philosopher
and instructor whose active life began late in the second century. It
follows a treatise on Jesus as the Great Teacher, and, though his own
words elsewhere imply a more ancient origin of the poem, it is always
called "Clement's Hymn." The line quoted above is the first of an
English version by the late Rev. Henry Martyn Dexter, D.D. It does not
profess to be a translation, but aims to transfer to our common tongue
the spirit and leading thoughts of the original.

    Shepherd of tender youth,
    Guiding in love and truth
      Through devious ways;
    Christ, our triumphant King,
    We come Thy name to sing,
    Hither our children bring
      To shout Thy praise.

The last stanza of Dr. Dexter's version represents the sacred song
spirit of both the earliest and the latest Christian centuries:

    So now, and till we die
    Sound we Thy praises high,
      And joyful sing;
    Infants, and the glad throng
    Who to Thy church belong
    Unite to swell the song
      To Christ our King.

While they give us the sentiment and the religious tone of the old hymn,
these verses, however, recognize the extreme difficulty of anything like
verbal fidelity in translating a Greek hymn, and in this instance there
are metaphors to avoid as being strange to modern taste. The first
stanza, literally rendered and construed, is as follows:

    Bridle of untaught foals,
    Wing of unwandering birds,
    Helm and Girdle of babes,
    Shepherd of royal lambs!
    Assemble Thy simple children
    To praise holily,
    To hymn guilelessly
    With innocent mouths
    Christ, the Guide of children.

Figures like--

    Catching the chaste fishes,

    Heavenly milk, etc.

--are necessarily avoided in making good English of the lines, and the
profusion of adoring epithets in the ancient poem (no less than
twenty-one different titles of Christ) would embarrass a modern song.

Dr. Dexter might have chosen an easier metre for his version, if (which
is improbable) he intended it to be sung, since a tune written to sixes
and fours takes naturally a more decided lyrical movement and emphasis
than the hymn reveals in his stanzas, though the second and fifth
possess much of the hymn quality and would sound well in Giardini's
"Italian Hymn."

More nearly a translation, and more in the cantabile style, is the
version of a Scotch Presbyterian minister, Rev. Hamilton M. Macgill,
D.D., two of whose stanzas are these:

    Thyself, Lord, be the Bridle
      These wayward wills to stay;
    Be Thine the Wing unwand'ring,
      To speed their upward way.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Let them with songs adoring
      Their artless homage bring
    To Christ the Lord, and crown Him
      The children's Guide and King.

The Dexter version is set to Monk's slow harmony of "St. Ambrose" in the
_Plymouth Hymnal_ (Ed. Dr. Lyman Abbott, 1894) without the writer's
name--which is curious, inasmuch as the hymn was published in the
_Congregationalist_ in 1849, in _Hedge and Huntington's_ (Unitarian)
_Hymn-book_ in 1853, in the _Hymnal of the Presbyterian Church_ in 1866,
and in Dr. Schaff's _Christ in Song_ in 1869.

Clement died about A.D. 220.


Rev. Henry Martyn Dexter, D.D., for twenty-three years the editor of the
_Congregationalist_, was born in Plymouth, Mass., Aug. 13, 1821. He was
a graduate of Yale (1840) and Andover Divinity School (1844), a
well-known antiquarian writer and church historian. Died Nov. 13, 1890.


"HOW HAPPY IS THE CHILD WHO HEARS."

This hymn was quite commonly heard in Sunday-schools during the
eighteen-thirties and forties, and, though retained in few modern
collections, its Sabbath echo lingers in the memory of the living
generation. It was written by Michael Bruce, born at Kinneswood,
Kinross-shire, Scotland, March 27, 1746. He was the son of a weaver, but
obtained a good education, taught school, and studied for the ministry.
He died, however, while in preparation for his expected work, July 5,
1767, at the age of twenty-one years, three months and eight days.

Young Bruce wrote hymns, and several poems, but another person wore the
honors of his work. John Logan, who was his literary executor,
appropriated the youthful poet's Mss. verses, and the hymn above
indicated--as well as the beautiful poem, "To the Cuckoo,"[27] still a
classic in English literature,--bore the name of Logan for more than a
hundred years. In _Julian's Dictionary of Hymnology_ is told at length
the story of the inquiry and discussion which finally exposed the long
fraud upon the fame of the rising genius who sank, like Henry Kirke
White, in his morning of promise.

[Footnote 27:
    Hail, beauteous stranger of the wood,
      Attendant on the Spring;
    Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat,
      And woods thy welcome ring.]


_THE TUNE._

Old "Balerma" was so long the musical mouth-piece of the pious
boy-schoolmaster's verses that the two became one expression, and one
could not be named without suggesting the other.

"Balerma" (Palermo) was ages away in style and sound from the later type
of Sunday-school tunes, resembling rather one of Palestrina's chorals
than the tripping melodies that took its place; but in its day juvenile
voices enjoyed it, and it suited very well the grave but winning words.

    How happy is the child who hears
      Instruction's warning voice,
    And who celestial Wisdom makes
      His early, only choice!

    For she hath treasures greater far
      Than East and West unfold,
    And her rewards more precious are
      Than all their stores of gold.

    She guides the young with innocence
      In pleasure's path to tread,
    A crown of glory she bestows
      Upon the hoary head.

Robert Simpson, author of the old tune,[28] was a Scottish composer of
psalmody; born, about 1722, in Glasgow; and died, in Greenock, June,
1838.

[Footnote 28: The tune was evidently reduced from the still older
"Sardius" (or "Autumn")--_Hubert P. Main_.]


"O DO NOT BE DISCOURAGED."

Written about 1803, by the Rev. John A. Grenade, born in 1770; died
1806.

    O do not be discouraged,      }
      For Jesus is your Friend;   } _bis_
    He will give you grace to conquer,
      And keep you to the end.

    Fight on, ye little soldiers, }
      The battle you shall win,   } _bis_
    For the Saviour is your Captain,
      And He has vanquished sin.

    And when the conflict's over, }
      Before Him you shall stand, } _bis_
    You shall sing His praise forever
      In Canaan's happy land.


_THE TUNE._

The hymn was made popular thirty or more years ago in a musical
arrangement by Hubert P. Main, with a chorus,--

    I'm glad I'm in this army,
      And I'll battle for the school.

Children took to the little song with a keen relish, and put their whole
souls--and bodies--into it.


"LITTLE TRAVELLERS ZIONWARD"

Belongs to a generation long past. Its writer was an architect by
occupation, and a man whose piety equalled his industry. He was born in
London 1791, and his name was James Edmeston. He loved to compose
religious verses--so well, in fact, that he is said to have prepared a
new piece every week for Sunday morning devotions in his family and in
this way accumulated a collection which he published and called
_Cottager's Hymns_. Besides these he is credited with a hundred
Sunday-school hymns.

    Little travellers Zionward,
      Each one entering into rest
    In the Kingdom of your Lord,
      In the mansions of the blest,

    There to welcome Jesus waits,
      Gives the crown His followers win,
    Lift your heads, ye golden gates,
      Let the little travellers in.

The original tune is lost--and the hymn is vanishing with it; but the
felicity of its rhyme and rhythm show how easily it adapted itself to
music.


"I'M BUT A STRANGER HERE."

The simple beauty of this hymn, and the sympathetic sweetness of its
tune made children love to sing it, and it found its way into a few
Sunday-school collections, though not composed for such use.

A young Congregational minister. Rev. Thomas Rawson Taylor, wrote it on
the approach of his early end. He was born at Osset, near Wakefield,
Yorkshire, Eng., May 9, 1807, and studied in Bradford, where his father
had taken charge of a large church, and at Manchester Academy and
Airesdale College. Sensible of a growing ailment that might shorten his
days, he hastened to the work on which his heart was set, preaching in
surrounding towns and villages while a student, and finally quitting
college to be ordained to his sacred profession. He was installed as
pastor of Howard St. Chapel, Sheffield, July, 1830, when only
twenty-three. But in less than three years his strength failed, and he
went back to Bradford, where he occasionally preached for his father,
when able to do so, during his last days. He died there March 15, 1835.
Taylor was a brave and lovely Christian--and his hymn is as sweet as his
life.

    I'm but a stranger here,
      Heaven is my home;
    Earth is a desert drear,
      Heaven is my home.

    Dangers and sorrows stand
      Round me on every hand;
    Heaven is my Fatherland--
      Heaven is my home.

    What though the tempest rage,
      Heaven is my home;
    Short is my pilgrimage,
      Heaven is my home.

    And time's wild, wintry blast
      Soon will be overpast;
    I shall reach home at last--
      Heaven is my home.

In his last attempt to preach, young Taylor uttered the words, "I want
to die like a soldier, sword in hand." On the evening of the same
Sabbath day he breathed his last. His words were memorable, and
Montgomery, who loved and admired the man, made them the text of a poem,
part of which is the familiar hymn "Servant of God, well done."[29]

[Footnote 29: See page 498]


_THE TUNE._

Sir Arthur Sullivan put the words into classic expression, but, to
American ears at least, the tune of "Oak," by Lowell Mason, is the
hymn's true sister. It was composed in 1854.


"DEAR JESUS, EVER AT MY SIDE."

One of Frederick William Faber's sweet and simple lyrics. It voices that
temper and spirit in the human heart which the Saviour first looks for
and loves best. None better than Faber could feel and utter the real
artlessness of Christian love and faith.

    Dear Jesus, ever at my side,
      How loving must Thou be
    To leave Thy home in heaven to guard
      A sinful child like me.
    Thy beautiful and shining face
      I see not, tho' so near;
    The sweetness of Thy soft low voice
      I am too deaf to hear.

    I cannot feel Thee touch my hand
      With pressure light and mild,
    To check me as my mother did
      When I was but a child;
    But I have felt Thee in my thoughts
      Fighting with sin for me,
    And when my heart loves God I know
      The sweetness is from Thee.

[Illustration: Fanny J. Crosby (Mrs. Van Alstyne)]


_THE TUNE._

"Audientes" by Sir Arthur Sullivan is a gentle, emotional piece,
rendering the first quatrain of each stanza in E flat unison, and the
second in C harmony.


"TIS RELIGION THAT CAN GIVE."

This simple rhyme, which has been sung perhaps in every Sunday-school in
England and the United States, is from a small English book by Mary
Masters. In the preface to the work, we read, "The author of the
following poems never read a treatise of rhetoric or an art of poetry,
nor was ever taught her English grammar. Her education rose no higher
than the spelling-book or her writing-master,"

   'Tis religion that can give
    Sweetest pleasure while we live;
   'Tis religion can supply
    Solid comfort when we die.
    After death its joys shall be
    Lasting as eternity.

Save the two sentences about herself, quoted above, there is no
biography of the writer. That she was good is taken for granted.

The tune-sister of the little hymn is as scant of date or history as
itself. No. 422 points it out in _The Revivalist_, where the name and
initial seem to ascribe the authorship to Horace Waters.[30]

[Footnote 30: From his _Sabbath Bell_. Horace Waters, a prominent
Baptist layman, was born in Jefferson, Lincoln Co., Me., Nov. 1, 1812,
and died in New York City, April 22, 1893. He was a piano-dealer and
publisher.]


"THERE IS A HAPPY LAND FAR, FAR AWAY"

This child's hymn was written by a lover of children, Mr. Andrew Young,
head master of Niddrey St. School, Edinburgh, and subsequently English
instructor at Madras College, E.I. He was born April 23, 1807, and died
Nov. 30, 1899, and long before the end of the century which his
life-time so nearly covered his little carol had become one of the
universal hymns.


_THE TUNE._

A Hindoo air or natural chanson, that may have been hummed in a pagan
temple in the hearing of Mr. Young, was the basis of the little melody
since made familiar to millions of prattling tongues.

Such running tone-rhythms create themselves in the instinct of the ruder
nations and tribes, and even the South African savages have their
incantations with the provincial "clicks" that mark the singers' time.
With an ear for native chirrups and trills, the author of our pretty
infant-school song succeeded in capturing one, and making a Christian
tune of it.

The musician, Samuel Sebastian Wesley, sometime in the eighteen-forties,
tried to substitute another melody for the lines, but "There is a happy
land" needs its own birth-music.


"I HAVE A FATHER IN THE PROMISED LAND."

Another cazonet for the infant class. Instead of a hymn, however, it is
only a refrain, and--like the ring-chant of the "Hebrew Children," and
even more simple--owes its only variety to the change of one word. The
third and fourth lines,--

    My father calls me, I must go
    To meet Him in the Promised Land,

--take their cue from the first, which may sing,--

    I have a Saviour----
    I have a mother----
    I have a brother----

--and so on ad libitum. But the little ones love every sound and
syllable of the lisping song, for it is plain and pleasing, and when a
pinafore school grows restless nothing will sooner charm them into quiet
than to chime its innocent unison.

Both words and tune are nameless and storyless.


"I THINK WHEN I READ THAT SWEET STORY"

While riding in a stage-coach, after a visit to a mission school for
poor children, this hymn came to the mind of Mrs. Jemima Thompson Luke,
of Islington, England. It speaks its own purpose plainly enough, to
awaken religious feeling in young hearts, and guide and sanctify the
natural childlike interest in the sweetest incident of the Saviour's
life.

    I think when I read that sweet story of old
    When Jesus was here among men,
    How He called little children as lambs to His fold,
    I should like to have been with them then.

    I wish that His hands had been laid on my head,
    And I had been placed on His knee,
    And that I might have seen His kind look when He said,
   "Let the little ones come unto me."

This is not poetry, but it phrases a wish in a child's own way, to be
melodized and fixed in a child's reverent and sensitive memory.

Mrs. Luke was born at Colebrook Terrace, near London, Aug. 19, 1813. She
was an accomplished and benevolent lady who did much for the education
and welfare of the poor. Her hymn--of five stanzas--was first sung in a
village school at Poundford Park, and was not published until 1841.


_THE TUNE._

It is interesting, not to say curious, testimony to the vital quality of
this meek production that so many composers have set it to music, or
that successive hymn-book editors have kept it, and printed it to so
many different harmonies. All the chorals that carry it have
substantially the same movement--for the spondaic accent of the long
lines is compulsory--but their offerings sing "to one clear harp in
divers tones."

The appearance of the words in one hymnal with Sir William Davenant's
air (full scored) to Moore's love-song, "Believe me, if all those
endearing young charms," now known as the tune of "Fair Harvard," is
rather startling at first, but the adoption is quite in keeping with the
policy of Luther and Wesley.

"St. Kevin" written to it forty years ago by John Henry Cornell,
organist of St. Paul's, New York City, is sweet and sympathetic.

The newest church collection (1905) gives the beautiful air and harmony
of "Athens" to the hymn, and notes the music as a "Greek Melody."

But the nameless English tune, of uncertain authorship[31] that
accompanies the words in the smaller old manuals, and which delighted
Sunday-schools for a generation, is still the favorite in the memory of
thousands, and may be the very music first written.

[Footnote 31: Harmonized by Hubert P. Main.]


"WE SPEAK OF THE REALMS OF THE BLEST."

Mrs. Elizabeth Mills, wife of the Hon. Thomas Mills, M.P., was born at
Stoke Newington, Eng., 1805. She was one of the brief voices that sing
one song and die. This hymn was the only note of her minstrelsy, and it
has outlived her by more than three-quarters of a century. She wrote it
about three weeks before her decease in Finsbury Place, London, April
21, 1839, at the age of twenty-four.

    We speak of the land of the blest,
      A country so bright and so fair,
    And oft are its glories confest,
      But what must it be to be there!

       *       *       *       *       *

    We speak of its freedom from sin,
      From sorrow, temptation and care,
    From trials without and within,
      But what must it be to be there!


_THE TUNE._

The hymn, like several of the Gospel hymns besides, was carried into the
Sunday-schools by its music. Mr. Stebbins' popular duet-and-chorus is
fluent and easily learned and rendered by rote; and while it captures
the ear and compels the voice of the youngest, it expresses both the
pathos and the exaltation of the words.

George Coles Stebbins was born in East Carleton, Orleans Co., N.Y., Feb.
26, 1846. Educated at common school, and an academy in Albany, he turned
his attention to music and studied in Rochester, Chicago, and Boston. It
was in Chicago that his musical career began, while chorister at the
First Baptist Church; and while holding the same position at Clarendon
St. Church, Boston, (1874-6), he entered on a course of evangelistic
work with D.L. Moody as gospel singer and composer. He was co-editor
with Sankey and McGranahan of _Gospel Hymns_.


"ONLY REMEMBERED."

This hymn, beginning originally with the lines,--

    Up and away like the dew of the morning,
    Soaring from earth to its home in the sun,

--has been repeatedly altered since it left Dr. Bonar's hands. Besides
the change of metaphors, the first personal pronoun singular is changed
to the plural. There was strength, and a natural vivacity in--

    So let _me_ steal away gently and lovingly,
    Only remembered for what _I_ have done.

As at present sung the first stanza reads--,

    Fading away like the stars of the morning
      Losing their light in the glorious sun,
    Thus would _we_ pass from the earth and its toiling
      Only remembered for what _we_ have done.

The idea voiced in the refrain is true and beautiful, and the very
euphony of its words helps to enforce its meaning and make the song
pleasant and suggestive for young and old. It has passed into popular
quotation, and become almost a proverb.


_THE TUNE._

The tune (in _Gospel Hymns No. 6_) is Mr. Sankey's.

Ira David Sankey was born in Edinburgh, Lawrence Co., Pa., Aug. 28,
1840. He united with the Methodist Church at the age of fifteen, and
became choir leader, Sunday-school superintendent and president of the
Y.M.C.A., all in his native town. Hearing Philip Phillips sing impressed
him deeply, when a young man, with the power of a gifted solo vocalist
over assembled multitudes, but he did not fully realize his own
capability till Dwight L. Moody heard his remarkable voice and
convinced him of his divine mission to be a gospel singer.

The success of his revival tours with Mr. Moody in America and England
is history.

Mr. Sankey has compiled at least five singing books, and has written the
_Story of the Gospel Hymns_. Until overtaken by blindness, in his later
years he frequently appeared as a lecturer on sacred music. The
manuscript of his story of the _Gospel Hymns_ was destroyed by accident,
but, undismayed by the ruin of his work, and the loss of his eye-sight,
like Sir Isaac Newton and Thomas Carlyle, he began his task again. With
the help of an amanuensis the book was restored and, in 1905, given to
the public. (See page 258.)


"SAVIOUR, LIKE A SHEPHERD LEAD US."

Mrs. Dorothy Ann Thrupp, of Paddington Green, London, the author of this
hymn, was born June 20, 1799, and died, in London, Dec. 14, 1847. Her
hymns first appeared in Mrs. Herbert Mayo's _Selection of Poetry and
Hymns for the Use of Infant and Juvenile Schools_, (1838).

    We are Thine, do Thou befriend us,
      Be the Guardian of our way:
    Keep Thy flock, from sin defend us,
      Seek us when we go astray;
        Blessed Jesus,
    Hear, O hear us when we pray.

The tune everywhere accepted and loved is W.B. Bradbury's; written in
1856.


"YIELD NOT TO TEMPTATION"

A much used and valued hymn, with a captivating tune and chorus for
young assemblies. Both words and music are by H.R. Palmer, composed in
1868.

    Yield not to temptation,
    For yielding is sin;
    Each vict'ry will help you
    Some other to win.

    Fight manfully onward,
    Dark passions subdue;
    Look ever to Jesus,
    He will carry you through.

Horatio Richmond Palmer was born in Sherburne, N.Y., April 26. 1834, of
a musical family, and sang alto in his father's choir when only nine. He
studied music unremittingly, and taught music at fifteen. Brought up in
a Christian home, his religious life began in his youth, and he
consecrated his art to the good of man and the glory of God.

He became well-known as a composer of sacred music, and as a
publisher--the sales of his _Song Queen_ amounting to 200,000 copies. As
a leader of musical conventions and in the Church Choral Union, his
influence in elevating the standard of song-worship has been widely
felt.


"THERE ARE LONELY HEARTS TO CHERISH."

"While the days are going by" is the refrain of the song, and the line
by which it is recognized. The hymn or poem was written by George
Cooper. He was born in New York City, May 14, 1840--a writer of poems
and magazine articles,--composed "While the days are going by" in 1870.

    There are lonely hearts to cherish
      While the days are going by.
    There are weary souls who perish
      While the days are going by.
      Up! then, trusty hearts and true,
    Though the day comes, night comes, too:
      Oh, the good we all may do
      While the days are going by!

There are few more practical and always-timely verses than this
three-stanza poem.


_THE TUNE._

A very musical tune, with spirited chorus, (in _Gospel Hymns_) bears the
name of the refrain, and was composed by Mr. Sankey.

A sweet and quieter harmony (uncredited) is mated with the hymn in the
old _Baptist Praise Book_ (p. 507) and this was long the fixture to the
words, in both Sunday-school and week-day school song-books.


"JESUS THE WATER OF LIFE WILL GIVE."

This Sunday-school lyric is the work of Fanny J. Crosby (Mrs. Van
Alstyne). Like her other and greater hymn, "Jesus keep me near the
Cross," (noted on p. 156,) it reveals the habitual attitude of the pious
author's mind, and the simple earnestness of her own faith as well as
her desire to win others.

    Jesus the water of life will give
      Freely, freely, freely;
    Jesus the water of life will give
      Freely to those who love Him.

    The Spirit and the Bride say "Come
      Freely, freely, freely.
    And he that is thirsty let him come
      And drink the water of life."

Full chorus,--

    The Fountain of life is flowing,
      Flowing, freely flowing;
    The Fountain of life is flowing,
      Is flowing for you and for me.


_THE TUNE._

The hymn must be sung as it was _made_ to be sung, and the composer
being many years _en rapport_ with the writer, knew how to put all her
metrical rhythms into sweet sound. The tune--in Mr. Bradbury's _Fresh
Laurels_ (1867)--is one of his sympathetic interpretations, and, with
the duet sung by two of the best singers of the middle class
Sunday-school girls, is a melodious and impressive piece.


"WHEN HE COMETH, WHEN HE COMETH."

The Rev. W.O. Cushing, with the beautiful thought in Malachi 3:17
singing in his soul, composed this favorite Sunday-school hymn, which
has gone round the world.

    When He cometh, when He cometh
      To make up His jewels,
    All the jewels, precious jewels,
      His loved and His own.
    Like the stars of the morning,
      His bright brow adorning
    They shall shine in their beauty
      Bright gems for His crown.

    He will gather, He will gather
      The gems for His Kingdom,
    All the pure ones, all the bright ones,
      His loved and His own.
          Like the stars, etc.

    Little children, little children
      Who love their Redeemer,
    Are the jewels, precious jewels
      His loved and His own,
          Like the stars, etc.

Rev. William Orcutt Cushing of Hingham, Mass., born Dec. 31, 1823, wrote
this little hymn when a young man (1856), probably with no idea of
achieving a literary performance. But it rings; and even if it is a
"ringing of changes" on pretty syllables, that is not all. There is a
thought in it that _sings_. Its glory came to it, however, when it got
its tune--and he must have had a subconsciousness of the tune he wanted
when he made the lines for his Sunday-school. He died Oct. 19, 1902.


_THE TUNE._

The composer of the music for the "Jewel Hymn"[32] was George F. Root,
then living in Reading, Mass.

[Footnote 32: Comparison of the "Jewel Hymn" tune with the old glee of
"Johnny Schmoker" gives color to the assertion that Mr. Root caught up
and adapted a popular ditty for his Christian melody--as was so often
done in Wales, and in the Lutheran and Wesleyan reformations. He
baptized the comic fugue, and promoted it from the vaudeville stage to
the Sunday School.]

A minister returning from Europe on an English steamer visited the
steerage, and after some friendly talk proposed a singing service--it
something could be started that "everybody" knew--for there were
hundreds of emigrants there from nearly every part of Europe.

"It will have to be an American tune, then," said the steerage-master;
"try 'His jewels.'"

The minister struck out at once with the melody and words,--

    When He cometh, when He cometh,

--and scores of the poor half-fare multitude joined voices with him.
Many probably recognized the music of the old glee, and some had heard
the sweet air played in the church-steeples at home. Other voices chimed
in, male and female, catching the air, and sometimes the words--they
were so easy and so many times repeated--and the volume of song
increased, till the singing minister stood in the midst of an
international concert, the most novel that he ever led.

He tried other songs in similar visits during the rest of the voyage
with some success, but the "Jewel Hymn" was the favorite; and by the
time port was in sight the whole crowd of emigrants had it by heart.

The steamer landed at Quebec, and when the trains, filled with the new
arrivals, rolled away, the song was swelling from nearly every car,--

    When He cometh, when He cometh,
      To make up His jewels.

The composer of the tune--with all the patriotic and sacred
master-pieces standing to his credit--never reaped a richer triumph than
he shared with his poet-partner that day, when "Precious Jewels" came
back to them from over the sea. More than this, there was missionary joy
for them both that their tuneful work had done something to hallow the
homes of alien settlers with an American Christian psalm.

George Frederick Root, Doctor of Music, was born in Sheffield, Mass.,
1820, eldest of a family of eight children, and spent his youth on a
farm. His genius for music drew him to Boston, where he became a pupil
of Lowell Mason, and soon advanced so far as to teach music himself and
lead the choir in Park St. church. Afterwards he went to New York as
director of music in Dr. Deems's Church of the Strangers. In 1852,
after a year's absence and study in Europe, he returned to New York,
and founded the Normal Musical Institute. In 1860, he removed to Chicago
where he spent the remainder of his life writing and publishing music.
He died Aug. 6, 1895, in Maine.

In the truly popular sense Dr. Root was the best-known American
composer; not excepting Stephen C. Foster. Root's "Hazel Dell," "There's
Music in the Air," and "Rosalie the Prairie Flower" were universal
tunes--(words by Fanny Crosby,)--as also his music to Henry Washburn's
"Vacant Chair." The songs in his cantata, "The Haymakers," were sung in
the shops and factories everywhere, and his war-time music, in such
melodies as "Shouting the Battle-cry of Freedom" and "Tramp, Tramp,
Tramp, the Boys are Marching" took the country by storm.


"SCATTER SEEDS OF KINDNESS."

This amiable and tuneful poem, suggested by Rom. 12:10, is from the pen
of Mary Louise Riley (Mrs. Albert Smith) of New York City. She was born
in Brighton, Monroe Co., N.Y. May 27, 1843.

    Let us gather up the sunbeams
      Lying all along our path;
    Let us keep the wheat and roses
      Casting out the thorns and chaff.

  CHORUS.
    Then scatter seeds of kindness    (_ter_)
      For our reaping by and by.

Silas Jones Vail, the tune-writer, for this hymn, was born Oct. 1818,
and died May 20, 1883. For years he worked at the hatter's trade, with
Beebe on Broadway, N.Y. and afterwards in an establishment of his own.
His taste and talent led him into musical connections, and from time to
time, after relinquishing his trade, he was with Horace Waters, Philip
Phillips, W.B. Bradbury, and F.J. Smith, the piano dealer. He was a
choir leader and a good composer.


"BY COOL SILOAM'S SHADY RILL."

This hymn of Bp. Heber inculcates the same lesson as that in the stanzas
of Michael Bruce before noted, with added emphasis for the young on the
briefness of time and opportunity even for them.

    How fair the lily grows,

--is answered by--

    The lily must decay,

--but, owing to the sweetness of the favorite melody, it was never a
saddening hymn for children.


_THE TUNE._

Though George Kingsley's "Heber" has in some books done service for the
Bishop's lines, "Siloam," easy-flowing and finely harmonized, is knit
to the words as no other tune can be. It was composed by Isaac Baker
Woodbury on shipboard during a storm at sea. A stronger illustration of
tranquil thought in terrible tumult was never drawn.

"O Galilee, Sweet Galilee," whose history has been given at the end of
chapter six, was not only often sung in Sunday-schools, but chimed (in
the cities) on steeple-bells--nor is it by any means forgotten today--on
the Sabbath and in social singing assemblies. Like "Precious Jewels," it
has been, in many places, taken up by street boys with a relish, and
often displaced the play-house ditties in the lips of little newsboys
and bootblacks during a leisure hour or a happy mood.


"I AM SO GLAD"

This lively little melody is still a welcome choice to many a lady
teacher of fluttering five-year-olds, when both vocal indulgence and
good gospel are needed for the prattlers in her class. It has been as
widely sung in Scotland as in America. Mr. Philip P. Bliss, hearing one
day the words of the familiar chorus--

    O, how I love Jesus,

--suddenly thought to himself,--

"I have sung long enough of my poor love to Christ, and now I will sing
of His love for me." Under the inspiration of this thought, he wrote--

    I am so glad that our Father in heaven
    Tells of His love in the book He has given
    Wonderful things in the Bible I see,
    This is the dearest--that Jesus loves me.

Both words and music are by Mr. Bliss.

The history of modern Sunday-school hymnody--or much of it--is so nearly
identified with that of the _Gospel Hymns_ that other selections like
the last, which might be appropriate here, may be considered in a later
chapter, where that eventful series of sacred songs receives special
notice.




CHAPTER IX.

PATRIOTIC HYMNS.


The ethnic anthologies growing out of love of country are a mingled
literature of filial and religious piety, ranging from war-like paeans to
lyric prayers. They become the cherished inheritance of a nation, and,
once fixed in the common memory and common heart, the people rarely let
them die. The "Songs of the Fathers" have perennial breath, and in every
generation--

    The green woods of their native land
      Shall whisper in the strain;
    The voices of their household band
      Shall sweetly speak again.
                           --_Felicia Hemans_.


ULTIMA THULE.

American pride has often gloried in Seneca's "Vision of the West," more
than eighteen hundred years ago.

          Venient annis
        Saecula seris, quibus Oceanus
        Vincula rerum laxet, et ingens
        Pateat tellus, Typhisque novos
        Detegat orbes, nec sit terris
          Ultima Thule.

    A time will come in future ages far
    When Ocean will his circling bounds unbar.
    And, opening vaster to the Pilot's hand,
    New worlds shall rise, where mightier kingdoms are,
    Nor Thule longer be the utmost land.

This poetic forecast, of which Washington Irving wrote "the predictions
of the ancient oracles were rarely so unequivocal," is part of the
"chorus" at the end of the second act of Seneca's "Medea," written near
the date of St. Paul's first Epistle to the Thessalonians.

Seneca, the celebrated Roman (Stoic) philosopher, was born at or very
near the time of our Saviour's birth. There are legends of his
acquaintance with Paul, at Rome, but though he wrote able and quotable
treatises _On Consolation_, _On Providence_, _On Calmness of Soul_, and
_On the Blessed Life_, there is no direct evidence that the savor of
Christian faith ever qualified his works or his personal principles. He
was a man of grand ideas and inspirations, but he was a time server and
a flatterer of the Emperor Nero, who, nevertheless, caused his death
when he had no further use for him.

His compulsory suicide occurred A.D. 65, the year in which St. Paul is
supposed to have suffered martyrdom.


"THE BREAKING WAVES DASHED HIGH."

Sitting at the tea-table one evening, near a century ago, Mrs. Hemans
read an old account of the "Landing of the Pilgrims," and was inspired
to write this poem, which became a favorite in America--like herself,
and all her other works.

The ballad is inaccurate in details, but presents the spirit of the
scene with true poet insight. Mr. James T. Fields, the noted Boston
publisher, visited the lady in her old age, and received an autograph
copy of the poem, which is seen in Pilgrim Hall, Plymouth, Mass.

    The breaking waves dashed high, on a stern and rock-bound coast,
    And the woods against a stormy sky, their giant branches tossed,
    And the heavy night hung dark, the hills and waters o'er,
    When a band of exiles moored their bark on the wild New England
      shore.

    Not as the conqueror comes, they, the true-hearted, came;
    Not with the roll of stirring drums, and the trumpet that sings
      of fame;
    Not as the flying come, in silence and in fear,--
   _They_ shook the depths of the desert's gloom with their hymns of
      lofty cheer.

    Amidst the storm they sang, and the stars heard, and the sea!
    And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang to the anthem of the
      free!
    The ocean eagle soared from his nest by the white waves' foam,
    And the rocking pines of the forest roared,--this was their welcome
      home!

    There were men with hoary hair amidst that pilgrim band,--
    Why had _they_ come to wither there, away from their childhood's
      land?
    There was woman's fearless eye, lit by her deep love's truth;
    There was manhood's brow, serenely high, and the fiery heart of
      youth.

    What sought they thus afar? bright jewels of the mine?
    The wealth of seas? the spoils of war?--They sought a faith's pure
      shrine!
    Ay, call it holy ground, the soil where first they trod;
    They left unstained what there they found,--freedom to worship God!

Felicia Dorothea Browne (Mrs. Hemans) was born in Liverpool, Eng., 1766,
and died 1845.


_THE TUNE._

The original tune is not now accessible. It was composed by Mrs. Mary E.
(Browne) Arkwright, Mrs. Hemans' sister, and published in England about
1835. But the words have been sung in this country to "Silver St.," a
choral not entirely forgotten, credited to an English composer, Isaac
Smith, born, in London, about 1735, and died there in 1800.


"WESTWARD THE COURSE OF EMPIRE."

Usually misquoted "Westward the _Star_ of Empire," etc. This poem of
Bishop Berkeley possesses no lyrical quality but, like the ancient
Roman's words, partakes of the prophetic spirit, and has always been
dear to the American heart by reason of the above line. It seems to
formulate the "manifest destiny" of a great colonizing race that has
already absorbed a continent, and extended its sway across the Pacific
ocean.

    Not such as Europe breeds in her decay;
      Such as she bred when fresh and young,
    When heavenly flame did animate her clay,
      By future poets shall be sung.

    Westward the course of empire takes its way;
      The four first acts already past,
    The fifth shall close the drama of the day:
      Time's noblest offspring is the last.

George Berkeley was born March 12, 1684, and educated at Trinity
College, Dublin. A remarkable student, he became a remarkable man, as
priest, prelate, and philosopher. High honors awaited him at home, but
the missionary passion seized him. Inheriting a small fortune, he sailed
to the West, intending to evangelize and educate the Indians of the
"Summer Islands," but the ship lost her course, and landed him at
Newport, R.I., instead of the Bermudas. Here he was warmly welcomed, but
was disappointed in his plans and hopes of founding a native college by
the failure of friends in England to forward funds, and after a
residence of six years he returned home. He died at Cloyne, Ireland,
1753.

The house which Bishop Berkeley built is still shown (or was until very
recently) at Newport after one hundred and seventy-eight years. He wrote
the _Principles of Human Knowledge_, the _Minute Philosopher_, and many
other works of celebrity in their time, and a scholarship in Yale bears
his name; but he is best loved in this country for his _Ode to America_.

Pope in his list of great men ascribes--

    To Berkeley every virtue under heaven.


"SOUND THE LOUD TIMBREL."

One would scarcely guess that this bravura hymn of victory and "Come, ye
disconsolate," were written by the same person, but both are by Thomas
Moore. The song has all the vigor and vivacity of his "Harp That Once
Through Tara's Halls," without its pathos. The Irish poet chose the song
of Miriam instead of the song of Deborah doubtless because the sentiment
and strain of the first of these two great female patriots lent
themselves more musically to his lyric verse--and his poem is certainly
martial enough to convey the spirit of both.

    Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!
      Jehovah hath triumphed, His people are free!
    Sing, for the pride of the tyrant is broken;
      His chariots, his horsemen, all splendid and brave--
    How vain was their boasting, the Lord hath but spoken,
      And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave.


_THE TUNE._

Of all the different composers to whose music Moore's "sacred songs"
were sung--Beethoven, Mozart, Stevenson, and the rest--Avison seems to
be the only one whose name and tune have clung to the poet's words; and
we have the man and the melody sent to us, as it were, by the lyrist
himself. The tune is now rarely sung except at church festivals and
village entertainments, but the life and clamor of the scene at the Red
Sea are in it, and it is something more than a mere musical curiosity.
Its style, however, is antiquated--with its timbrel beat and its
canorous harmony and "coda fortis"--and modern choirs have little use in
religious service for the sonata written for viols and horns.

It was Moore's splendid hymn that gave it vogue in England and Ireland,
and sent it across the sea to find itself in the house of its friends
with the psalmody of Billings and Swan. Moore was the man of all men to
take a fancy to it and make language to its string-and-trumpet concert.
He was a musician himself, and equally able to adapt a tune and to
create one. As a festival performance, replete with patriotic noise, let
Avison's old "Sound the Timbrel" live.

Charles Avison was born at Newcastle-on-Tyne, 1710. He studied in Italy,
wrote works on music, and composed sonatas and concertos for stringed
orchestras. For many years he was organist of St. Nicholas' Kirk in his
native town.

The tune to "Sound the Loud Timbrel" is a chorus from one of his longer
compositions. He died in 1770.


"THE HARP THAT ONCE THROUGH TARA'S HALLS."

This is the only one of Moore's patriotic "Irish Melodies" that lives
wherever sweet tones are loved and poetic feeling finds answering
hearts. The exquisite sadness of its music and its text is strangely
captivating, and its untold story beckons from its lines.

Tara was the ancient home of the Irish kings. King Dermid, who had
apostatized from the faith of St. Patrick and his followers, in A.D.,
554, violated the Christian right of sanctuary by taking an escaped
prisoner from the altar of refuge in Temple Ruadan (Tipperary) and
putting him to death. The patron priest and his clergy marched to Tara
and solemnly pronounced a curse upon the King. Not long afterwards
Dermid was assassinated, and superstition shunned the place "as a castle
under ban." The last human resident of "Tara's Hall" was the King's
bard, who lingered there, forsaken and ostracized, till he starved to
death. Years later one daring visitor found his skeleton and his broken
harp.

Moore utilized this story of tragic pathos as a figure in his song for
"fallen Erin" lamenting her lost royalty--under a curse that had lasted
thirteen hundred years.

    The harp that once through Tara's halls
      The soul of music shed,
    Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls
      As if that soul were fled.

    So sleeps the pride of former days,
      So glory's thrill is o'er,
    And hearts that once beat high for praise
      Now feel that pulse no more.

No one can read the words without "thinking" the tune. It is supposed
that Moore composed them both.


THE MARSEILLAISE HYMN.

    Ye sons of France, awake to glory!
    Hark! hark! what millions bid you rise!

The "Marseillaise Hymn" so long supposed to be the musical as well as
verbal composition of Roget de Lisle, an army engineer, was proved to be
only his words set to an air in the "Credo" of a German mass, which was
the work of one Holzman in 1726. De Lisle was known to be a poet and
musician as well as a soldier, and, as he is said to have played or sung
at times in the churches and convents, it is probable that he found and
copied the manuscript of Holzman's melody. His haste to rush his fiery
"Hymn" before the public in the fever of the Revolution allowed him no
time to make his own music, and he adapted the German's notes to his
words and launched the song in the streets of Strasburg. It was first
sung in Paris by a band of chanters from Marseilles, and, like the
trumpets blown around Jericho, it shattered the walls of the French
monarchy to their foundations.

The "Marseillaise Hymn" is mentioned here for its patriotic birth and
associations. An attempt to make a religious use of it is recorded in
the Fourth Chapter.


ODE ON SCIENCE.

This is a "patriotic hymn," though a queer production with a queer name,
considering its contents; and its author was no intimate of the Muses.
Liberty is supposed to be somehow the corollary of learning, or vice
versa--whichever the reader thinks.

    The morning sun shines from the East
    And spreads his glories to the West.

       *       *       *       *       *

    So Science spreads her lucid ray
    O'er lands that long in darkness lay;
    She visits fair Columbia,
    And sets her sons among the stars.
    Fair Freedom, her attendant, waits, etc.


_THE TUNE_

Was the really notable part of this old-time "Ode," the favorite of
village assemblies, and the inevitable practice-piece for amateur
violinists. The author of the crude symphony was Deacon Janaziah (or
Jazariah) Summer, of Taunton, Mass., who prepared it--music and probably
words--for the semi-centennial of Simeon Dagget's Academy in 1798. The
"Ode" was subsequently published in Philadelphia, and also in Albany. It
was a song of the people, and sang itself through the country for fifty
or sixty years, always culminating in the swift crescendo chorus and
repeat--

    The British yoke and Gallic chain
    Were urged upon our necks in vain;
    All haughty tyrants we disdain,
    And shout "Long live America!"

The average patriot did not mind it if "Columbi-_ay_" and "Ameri-_kay_"
were not exactly classic orthoepy.


"HAIL COLUMBIA."

This was written (1798) by Judge Joseph Hopkinson, born, in
Philadelphia, 1770, and died there, 1843. He wrote it for a friend in
that city who was a theatre singer, and wanted a song for Independence
Day. The music (to which it is still sung) was "The President's March,"
by a composer named Fyles, near the end of the 18th century.

There is nothing hymn-like in the words, which are largely a
glorification of Gen. Washington, but the tune, a concerted piece better
for band than voices, has the drum-and-anvil chorus quality suitable for
vociferous mass singing--and a zealous Salvation Army corps on field
nights could even fit a processional song to it with gospel words.


OLD "CHESTER."

    Let tyrants shake their iron rod,
      And slavery clank her galling chains:
    We'll fear them not; we trust in God;
      New England's God forever reigns.

Old "Chester," both words and tune the work of William Billings, is
another of the provincial freedom songs of the Revolutionary period, and
of the days when the Republic was young. Billings was a zealous patriot,
and (says a writer in Moore's _Cyclopedia of Music_) "one secret, no
doubt, of the vast popularity his works obtained was the patriotic ardor
they breathed. The words above quoted are an example, and 'Chester,' it
is said, was frequently heard from every fife in the New England ranks.
The spirit of the Revolution was also manifest in his 'Lamentation over
Boston,' his 'Retrospect,' his 'Independence,' his 'Columbia,' and many
other pieces."

William Billings was born, in Boston, Oct. 7, 1746. He was a man of
little education, but his genius for music spurred him to study the
tuneful art, and enabled him to learn all that could be learned without
a master. He began to make tunes and publish them, and his first book,
the _New England Psalm-singer_ was a curiosity of youthful crudity and
confidence, but in considerable numbers it was sold, and sung--and
laughed at. He went on studying and composing, and compiled another
work, which was so much of an improvement that it got the name of
_Billings' Best_. A third singing-book followed, and finally a fourth
entitled the _Psalm Singer's Amusement_, both of which were popular in
their day. His "Majesty" has tremendous capabilities of sound, and its
movement is fully up to the requirements of Nahum Tate's verses,--

    And on the wings of mighty winds
      Came flying all abroad.

William Billings died in 1800, and his remains lie in an unmarked grave
in the old "Granary" Burying Ground in the city of his birth.

National feeling has taken maturer speech and finer melody, but it was
these ruder voices that set the pitch. They were sung with native pride
and affection at fireside vespers and rural feasts with the adopted
songs of Burns and Moore and Mrs. Hemans, and, like the lays of Scotland
and Provence, they breathed the flavor of the country air and soil, and
taught the generation of home-born minstrelsy that gave us the
Hutchinson family, Ossian E. Dodge, Covert with his "Sword of Bunker
Hill," and Philip Phillips, the "Singing Pilgrim."


THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER.

Near the close of the last war with England, Francis Scott Key, of
Baltimore, the author of this splendid national hymn, was detained under
guard on the British flag-ship at the mouth of the Petapsco, where he
had gone under a flag of truce to procure the release of a captured
friend, Dr. William Beanes of Upper Marlboro, Md.

The enemy's fleet was preparing to bombard Fort McHenry, and Mr. Key's
return with his friend was forbidden lest their plans should be
disclosed. Forced to stay and witness the attack on his country's flag,
he walked the deck through the whole night of the bombardment until the
break of day showed the brave standard still flying at full mast over
the fort. Relieved of his patriotic anxiety, he pencilled the exultant
lines and chorus of his song on the back of a letter, and, as soon as he
was released, carried it to the city, where within twenty-four hours it
was printed on flyers, circulated and sung in the streets to the air of
"Anacreon in Heaven"--which has been the "Star Spangled Banner" tune
ever since.

    O say, can you see by the dawn's early light
    What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?
    Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight
    O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming,
    And the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air
    Gave proof through the night that the flag was still there:
      O say, does the star-spangled banner yet wave,
      O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

       *       *       *       *       *

      O thus be it ever when freemen shall stand,
      Between their loved homes and the war's desolation;
      Blessed with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land
      Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
      Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
      And this be our motto, "_In God is our trust_."
      And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave,
      O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

The original star-spangled banner that waved over Fort McHenry in sight
of the poet when he wrote the famous hymn was made and presented to the
garrison by a girl of fifteen, afterwards Mrs. Sanderson, and is
still preserved in the Sanderson family at Baltimore.

[Illustration: Samuel F. Smith]

The additional stanza to the "Star-Spangled Banner"--

    When our land is illumined with Liberty's smile, etc.,

--was composed by Dr. O.W. Holmes, in 1861.

The tune "Anacreon in Heaven" was an old English hunting air composed by
John Stafford Smith, born at Gloucester, Eng. 1750. He was composer for
Covent Garden Theater, and conductor of the Academy of Ancient Music.
Died Sep. 20, 1836. The melody was first used in America to Robert Treat
Paine's song, "Adams and Liberty." Paine, born 1778--died 1811, was the
son of Robert Treat Paine, signer of the Declaration of Independence.


"STAND! THE GROUND'S YOUR OWN, MY BRAVES."

Sympathetic admiration for the air, "Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,"
(or "Bruce's address," as it was commonly called), with the syllables of
Robert Burns' silvery verse, lingered long in the land after the wars
were ended. It spoke in the poem of John Pierpont, who caught its
pibroch thrill, and built the metre of "Warren's Address at the Battle
of Bunker Hill" on the model of "Scots wha hae."

    Stand! the ground's your own, my braves;
    Will ye give it up to slaves?
    Will ye look for greener graves?

       *       *       *       *       *

    In the God of battles trust:
    Die we may, or die we must,
    But O where can dust to dust
      Be consigned so well,

    As where Heaven its dews shall shed,
    On the martyred patriot's bed,
    And the rocks shall raise their head
      Of his deeds to tell?

This poem, written about 1823, held a place many years in school-books,
and was one of the favorite school-boy declamations. Whenever sung on
patriotic occasions, the music was sure to be "Bruce's Address." That
typical Scotch tune was played on the Highland bag-pipes long before
Burns was born, and known as "Hey tuttie taite." "Heard on Fraser's
hautboy, it used to fill my eyes with tears," Burns himself once wrote.

Rev. John Pierpont was born in Litchfield, Ct., April 6, 1785. He was
graduated at Yale, 1804, taught school, studied law, engaged in trade,
and finally took a course in theology and became a Unitarian minister,
holding the pastorate of Hollis St. Church, Boston, thirty-six years. He
travelled in the East, and wrote "Airs of Palestine." His poem, "The
Yankee Boy," has been much quoted. Died in Medford, Mass., Aug. 26,
1866.


"MY COUNTRY, 'TIS OF THEE."

This simple lyric, honored so long with the name "America," and the
title "Our National Hymn," was written by Samuel Francis Smith, while a
theological student at Andover, Feb. 2, 1832. He had before him several
hymn and song tunes which Lowell Mason had received from Germany, and,
knowing young Smith to be a good linguist, had sent to him for
translation. One of the songs, of national character, struck Smith as
adaptable to home use if turned into American words, and he wrote four
stanzas of his own to fit the tune.

Mason printed them with the music, and under his magical management the
hymn made its debut on a public occasion in Park St. Church, Boston,
July 4, 1832. Its very simplicity, with its reverent spirit and
easy-flowing language, was sure to catch the ear of the multitude and
grow into familiar use with any suitable music, but it was the foreign
tune that, under Mason's happy pilotage, winged it for the western world
and launched it on its long flight.

    My country, 'tis of thee,
    Sweet land of liberty,
      Of thee I sing;
    Land where my fathers died,
    Land of the pilgrims' pride,
    From every mountain-side
      Let freedom ring.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Let music swell the breeze,
    And ring from all the trees
      Sweet Freedom's song;
    Let mortal tongues awake,
    Let all that breathe partake,
    Let rocks their silence break,
      The sound prolong.

    Our fathers' God, to Thee,
    Author of liberty,
      To Thee we sing;
      Long may our land be bright
    With Freedom's holy light;
    Protect us by Thy might,
      Great God, our King.


_THE TUNE._

Pages, and at least two volumes, have been written to prove the origin
of that cosmopolitan, half-Gregorian descant known here as "America,"
and in England as "God Save the King." William C. Woodbridge of Boston
brought it home with him from Germany. The Germans had been singing it
for years (and are singing it now, more or less) to the words, "Heil Dir
Im Siegel Kranz," and the Swiss to "Rufst Du mein Vaterland." It was
sung in Sweden, also, and till 1833 it was in public use in Russia
commonly enough to give it a national character. Von Weber introduced it
in his "Jubel" overture, and Beethoven, in 1814, copied it in C Major
and wrote piano variations on it. It has been ascribed to Henry Purcell
(1696), to Lulli, a French composer (1670), to Dr. John Bull (1619), and
to Thomas Ravenscroft and an old Scotch carol as old as 1609. One might
fancy that the biography of the famous air resembled Melchizedek's.

The truth appears to be that certain bars of music which might easily
happen to be similar, or even identical, when plain-song was the common
style, were produced at different times and places, and one man finally
harmonized the wandering strains into a complete tune. It is now
generally conceded that the man was Henry Carey, a popular English
composer and dramatist of the first half of the 18th century, who sang
the melody as it now is, in 1740, at a public dinner given in honor of
Admiral Vernon after his capture of Porto Bello (Brazil). This antedates
any authenticated use of the tune _ipsissima forma_ in England or
continental Europe.

The American history of it simply is that Woodbridge gave it to Mason
and Mason gave it to Smith--and Smith gave it "My Country 'Tis of Thee."


"BY THE RUDE BRIDGE."

This genuinely American poem, written by Ralph Waldo Emerson and called
usually the "Concord Hymn," was prepared for the dedication of the
Battle-monument in Concord, April 19, 1836, and sung there to the tune
of "Old Hundred." Apparently no change has been made in the original
except of a single word in the first line.

    By the rude bridge that arched the flood,
      Their flag to April's breeze unfurled,
    Here once the embattled farmers stood,
      And fired the shot heard round the world.

    The foe long since in silence slept;
      Alike the conqueror silent sleeps;
    And Time the ruined bridge has swept
      Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.

    On this green bank, by this soft stream,
      We set today a votive stone;
    That memory may their deed redeem,
      When, like our sires, our sons are gone.

    Spirit, that made those heroes dare
      To die, and leave their children free,
    Bid Time and Nature gently spare
      The shaft we raise to them and Thee.

This does not appear in the hymnals and owns no special tune. Its niche
of honor is in the temple of anthology, but it will always be called the
"Concord Hymn"--and the fourth line of its first stanza is a perennial
quotation.

Ralph Waldo Emerson, LL.D., the renowned American essayist and poet, was
born in Boston, 1803. He graduated at Harvard in 1821, and was ordained
to the Unitarian ministry, but turned his attention to literature,
writing and lecturing on ethical and philosophical themes, and winning
universal fame by his original and suggestive prose and verse. He died
April 27, 1882.


BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC.

After a visit to the Federal camps on the Potomac in 1861, Mrs. Julia
Ward Howe returned to her lodgings in Washington, fatigued, as she says,
by her "long, cold drive," and slept soundly. Awakening at early
daybreak, she began "to twine the long lines of a hymn which promised to
suit the measure of the 'John Brown' melody."

This hymn was written out after a fashion in the dark, by Mrs. Howe, and
she then went back to sleep.

    Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord;
    He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored;
    He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword;
        His truth is marching on.

    I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps,
    They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps;
    I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps;
        His day is marching on.

    I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel;
   "As ye deal with my contemners, so with you my grace shall deal;"
    Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with His heel,
        Since God is marching on.

    He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
    He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat;
    Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant my feet!
        Our God is marching on.

    In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,
    With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me;
    As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free.
        While God is marching on.


_THE TUNE._

The music of the old camp-meeting refrain,--

    Say, brothers will you meet us?

--or,--

    O brother, will you meet me,

(No. 173 in the _Revivalist_,) was written in 1855, by John William
Steffe, of Richmond, Va., for a fire company, and was afterwards
arranged by Franklin H. Lummis. The air of the "John Brown Song" was
caught from this religious melody. The old hymn-tune had the "Glory,
Hallelujah" coda, cadenced off with, "For ever, ever more."

In 1860-61 the garrison of soldiers at work on the half-dismantled
defenses of Fort Warren in Boston Harbor, were fain to lighten labor and
mock fatigue with any species of fun suggested by circumstances or
accident, and, as for music, they sang everything they could remember or
make up. John Brown's memory and fate were fresh in the Northern mind,
and the jollity of the not very reverent army men did not exclude
frequent allusions to the rash old Harper's Ferry hero.

A wag conjured his spirit into the camp with a witticism as to what he
was doing, and a comrade retorted,

"Marchin' on, of course."

A third cried, "Pooh, John Brown's underground."

A serio-comic debate added more words, and in the midst of the banter, a
musical fellow strung a rhythmic sentence and trolled it to the
Methodist tune. "John Brown's body lies a mould'rin' in the ground" was
taken up by others who knew the air, the following line was improvised
almost instantly, and soon, to the accompaniment of pick, shovel and
crowbar,--

    His soul goes marching on,

--rounded the couplet with full lung power through all the repetitions,
till the inevitable "glory, glory hallelujah" had the voice of every
soldier in the fort. The song "took," and the marching chorus of the
Federal armies of the Civil War was started on its way. Mrs. Howe gave
it a poem that made its rusticity sublime, and the "Battle Hymn of the
Republic" began a career that promises to run till battle hymns cease to
be sung.

Julia Ward was born in New York city, May 27, 1819. In 1843 she became
the wife of Samuel Gridley Howe, the far-famed philanthropist and
champion of liberty, and with him edited an anti-slavery paper, the
_Boston Commonwealth_, until the Civil War closed its mission. During
the war she was active and influential--and has never ceased to be
so--in the cause of peace and justice, and in every philanthropic
movement. Her great hymn first brought her prominently before the
public, but her many other writings would have made a literary
reputation. Her four surviving children are all eminent in the
scientific and literary world.


KELLER'S AMERICAN HYMN.

Naturally the title suggests the authorship of the ode, but fate made
Keller a musician rather than a poet and hymnist, and the honors of the
fine anthem are divided. At the grand performance which created its
reputation, the hymn of Dr. O.W. Holmes was substituted for the
composer's words. This is Keller's first stanza:

    Speed our republic, O Father on high!
      Lead us in pathways of justice and right,
    Rulers, as well as the ruled, one and all,
      Girdle with virtue the armor of might.
    Hail! three times hail, to our country and flag!
      Rulers, as well as the ruled, one and all,
    Girdle with virtue the armor of might;
      Hail! three times hail, to our country and flag!

"Flag" was the unhappy word at the end of every one of the four stanzas.
To match a short vowel to an orotund concert note for two beats and a
"hold" was impossible. When the great Peace Jubilee of 1872, in Boston,
was projected, Dr. Holmes was applied to, and responded with a lyric
that gave each stanza the rondeau effect designed by the composer, but
replaced the flat final with a climax syllable of breadth and music:

    Angel of Peace, thou hast wandered too long!
      Spread thy white wings to the sunshine of love!
    Come while our voices are blended in song,
      Fly to our ark like the storm-beaten dove!
    Fly to our ark on the wings of the dove,
      Speed o'er the far-sounding billows of song,
    Crown'd with thine olive-leaf garland of love,
      Angel of Peace, thou hast waited too long!

       *       *       *       *       *

    Angels of Bethlehem, answer the strain!
      Hark! a new birth-song is filling the sky!
    Loud as the storm-wind that tumbles the main,
      Bid the full breath of the organ reply,
    Let the loud tempest of voices reply,
      Roll its long surge like the earth-shaking main!
    Swell the vast song till it mounts to the sky!
      Angels of Bethlehem, echo the strain!

But the glory of the _tune_ was Keller's own.

Soon after the close of the war a prize of $500 had been offered by a
committee of American gentlemen for the best "national hymn" (meaning
words and music). Mr. Keller, though a foreigner, was a naturalized
citizen and patriot and entered the lists as a competitor with the zeal
of a native and the ambition of an artist. Sometime in 1866 he finished
and copyrighted the noble anthem that bears his name, and then began the
struggle to get it before the public and test its merit. To enable him
to bring it out before the New York Academy of Music, where
(unfortunately) he determined to make his first trial, his brother
kindly lent him four hundred dollars (which he had laid by to purchase a
little home), and he borrowed two hundred more elsewhere.

The performance proved a failure, the total receipts being only
forty-two dollars, Keller was $500 in debt, and his brother's
house-money was gone. But he refused to accept his failure as final.
Boston (where he should have begun) was introduced to his masterpiece at
every opportunity, and gradually, with the help of the city bands and a
few public concerts, a decided liking for it was worked up. It was
entered on the program of the Peace Jubilee and sung by a chorus of ten
thousand voices. The effect was magnificent. "Keller's American Hymn"
became a recognized star number in the repertoire of "best" national
tunes; and now few public occasions where patriotic music is demanded
omit it in their menu of song.[33]

[Footnote 33: In Butterworth's "_Story of the Tunes_," under the account
of Keller's grand motet, the following sacred hymn is inserted as "often
sung to it:"--

    Father Almighty, we bow at thy feet;
      Humbly thy grace and thy goodness we own.
    Answer in love when thy children entreat,
      Hear our thanksgiving ascend to thy throne.
    Seeking thy blessing, in worship we meet,
      Trusting our souls on thy mercy alone;
    Father Almighty, we bow at thy feet.

    Breathe, Holy Spirit, thy comfort divine,
      Tune every voice to thy music of peace;
    Hushed in our hearts, with one whisper of thine,
      Pride and the tumult of passion will cease.
    Joy of the watchful, who wait for thy sign,
      Hope of the sinful, who long for release,
    Breathe, Holy Spirit, thy comfort divine.

    God of salvation, thy glory we sing,
      Honors to thee in thy temple belong;
    Welcome the tribute of gladness we bring,
      Loud-pealing organ and chorus of song.
    While our high praises, Redeemer and King,
      Blend with the notes of the angelic throng,
    God of salvation, thy glory we sing.
                                  --_Theron Brown_.]

It is pathetic to know that the composer's one great success brought him
only a barren renown. The prize committee, on the ground that _none_ of
the competing pieces reached the high standard of excellence
contemplated, withheld the $500, and Keller's work received merely the
compliment of being judged worth presentation. The artist had his
copyright, but he remained a poor man.

Matthias Keller was born at Ulm, Wurtemberg, March 20, 1813. In his
youth he was both a musician and a painter. Coming to this country, he
chose the calling that promised the better and quicker wages, playing in
bands and theatre orchestras, but never accumulating money. He could
make fine harmonies as well as play them, but English was not his
mother-tongue, and though he wrote a hundred and fifty songs, only one
made him well-known. When fame came to him it did not bring him wealth,
and in his latter days, crippled by partial paralysis, he went back to
his early art and earned a living by painting flowers and retouching
portraits and landscapes. He died in 1875, only three years after his
Coliseum triumph.


"GOD BLESS OUR NATIVE LAND."

This familiar patriotic hymn is notable--though not entirely
singular--for having two authors. The older singing-books signed the
name of J.S. Dwight to it, until inquiring correspondence brought out
the testimony and the joint claim of Dwight and C.T. Brooks, and it
appeared that both these scholars and writers translated it from the
German. Later hymnals attach both their names to the hymn.[34]

[Footnote 34: For a full account of this disputed hymn, and the curious
trick of memory which confused _four_ names in the question of its
authorship, see Dr. Benson's _Studies of Familiar Hymns_, pp. 179-190]

John Sullivan Dwight, born, in Boston, May 13, 1813, was a virtuoso in
music, and an enthusiastic student of the art and science of tonal
harmony. He joined a Harvard musical club known as "The Pierian
Sodality" while a student at the University, and after his graduation
became a prolific writer on musical subjects. Six years of his life were
passed in the "Brook Farm Community." He was best known by his serial
magazine, Dwight's _Journal of Music_, which was continued from 1852 to
1881. His death occurred in 1893.

Rev. Charles Timothy Brooks, the translator of Faust, was born, in
Salem, Mass., June 20, 1813, being only about a month younger than his
friend Dwight. Was a student at Harvard University and Divinity School
1829-1835, and was ordained to the Unitarian ministry and settled at
Newport, R.I. He resigned his charge there (1871) on account of ill
health, and occupied himself with literary work until his death, Jan.
14, 1883.

    God bless our native land!
    Firm may she ever stand
      Through storm and night!
    When the wild tempests rave.
    Ruler of wind and wave,
    Do Thou our country save
      By Thy great might!

    For her our prayer shall rise
    To God above the skies;
      On Him we wait.
    Thou who art ever nigh,
    Guarding with watchful eye;
    To Thee aloud we cry,
      God save the State!

The tune of "Dort," by Lowell Mason, has long been the popular melody
for this hymn. Indeed the two were united by Mason himself. It is
braver music than "America," and would have carried Dr. Smith's hymn
nobly, but the borrowed tune, on the whole, better suits "My Country
'tis of thee,"--and besides, it has the advantage of a middle-register
harmony easy for a multitude of voices.


"THOU, TOO, SAIL ON, O SHIP OF STATE,"

The closing canto of Longfellow's "Launching of the Ship," almost
deserves a patriotic hymn-tune, though its place and use are commonly
with school recitations.


"GOD OF OUR FATHERS, KNOWN OF OLD."

Rudyard Kipling, in a moment of serious reflection on the flamboyant
militarism of British sentiment during the South African War, wrote this
remarkable "Recessional," so strikingly unlike his other war-time poems.
It is to be hoped he did not suddenly repent his Christian impulse, but
with the chauvinistic cry around him, "Our Country, right or wrong!" he
seems to have felt the contrast of his prayer--and flung it into the
waste-basket. His watchful wife rescued it (the story says) and bravely
sent it to the London Times. The world owes her a debt. The hymn is not
only an anthem for Peace Societies, but a tonic for true patriotism.
When Freedom fights in self-defense, she need not force herself to
"forget" the Lord of Hosts.

    God of our fathers, known of old,
      Lord of our far-flung battle-line,
    Beneath whose awful hand we hold
      Dominion over palm and pine;
    Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
      Lest we forget, lest we forget.

    The tumult and the shouting dies,
      The captains and the kings depart,
    Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
      An humble and a contrite heart.
    Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
      Lest we forget, lest we forget.

    Far-called, our navies melt away,
      On dune and headland sinks the fire;
    Lo all our pomp of yesterday
      Is one with Nineveh and Tyre.
    Judge of the nations, spare us yet,
      Lest we forget, lest we forget.

    If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
      Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe,
    Such boasting as the Gentiles use
      Or lesser breeds without the law,
    Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
      Lest we forget, lest we forget.

    For heathen heart that puts her trust,
      In recking tube and iron shard,
    All valiant dust that builds on dust
      And guarding, calls not Thee to guard,
    For frantic boast and foolish word
      Thy mercy on thy people, Lord!

Had Kipling cared more for his poem, and kept it longer in hand, he
might have revised a line or two that would possibly seem commonplace
to him--and corrected the grammar in the first line of the second
stanza. But of so fine a composition there is no call for finical
criticism. The "Recessional" is a product of the poet's holiest mood.
"The Spirit of the Lord came upon him"--as the old Hebrew phrase is, and
for the time he was a rapt prophet, with a backward and a forward
vision. Providence saved the hymn, and it touched and sank into the
better mind of the nation. It is already learned by heart--and
sung--wherever English is the common speech, and will be heard in
numerous translations, with the wish that there were more patriotic
hymns of the same Christian temper and strength.

Rudyard Kipling was born in Hindostan in 1865. Even with his first
youthful experiments in the field of literature he was hailed as the
coming apostle of muscular poetry and prose. For a time he made America
his home, and it was while here that he faced death through a fearful
and protracted sickness that brought him very near to God. He has
visited many countries and described them all, and, though sometimes his
imagination drives a reckless pen, the Christian world hopes much from a
man whose genius can make the dullest souls listen.


_THE TUNE._

The music set to Kipling's hymn is Stainer's "Magdalen"--(not his
"Magdalina," which is a common-metre tune)--and wonderfully fits the
words and enhances their dignity. It is a grave and earnest melody in D
flat, with two bars in unison at "Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,"
making the utterance of the prayer a deep and powerful finale.

John Stainer, Doctor of Music, born June 6, 1840, was nine years the
chorister of St. Paul's, London, and afterwards organist to the
University of Oxford. He is a member of the various musical societies of
the Kingdom, and a Chevalier of the Legion of Honor. His talent for
sacred music is rare and versatile, and he seems to have consecrated
himself as a musician and composer to the service of the church.

       *       *       *       *       *

Every civilized nation has its patriotic hymns. In fact what makes a
nation a nation is largely the unifying influences of its common song.
Even the homeless Hebrew nation is kept together by its patriotic
Psalms. The ethnic melodies would fill a volume with their story. The
few presented in this chapter represent their range of quality and
character--defiant as the Marseillaise, thrilling as "Scots' wha hae,"
joyful as "The Star-spangled Banner," breezy and bold as the "Ranz de
Vaches," or sweet as the "Switzers' Song of Home."




CHAPTER X.

SAILORS' HYMNS.


The oldest sailors' hymn is found in the 107th Psalm, vss. 23-30:

    They that go down to the sea in ships,
      To do business in great waters,
      These see the works of the Lord,
      And His wonders in the deep, etc.

Montgomery has made this metrical rendering of these verses:

    They that toil upon the deep,
      And in vessels light and frail
    O'er the mighty waters sweep
      With the billows and the gale,

    Mark what wonders God performs
      When He speaks, and, unconfined,
    Rush to battle all His storms
      In the chariots of the wind.

The hymn is not in the collections, and has no tune. Addison paraphrased
the succeeding verses of the Psalm in his hymn, "How are thy servants
blessed O Lord," sung to Hugh Wilson's[35] tune of "Avon":

    When by the dreadful tempest borne
      High on the broken wave,
    They know Thou art not slow to hear,
      Nor impotent to save.

    The storm is laid, the winds retire,
      Obedient to Thy will;
    The sea that roars at Thy command,
      At Thy command is still.

[Footnote 35: Hugh Wilson was a Scotch weaver of Kilmarnock, born 1764;
died 1824.]


"FIERCE WAS THE WILD BILLOW."

([Greek: Zopheras trikumias])

The ancient writer, Anatolius, who composed this hymn has for centuries
been confounded with "St" Anatolius, patriarch of Constantinople, who
died A.D. 458. The author of the hymn lived in the seventh century, and
except that he wrote several hymns, and also poems in praise of the
martyrs, nothing or next to nothing, is known of him. The "Wild Billow"
song was the principle seaman's hymn of the early church. It is being
introduced into modern psalmody, the translation in use ranking among
the most successful of Dr. John Mason Neale's renderings from the Greek.

    Fierce was the wild billow,
      Dark was the night;
    Oars labored heavily,
      Foam glimmered white;
    Trembled the mariners;
      Peril was nigh;
    Then said the God of God,
     "Peace! It is I!"

    Ridge of the mountain wave,
      Lower thy crest!
    Wall of Euroclydon,
      Be thou at rest!
    Sorrow can never be,
      Darkness must fly,
    When saith the Light of Light,
     "Peace! It is I!"


_THE TUNE._

The desire to represent the antiquity of the hymn and the musical style
of Its age, and on the other hand the wish to utilize it in the
tune-manuals for Manners' Homes and Seamen's Bethels, makes a difficulty
for composers to study--and the task is still open to competition.
Considering the peculiar tone that sailors' singing instinctively
takes--and has taken doubtless from time immemorial perhaps the
plaintive melody of "Neale," by J.H. Cornell, comes as near to a vocal
success as could be hoped. The music is of middle register and less than
octave range, natural scale, minor, and the triple time lightens a
little the dirge-like harmony while the weird sea-song effect is kept. A
chorus of singing tars must create uncommon emotion, chanting this
coronach of the storm.

John Henry Cornell was born in New York city, May 8, 1838, and was for
many years organist at St. Paul's Chapel, Trinity Church. He is the
author of numerous educational works on the theory and practice of
music. He composed the above tune in 1872. Died March 1, 1894.


"AVE, MARIS STELLA."

One of the titles which the Roman Catholic world applied to the Mother
of Jesus, in the Middle Ages, was "Stella Maris," "Star of the Sea."
Columbus, being a Catholic, sang this hymn, or caused it to be sung,
every evening, it is said, during his perilous voyage to an unknown
land. The marine epithet by which the Virgin Mary is addressed is
admirable as a stroke of poetry, and the hymn--of six stanzas--is a
prayer which, though offered to her as to a divine being, was no doubt
sincere in the simple sailor hearts of 1492.

The two following quatrains finish the voyagers' petition, and point it
with a doxology--

    Vitam praesta puram,
    Iter para tutum,
    Ut videntes Jesum
    Semper collaetemur.

    Sit laus Deo Patri,
    Summo Christo decus,
    Spiritui Sancto,
    Tribus honor unus!

A free translation is--

    Guide us safe, unspotted
    Through life's long endeavor
    Till with Thee and Jesus
    We rejoice forever.

    Praise to God the Father,
    Son and Spirit be;
    One and equal honor
    To the Holy Three.

Inasmuch as this ancient hymn did not attain the height of its
popularity and appear in all the breviaries until the 10th century, its
assumed age has been doubted, but its reputed author, Venantius
Fortunatus, Bishop of Poitiers, was born about 531, at Treviso, Italy,
and died about 609. Though a religious teacher, he was a man of romantic
and convivial instincts--a strange compound of priest, poet and _beau
chevalier_. Duffield calls him "the last of the classics and first of
the troubadours," and states that he was the "first of the Christian
poets to begin that worship of the Virgin Mary which rose to a passion
and sank to an idolatry."


_TUNES_

To this ancient rogation poem have been composed by Aiblinger (Johann
Caspar), Bavarian, (1779-1867,) by Proch (Heinrich), Austrian,
(1809-1878,) by Tadolini (Giovanni), Italian, (1803-1872,) and by many
others. The "Ave, Maris Stella" is in constant use in the Romish church,
and its English translation by Caswall is a favorite hymn in the _Lyra
Catholica_.


"AVE, SANCTISSIMA!"

This beautiful hymn is not introduced here in order of time, but because
it seems akin to the foregoing, and born of its faith and
traditions--though it sounds rather too fine for a sailor song, on ship
or shore. Like the other, the tuneful prayer is the voice of
ultramontane piety accustomed to deify Mary, and is entitled the
"Evening Song to the Virgin."

    Ave Sanctissima! we lift our souls to Thee
    Ora pro nobis! 'tis nightfall on the sea.
    Watch us while shadows lie
    Far o'er the waters spread;
    Hear the heart's lonely sigh;
      Thine, too, hath bled.

    Thou that hast looked on death,
    Aid us when death is near;
    Whisper of heaven to faith;
    Sweet Mother, hear!
    Ora pro nobis! the wave must rock our sleep;
      Ora, Mater, ora! Star of the Deep!

This was first written in four separate quatrains, "'Tis nightfall on
the sea" being part of the first instead of the second line, and "We
lift our souls," etc., was "Our souls rise to Thee," while the
apostrophe at the end read, "Thou Star of the Deep."

The fact of the modern origin of the hymn does not make it less probable
that the earlier one of Fortunatus suggested it. It was written by Mrs.
Hemans, and occurs between the forty-third and forty-fourth stanzas of
her long poem, "The Forest Sanctuary."

A Spanish Christian who had embraced the Protestant faith fled to
America (such is the story of the poem) to escape the cruelties of the
Inquisition, and took with him his Catholic wife and his child. During
the voyage the wife pined away and died, a martyr to her conjugal
loyalty and love. The hymn to the Virgin purports to have been her daily
evening song at sea, plaintively remembered by the broken-hearted
husband and father in his forest retreat on the American shore with his
motherless boy.

The music was composed by a sister of Mrs. Hemans, Mrs. Hughes, who
probably arranged the lines as they now stand in the tune.

The song, though its words appear in the _Parochial Hymn-book_, seems to
be in use rather as parlor music than as a part of the liturgy.


"JESUS, LOVER OF MY SOUL."

The golden quality of this best-known and loved of Charles Wesley's
hymns is attested by two indorsements that cannot be impeached; its
perennial life, and the blessings of millions who needed it.

    Jesus, Lover of my soul
      Let me to Thy bosom fly,
    While the billows near me roll,
      While the tempest still is high.

    Hide me, O my Saviour, hide,
      Till the storm of life is past,
    Safe into the haven guide,
      O receive my soul at last!

Wesley is believed to have written it when a young man, and story and
legend have been busy with the circumstances of its birth. The most
poetical account alleges that a dove chased by a hawk dashed through
his open window into his bosom, and the inspiration to write the line--

    Let me to Thy bosom fly,

--was the genesis of the poem. Another report has it that one day Mr.
Wesley, being pursued by infuriated persecutors at Killalee, County
Down, Ireland, took refuge in a milk-house on the homestead of the
Island Band Farm. When the mob came up the farmer's wife, Mrs. Jane
Lowrie Moore, offered them refreshments and secretly let out the
fugitive through a window to the back garden, where he concealed himself
under a hedge till his enemies went away. When they had gone he had the
hymn in his mind and partly jotted down. This tale is circumstantial,
and came through Mrs. Mary E. Hoover, Jane Moore's granddaughter, who
told it many years ago to her pastor, Dr. William Laurie of Bellefonte,
Pa. So careful a narrative deserves all the respect due to a family
tradition. Whether this or still another theory of the incidental cause
of the wonderful hymn shall have the last word may never be decided nor
is it important.

There is "antecedent probability," at least, in the statement that
Wesley wrote the first two stanzas soon after his perilous experience in
a storm at sea during his return voyage from America to England in 1736.
In a letter dated Oct. 28 of that year, he describes the storm that
washed away a large part of the ship's cargo, strained her seams so
that the hardest pumping could not keep pace with the inrushing water,
and finally forced the captain to cut the mizzen-mast away. Young Wesley
was ill and sorely alarmed, but knew, he says, that he "abode under the
shadow of the Almighty," and finally, "in this dreadful moment," he was
able to encourage his fellow-passengers who were "in an agony of fear,"
and to pray with and for them.

It was his awful hazard and bare escape in that tempest that prompted
the following stanzas--

      O Thou who didst prepare
      The ocean's caverned cell,
    And teach the gathering waters there
        To meet and dwell;
      Toss'd in our reeling bark
      Upon this briny sea,
    Thy wondrous ways, O Lord, we mark,
        And sing to Thee.

       *       *       *       *       *

      Borne on the dark'ning wave,
      In measured sweep we go,
    Nor dread th' unfathomable grave,
        Which yawns below;
      For He is nigh who trod
      Amid the foaming spray,
    Whose billows own'd th' Incarnate God,
        And died away.

And naturally the memory of his almost shipwreck on the wild Atlantic
colored more or less the visions of his muse, and influenced the
metaphors of his verse for years.

The popularity of "Jesus, Lover of my Soul" not only procured it, at
home, the name of "England's song of the sea," but carried it with "the
course of Empire" to the West, where it has reigned with "Rock of Ages,"
for more than a hundred and fifty years, joint primate of inspired human
songs.

Compiled incidents of its heavenly service would fill a chapter. A
venerable minister tells of the supernal comfort that lightened his
after years of sorrow from the dying bed of his wife who whispered with
her last breath, "Hide me, O my Saviour, hide."

A childless and widowed father in Washington remembers with a more than
earthly peace, the wife and mother's last request for Wesley's hymn, and
her departure to the sound of its music to join the spirit of her babe.

A summer visitor in Philadelphia, waiting on a hot street-corner for a
car to Fairmount Park, overheard a quavering voice singing the same hymn
and saw an emaciated hand caressing a little plant in an open
window--and carried away the picture of a fading life, and the words--

    Other refuge have I none,
    Hangs my helpless soul on Thee.

On one of the fields of the Civil War, just after a bloody battle, the
Rev. James Rankin of the United Presbyterian Church bent over a dying
soldier. Asked if he had any special request to make, the brave fellow
replied, "Yes, sing 'Jesus, Lover of my Soul.'"

The clergyman belonged to a church that sang only Psalms. But what a
tribute to that ubiquitous hymn that such a man knew it by heart! A
moment's hesitation and he recalled the words, and, for the first time
in his life, sang a sacred song that was not a Psalm. When he reached
the lines,--

    Safe into the haven guide,
      O receive my soul at last,

--his hand was in the frozen grip of a dead man, whose face wore "the
light that never was on sea or land." The minister went away saying to
himself, "If this hymn is good to die by, it is good to live by."


_THE TUNE._

Of all the tone-masters who have studied and felt this matchless hymn,
and given it vocal wings--Marsh, Zundel, Bradbury, Dykes, Mason--none
has so exquisitely uttered its melting prayer, syllable by syllable, as
Joseph P. Holbrook in his "Refuge." Unfortunately for congregational
use, it is a duo and quartet score for select voices; but the four-voice
portion can be a chorus, and is often so sung. Its form excludes it from
some hymnals or places it as an optional beside a congregational tune.
But when rendered by the choir on special occasions its success in
conveying the feeling and soul of the words is complete. There is a
prayer in the swell of every semitone and the touch of every accidental,
and the sweet concord of the duet--soprano with tenor or bass--pleads
on to the end of the fourth line, where the full harmony reinforces it
like an organ with every stop in play. The tune is a rill of melody
ending in a river of song.[36]

[Footnote 36: Holbrook has also an arrangement of Franz Abt's, "When the
Swallows Homeward Fly" written to "Jesus, Lover of my Soul," but with
Wesley's words it is far less effective than his original work. "Refuge"
is not a manufacture but an inspiration.]

For general congregational use, Mason's "Whitman" has wedded itself to
the hymn perhaps closer than any other. It has revival associations
reaching back more than sixty years.


"WHEN MARSHALLED ON THE NIGHTLY PLAIN."

Perhaps no line in all familiar hymnology more readily suggests the name
of its author than this. In the galaxy of poets Henry Kirke White was a
brief luminary whose brilliancy and whose early end have appealed to the
hearts of three generations. He was born at Nottingham, Eng., in the
year 1795. His father was a butcher, but the son, disliking the trade,
was apprenticed to a weaver at the age of fourteen. Two years later he
entered an attorney's office as copyist and student.

The boy imbibed sceptical notions from some source, and might have
continued to scoff at religion to the last but for the experience of his
intimate friend, a youth named Almond, whose life was changed by
witnessing one day the happy death of a Christian believer. Decided to
be a Christian himself, it was some time before he mustered courage to
face White's ridicule and resentment. He simply drew away from him. When
White demanded the reason he was obliged to tell him that they two must
henceforth walk different paths.

"Good God!" exclaimed White, "you surely think worse of me than I
deserve!"

The separation was a severe shock to Henry, and the real grief of it
sobered his anger to reflection and remorse. The light of a better life
came to him when his heart melted--and from that time he and Almond were
fellows in faith as well as friendship.

In his hymn the young poet tells the stormy experience of his soul, and
the vision that guided him to peace.

    When, marshalled on the nightly plain,
      The glittering host bestud the sky,
    One star alone of all the train
      Can fix the sinner's wandering eye.
    Hark, hark! to God the chorus breaks,
      From every host, from every gem,
    But one alone the Saviour speaks;
      It is the Star of Bethlehem.

    Once on the raging seas I rode:
      The storm was loud, the night was dark;
    The ocean yawned, and rudely blowed
      The wind that tossed my foundering bark.
    Deep horror then my vitals froze,
      Death-struck, I ceased the tide to stem,
    When suddenly a star arose;
      It was the Star of Bethlehem.

    It was my guide, my light, my all,
      It bade my dark forebodings cease;
    And through the storm and danger's thrall,
      It led me to the port of peace.
    Now, safely moored, my perils o'er,
      I'll sing, first in night's diadem,
    For ever and for evermore,
      The Star, the Star of Bethlehem!

Besides this delightful hymn, with its graphic sea-faring metaphors, two
others, at least, of the same boy-poet hold their place in many of the
church and chapel collections:

    The Lord our God is clothed with might,
      The winds obey His will;
    He speaks, and in his heavenly height
      The rolling sun stands still.

And--

    Oft in danger, oft in woe,
    Onward, Christians, onward go.

Henry Kirke White died in the autumn of 1806, when he was scarcely
twenty years old. His "Ode to Disappointment," and the miscellaneous
flowers and fragments of his genius, make up a touching volume. The fire
of a pure, strong spirit burning through a consumptive frame is in them
all.


_THE TUNE._

"When, marshalled on the mighty plain" has a choral set to it in the
_Methodist Hymnal_--credited to Thos. Harris, and entitled
"Crimea"--which divides the three stanzas into six, and breaks the
continuity of the hymn. Better sing it in its original form--long metre
double--to the dear old melody of "Bonny Doon." The voices of Scotland,
England and America are blended in it.

[Illustration: William B. Bradbury]

The origin of this Caledonian air, though sometimes fancifully traced to
an Irish harper and sometimes to a wandering piper of the Isle of Man,
is probably lost in antiquity. Burns, however, whose name is linked with
it, tells this whimsical story of it, though giving no date save "a good
many years ago,"--(apparently about 1753). A virtuoso, Mr. James Millar,
he writes, wishing he were able to compose a Scottish tune, was told by
a musical friend to sit down to his harpsichord and make a rhythm of
some kind _solely on the black keys_, and he would surely turn out a
Scotch tune. The musical friend, pleased at the result of his jest,
caught the string of plaintive sounds made by Millar, and fashioned it
into "Bonny Doon."


"LAND AHEAD!"

The burden of this hymn was suggested by the dying words of John Adams,
one of the crew of the English ship Bounty who in 1789 mutinied, set the
captain and officers adrift, and ran the vessel to a tropical island,
where they burned her. In a few years vice and violence had decimated
the wicked crew, who had exempted themselves from all divine and human
restraint, until the last man alive was left with only native women and
half-breed children for company. His true name was Alexander Smith, but
he had changed it to John Adams.

The situation forced the lonely Englishman to a sense of solemn
responsibility, and in bitter remorse, he sought to retrieve his wasted
life, and spend the rest of his exile in repentance and repentant works.
He found a Bible in one of the dead seamen's chests, studied it, and
organized a community on the Christian plan. A new generation grew up
around him, reverencing him as governor, teacher, preacher and judge,
and speaking his language--and he was wise enough to exercise his
authority for the common good, and never abuse it. Pitcairn's Island
became "the Paradise of the Pacific." It has not yet belied its name.
Besides its opulence of rural beauty and natural products, its
inhabitants, now the third generation from the "mutineer missionary,"
are a civilized community without the vices of civilization. There is no
licentiousness, no profanity, no Sabbath-breaking, no rum or
tobacco--and _no sickness_.

John Adams died in 1829--after an island residence of forty years. In
his extreme age, while he lay waiting for the end, he was asked how he
felt in view of the final voyage.

"Land ahead!" murmured the old sailor--and his last words were,
"Rounding the Cape--into the harbor."

That the veteran's death-song should be perpetuated in sacred music is
not strange.

    Land ahead! its fruits are waving
      O'er the hills of fadeless green;
    And the living waters laving
      Shores where heavenly forms are seen.

  CHORUS.
    Rocks and storms I'll fear no more,
    When on that eternal shore;
    Drop the anchor! furl the sail!
    I am safe within the veil.

    Onward, bark! the cape I'm rounding;
      See, the blessed wave their hands;
    Hear the harps of God resounding
      From the bright immortal bands.

The authorship of the hymn is credited to Rev. E. Adams--whether or not
a descendent of the Island Patriarch we have no information. It was
written about 1869.

The ringing melody that bears the words was composed by John Miller
Evans, born Nov. 30, 1825; died Jan. 1, 1892. The original air--with a
simple accompaniment--was harmonized by Hubert P. Main, and published in
_Winnowed Hymns_ in 1873.


"ETERNAL FATHER, STRONG TO SAVE."

This is sung almost universally on English ships. It is said to have
been one of Sir Evelyn Wood's favorites. The late William Whiting wrote
it in 1860, and it was incorporated with some alterations in the
standard English Church collection entitled _Hymns Ancient and Modern_.
It is a translation from a Latin hymn, a triune litany addressing a
stanza each to Father, Son and Holy Spirit. The whole four stanzas have
the same refrain, and the appeal to the Father, who bids--

    --the mighty ocean deep
    Its own appointed limits keep,

--varies in the appeal to Christ, who--

    --_walked_ upon the foaming deep.

The third and fourth stanzas are the following:

    O Holy Spirit, Who didst brood
    Upon the waters dark and rude,
    And bid their angry tumult cease,
    And give, for wild confusion, peace;
      Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee
    For those in peril on the sea.

    O Trinity of love and power,
    Our brethren shield in danger's hour;
    From rock and tempest, fire and foe,
    Protect them wheresoe'er they go:
      Thus evermore shall rise to Thee
    Glad hymns of praise from land to sea.

William Whiting was born at Kensington, London, Nov. 1, 1825. He was
Master of Winchester College Chorister's School Died in 1878.


_THE TUNE._

The choral named "Melita" (in memory of St. Paul's shipwreck) was
composed by Dr. Dykes in 1861, and its strong and easy chords and
moderate note range are nobly suited to the devout hymn.


"THE OCEAN HATH NO DANGER."

This charming sailors' lyric is the work of the Rev. Godfrey Thring. Its
probable date is 1862, and it appeared in Morell and Howe's collection
and in _Hymns Congregational and Others_, published in 1866, which
contained a number from his pen. Rector Thring was born at Alford,
Somersetshire, Eng., March 25, 1823, and educated at Shrewsbury School
and Baliol College, Oxford. In 1858 he succeeded his father as Rector of
Alford.

He compiled _A Church of England Hymnbook_ in 1880.

    The ocean hath no danger
      For those whose prayers are made
    To Him who in a manger
      A helpless Babe was laid,
    Who, born to tribulation
      And every human ill,
    The Lord of His creation,
      The wildest waves can still.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Though life itself be waning
      And waves shall o'er us sweep,
    The wild winds sad complaining
      Shall lull us still to sleep,
    For as a gentle slumber
      E'en death itself shall prove
    To those whom Christ doth number
      As worthy of His love.

The tune "Morlaix," given to the hymn by Dr. Dykes, is simple, but a
very sweet and appropriate harmony.


"FIERCE RAGED THE TEMPEST ON THE DEEP."

This fine lyric, based on the incident in the storm on the Sea of
Galilee, is the work of the same writer and owes its tune "St. Aelred"
to the same composer.

The melody has an impressive rallentando of dotted semibreves to the
refrain, "Peace, be still," after the more rapid notes of the three-line
stanzas.

    The wild winds hushed, the angry deep
    Sank like a little child to sleep,
    The sullen waters ceased to leap.

       *       *       *       *       *

    So when our life is clouded o'er
    And storm-winds drift us from the shore
    Say, lest we sink to rise no more,
     "Peace! be still."


"PULL FOR THE SHORE."

When a shipwrecked crew off a rocky coast were hurrying to the
long-boat, a sailor begged leave to run back to the ship's forecastle
and save some of his belongings.

"No sir," shouted the Captain, "she's sinking! There's nothing to do but
to pull for the shore." Philip P. Bliss caught up the words, and wrought
them into a hymn and tune.

    Light in the darkness, sailor, day is at hand!
    See o'er the foaming billows fair Haven's land;
    Drear was the voyage, sailor, now almost o'er;
    Safe in the life-boat, sailor, pull for the shore!

  CHORUS.
    Pull for the shore, sailor, pull for the shore!
    Heed not the rolling waves, but bend to the oar;
    Safe in the life-boat, sailor, cling to self no more;
    Leave the poor old stranded wreck and pull for the shore!

The hymn-tune is a buoyant allegro--solo and chorus--full of hope and
courage, and both imagery and harmony appeal to the hearts of seamen. It
is popular, and has long been one of the song numbers in demand at
religious services both on sea and land.


"JESUS, SAVIOUR, PILOT ME."

The Rev. Edward Hopper, D.D. wrote this hymn while pastor of Mariner's
Church at New York harbor, "The Church of the Sea and Land." He was born
in 1818, and graduated at Union Theological Seminary in 1843.

    Jesus, Saviour, pilot me
    Over life's tempestuous sea,
    Unknown waves before me roll,
    Hiding rock and treacherous shoal;
    Chart and compass come from Thee,
    Jesus, Saviour, pilot me!

Only three stanzas of this rather lengthy hymn are in common use.


_THE TUNE._

Without title except "Savior, pilot me." A simple and pleasing melody
composed by John Edgar Gould, late of the firm of Gould and Fischer,
piano dealers, Phila., Pa. He was born in Bangor, Me., April 9, 1822.
Conductor of music and composer of psalm and hymn tunes and glees, he
also compiled and published no less than eight books of church,
Sunday-school, and secular songs. Died in Algiers, Africa, Feb. 13,
1875.


"THROW OUT THE LIFE-LINE."

This is one of the popular refrains that need but a single hearing to
fix themselves in common memory and insure their own currency and
_eclat_.

The Rev. E.S. Ufford, well-known as a Baptist preacher, lecturer, and
evangelist, was witnessing a drill at the life-saving station on Point
Allerton, Nantasket Beach, when the order to "throw out the life-line"
and the sight of the apparatus in action, combined with the story of a
shipwreck on the spot, left an echo in his mind till it took the form of
a song-sermon. Returning home, he pencilled the words of this rousing
hymn, and, being himself a singer and player, sat down to his instrument
to match the lines with a suitable air. It came to him almost as
spontaneously as the music of "The Ninety and Nine" came to Mr. Sankey.
In fifteen minutes the hymn-tune was made--so far as the melody went.
It was published in sheet form in 1888, and afterwards purchased by Mr.
Sankey, harmonized by Mr. Stebbins, and published in _Winnowed Songs_,
1890. Included in _Gospel Hymns_, Nov. 6, 1891.

Ever since it has been a favorite with singing seamen, and has done
active service as one of our most stirring field-songs in revival work.

    Throw out the Life-line across the dark wave,
    There is a brother whom some one should save;
    Somebody's brother! oh, who, then, will dare
    To throw out the Life-line, his peril to share?

    Throw out the Life-line with hand quick and strong!
    Why do you tarry, why linger so long?
    See! he is sinking; oh, hasten today--
    And out with the Life-boat! away, then away!

    CHORUS.
        Throw out the Life-line!
        Throw out the Life-line!
      Some one is drifting away;
        Throw out the Life-line!
        Throw out the Life-line!
      Some one is sinking today.

One evening, in the midst of their hilarity at their card-tables, a
convivial club in one of the large Pennsylvania cities heard a sweet,
clear female voice singing this solo hymn, followed by a chime of
mingled voices in the chorus. A room in the building had been hired for
religious meetings, and tonight was the first of the series. A strange
coolness dampened the merriment in the club-room, as the singing went
on, and the gradual silence became a hush, till finally one member threw
down his cards and declared, "If what they're saying is right, then
we're wrong."

Others followed his example, then another, and another.

    There is a brother whom some one should save.

Quietly the revellers left their cards, cigars and half-emptied glasses
and went home.

Said the ex-member who told the story years after to Mr. Ufford, "'Throw
Out the Life-line' broke up that club."

He is today one of the responsible editors of a great city daily--and
his old club-mates are all holding positions of trust.

A Christian man, a prosperous manufacturer in a city of Eastern
Massachusetts, dates his first religious impressions from hearing this
hymn when sung in public for the first time, twenty years ago.

Visiting California recently, Mr. Ufford sang his hymn at a
watch-meeting and told the story of the loss of the Elsie Smith on Cape
Cod in 1902, exhibiting also the very life-line that had saved sixteen
lives from the wreck. By chance one of those sixteen was in the
audience.

An English clergyman who was on duty at Gibraltar when an emigrant ship
went on the rocks in a storm, tells with what pathetic power and effect
"Throw out the Life-line" was sung at a special Sunday service for the
survivors.

At one of Evan Roberts' meetings in Laughor, Wales, one speaker related
the story of a "vision," when in his room alone, and a Voice that bade
him pray, and when he knelt but could not pray, commanded him to "Throw
out the Life-line." He had scarcely uttered these words in his story
when the whole great congregation sprang to its feet and shouted the
hymn together like the sound of many waters.

"There is more electricity in that song than in any other I ever heard,"
Dr. Cuyler said to Mr. Sankey when he heard him sing it. Its electricity
has carried it nearly round the world.

The Rev. Edward Smith Ufford was born in Newark, N.J., 1851, and
educated at Stratford Academy (Ct.) and Bates Theological Seminary, Me.
He held several pastorates in Maine and Massachusetts, but a preference
for evangelistic work led him to employ his talent for object-teaching
in illustrated religious lectures through his own and foreign lands,
singing his hymn and enforcing it with realistic representation. He is
the author and compiler of several Sunday-school and chapel
song-manuals, as _Converts' Praise_, _Life-long Songs_, _Wonderful Love_
and _Gathered Gems_.




CHAPTER XI.

HYMNS OF WALES.


In writing this chapter the task of identifying the _tune_, and its
author, in the case of every hymn, would have required more time and
labor than, perhaps, the importance of the facts would justify.

Peculiar interest, however, attaches to Welsh hymns, even apart from the
airs which accompany them, and a general idea of Welsh music may be
gathered from the tone and metre of the lyrics introduced. More
particular information would necessitate printing the music itself.

From the days of the Druids, Wales has been a land of song. From the
later but yet ancient time when the people learned the Christian faith,
it has had its Christian psalms. The "March of the White Monks of
Bangor" (7th century) is an epic of bravery and death celebrating the
advance of Christian martyrs to their bloody fate at the hands of the
Saxon savages. "Its very rhythm pictures the long procession of
white-cowled patriots bearing peaceful banners and in faith taking their
way to Chester to stimulate the valor of their countrymen." And ever
since the "Battle of the Hallelujahs"--near Chirk on the border, nine
miles from Wrexham--when the invading Danes were driven from the field
in fright by the rush of the Cymric army shouting that mighty cry, every
Christian poet in Wales has had a hallelujah in his verse.

Through the centuries, while chased and hunted by their conquerors among
the Cambrian hills, but clinging to their independent faith, or even
when paralyzed into spiritual apathy under tribute to a foreign church,
the heavenly song still murmured in a few true hearts amidst the vain
and vicious lays of carnal mirth. It survived even when people and
priest alike seemed utterly degenerate and godless. The voice of Walter
Bute (1372) rang true for the religion of Jesus in its purity. Brave
John Oldcastle, the martyr, (1417) clung to the gospel he learned at
the foot of the cross. William Wroth, _clergyman_, saved from fiddling
at a drunken dance by a disaster that turned a house of revelry into a
house of death, confessed his sins to God and became the "Apostle of
South Wales." The young vicar, Rhys Pritchard (1579) rose from the
sunken level of his profession, rescued through an incident less tragic.
Accustomed to drink himself to inebriety at a public-house--a socially
winked-at indulgence then--he one day took his pet goat with him, and
poured liquor down the creature's throat. The refusal of the poor goat
to go there again forced the reckless priest to reflect on his own ways.
He forsook the ale-house and became a changed man.

Among his writings--later than this--is found the following plain, blunt
statement of what continued long to be true of Welsh society, as
represented in the common use of Sunday time.

    Of all the days throughout the rolling year
    There's not a day we pass so much amiss,
    There's not a day wherein we all appear
    So irreligious, so profaned as this.

    A day for drunkenness, a day for sport,
    A day to dance, a day to lounge away,
    A day for riot and excess, too short
    Amongst the Welshmen is the Sabbath day.

    A day to sit, a day to chat and spend,
    A day when fighting 'mongst us most prevails,
    A day to do the errands of the Fiend--
    Such is the Sabbath in most parts of Wales.

Meantime some who could read the language--and the better educated (like
the author of the above rhymes) knew English as well as Welsh--had seen
a rescued copy of _Wycliffs New Testament_, a precious publication
seized and burnt (like the bones of its translator) by hostile
ecclesiastics, and suppressed for nearly two hundred years. Walter Bute,
like Obadiah who hid the hundred prophets, may well be credited with
such secret salvage out of the general destruction. And there were
doubtless others equally alert for the same quiet service. We can
imagine how far the stealthy taste of that priceless book would help to
strengthen a better religion than the one doled out professionally to
the multitude by a Civil church; and how it kept the hallelujah alive
in silent but constant souls; and in how many cases it awoke a
conscience long hypnotized under corrupt custom, and showed a renegade
Christian how morally untuned he was.

Daylight came slowly after the morning star, but when the dawn reddened
it was in welcome to Pritchard's and Penry's gospel song; and sunrise
hastened at the call of Caradoc, and Powell, and Erbury, and Maurice,
the holy men who followed them, some with the trumpet of Sinai and some
with the harp of Calvary.

Cambria was being prepared for its first great revival of religion.

There was no rich portfolio of Christian hymns such as exists to-day,
but surely there were not wanting pious words to the old chants of
Bangor and the airs of "Wild Wales." When time brought Howell Harris and
Daniel Rowland, and the great "Reformation" of the eighteenth century,
the renowned William Williams, "the Watts of Wales," appeared, and began
his tuneful work. The province soon became a land of hymns. The candles
lit and left burning here and there by Penry, Maurice, and the Owens,
blazed up to beacon-fires through all the twelve counties when Harris,
at the head of the mighty movement, carried with him the sacred songs of
Williams, kindling more lights everywhere between the Dee and the
British Channel.

William Williams of Pantycelyn was born in 1717, at Cefncoed Farm, near
Llandovery. Three years younger than Harris, (an Oxford graduate,) and
educated only at a village school and an academy at Llwynllwyd, he was
the song protagonist of the holy campaign as the other was its champion
preacher. From first to last Williams wrote nine hundred and sixteen
hymns, some of which are still heard throughout the church militant, and
others survive in local use and affection. He died Jan. 11, 1791, at
Pantycelyn, where he had made his home after his marriage. One of the
hymns in his _Gloria_, his second publication, may well have been his
last. It was dear to him above others, and has been dear to devout souls
in many lands.

    My God, my portion and my love;
    My all on earth, my all above,
        My all within the tomb;
    The treasures of this world below
    Are but a vain, delusive show,
        Thy bosom is my home.

It was fitting that Williams should name the first collection of his
hymns (all in his native Welsh) _The Hallelujah_. Its lyrics are full of
adoration for the Redeemer, and thanksgivings for His work.


"ONWARD RIDE IN TRIUMPH, JESUS,"

_Marchog, Jesu, yn llwyddiannus_,

Has been sung in Wales for a century and a half, and is still a
favorite.

    Onward ride in triumph, Jesus,
      Gird thy sword upon thy thigh;
    Neither earth nor Hell's own vastness
      Can Thy mighty power defy.
    In Thy Name such glory dwelleth
      Every foe withdraws in fear,
    All the wide creation trembleth
      Whensoever Thou art near.[37]

The unusual militant strain in this paean of conquest soon disappears,
and the gentler aspects of Christ's atoning sacrifice occupy the
writer's mind and pen.

[Footnote 37: The following shows the style of Rev. Elvet Lewis'
translation:
    Blessed Jesus, march victorious
      With Thy sword fixed at Thy side;
    Neither death nor hell can hinder
      The God-Warrior in His ride.]


"IN EDEN--O THE MEMORY!"

_Yn Eden cofiaf hyny byth!_

The text, "He was wounded for our transgressions," is amplified in this
hymn, and the Saviour is shown bruising Himself while bruising the
serpent.

The first stanza gives the key-note,--

    In Eden--O the memory!
    What countless gifts were lost to me!
      My crown, my glory fell;
    But Calvary's great victory
    Restored that vanished crown to me;
      On this my songs shall dwell;

--and the multitude of Williams' succeeding "songs" that chant the same
theme shows how well he kept his promise. The following hymn in Welsh
(_Cymmer, Jesu fi fel'r ydwyf_) antedates the advice of Dr. Malan to
Charlotte Elliott, "Come just as you are"--

    Take me as I am, O Saviour,
      Better I can never be;
    Thou alone canst bring me nearer,
      Self but draws me far from Thee.
        I can never
    But within Thy wounds be saved;

--and another (_Mi dafla maich oddi ar fy ngway_) reminds us of Bunyan's
Pilgrim in sight of the Cross:

    I'll cast my heavy burden down,
      Remembering Jesus' pains;
    Guilt high as towering mountain tops
      Here turns to joyful strains.

       *       *       *       *       *

    He stretched His pure white hands abroad,
      A crown of thorns He wore,
    That so the vilest sinner might
      Be cleansed forevermore;

Williams was called "The Sweet Singer of Wales" and "The Watts of Wales"
because he was the chief poet and hymn-writer of his time, but the lady
he married, Miss Mary Francis, was _literally_ a singer, with a voice so
full and melodious that the people to whom he preached during his
itineraries, which she sometimes shared with him, were often more moved
by her sweet hymnody than by his exhortations. On one occasion the good
man, accompanied by his wife, put up at Bridgend Tavern in Llangefin,
Anglesea, and a mischievous crowd, wishing to plague the "Methodists,"
planned to make night hideous in the house with a boisterous
merry-making. The fiddler, followed by a gang of roughs, pushed his way
to the parlor, and mockingly asked the two guests if they would "have a
tune."

"Yes," replied Williams, falling in with his banter, "anything you like,
my lad; 'Nancy Jig' or anything else."

And at a sign from her husband, as soon as the fellow began the jig,
Mrs. Williams struck in with one of the poet-minister's well-known Welsh
hymns in the same metre,--

   _Gwaed Dy groes sy'n c' odi fyny_

    Calvary's blood the weak exalteth
      More than conquerors to be,[38]

--and followed the player note for note, singing the sacred words in her
sweet, clear voice, till he stopped ashamed, and took himself off with
all his gang.

[Footnote 38: A less literal but more hymn-like translation is:
    Jesu's blood can raise the feeble
      As a conqueror to stand;
    Jesu's blood is all-prevailing
      O'er the mighty of the land:
        Let the breezes
      Blow from Calvary on me.

Says the author of _Sweet Singers of Wales_, "This refrain has been the
password of many powerful revivals."]

Another hymn--

   _O' Llefara! addfwyn Jesu_,

    Speak, O speak, thou gentle Jesus,

--recalls the well-known verse of Newton, "How sweet the name of Jesus
sounds." Like many of Williams' hymns, it was prompted by occasion. Some
converts suffered for lack of a "clear experience" and complained to
him. They were like the disciples in the ship, "It was dark, and Jesus
had not yet come unto them." The poet-preacher immediately made this
hymn-prayer for all souls similarly tried. Edward Griffiths translates
it thus:

    Speak, I pray Thee, gentle Jesus,
      O how passing sweet Thy words,
    Breathing o'er my troubled spirit,
      Peace which never earth affords,
    All the world's distracting voices,
      All th' enticing tones of ill,
    At Thy accents, mild, melodious
      Are subdued, and all is still.

    Tell me Thou art mine, O Saviour
      Grant me an assurance clear,
    Banish all my dark misgivings,
      Still my doubting, calm my fear.

Besides his Welsh hymns, published in the first and in the second and
larger editions of his _Hallelujah_, and in two or three other
collections, William Williams wrote and published two books of English
hymns,[39] the _Hosanna_ (1759) and the _Gloria_ (1772). He fills so
large a space in the hymnology and religious history of Wales that he
will necessarily reappear in other pages of this chapter.

[Footnote 39: Possibly they were written in Welsh, and translated into
English by his friend and neighbor, Peter Williams.]

From the days of the early religious awakenings under the 16th century
preachers, and after the ecclesiastical dynasty of Rome had been
replaced by that of the Church of England, there were periods when the
independent conscience of a few pious Welshmen rose against religious
formalism, and the credal constraints of "established" teaching--and
suffered for it. Burning heretics at the stake had ceased to be a church
practice before the 1740's, but Howell Harris, Daniel Rowlands, and the
rest of the "Methodist Fathers," with their followers, were not only
ostracised by society and haled before magistrates to be fined for
preaching, and sometimes imprisoned, but they were chased and beaten by
mobs, ducked in ponds and rivers, and pelted with mud and garbage when
they tried to speak or sing. But they kept on talking and singing.
Harris (who had joined the army in 1760) owned a commission, and once he
saved himself from the fury of a mob while preaching--with cloak over
his ordinary dress--by lifting his cape and showing the star on his
breast. No one dared molest an officer of His Britannic Majesty. But all
were not able to use St. Paul's expedient in critical moments.[40]

[Footnote 40: Acts 22:25.]

William Williams often found immunity in his hymns, for like Luther--and
like Charles Wesley among the Cornwall sea-robbers--he caught up the
popular glees and ballad-refrains of the street and market and his wife
sang their music to his words. It is true many of these old Welsh airs
were minors, like "Elvy" and "Babel" (a significant name in English) and
would not be classed as "glees" in any other country--always excepting
Scotland--but they had the _swing_, and their mode and style were catchy
to a Welsh multitude. In fact many of these uncopyrighted bits of
musical vernacular were appropriated by the hymnbook makers, and
christened with such titles as "Pembroke," "Arabia," "Brymgfryd,"
"Cwyfan," "Thydian," and the two mentioned above.

It was the time when Whitefield and the Wesleys were sweeping the
kingdom with their conquering eloquence, and Howell Harris (their
fellow-student at Oxford) had sided with the conservative wing of the
Gospel Reformation workers, and become a "Whitfield Methodist." The
Welsh Methodists, _ad exemplum_, marched with this Calvinistic
branch--as they do today. Each division had its Christian bard. Charles
Wesley could put regenerating power into sweet, poetic hymns, and
William Williams' lyrical preaching made the Bible a travelling pulpit.
The great "Beibl Peter Williams" with its commentaries in Welsh, since
so long reverenced and cherished in provincial families, was not
published till 1770, and for many the printed Word was far to seek.[41]
But the gospel minstrels carried the Word with them. Some of the long
hymns contained nearly a whole body of divinity.

[Footnote 41: As an incident contributory to the formation of the
British and Foreign Bible Society, the story has been often repeated of
the little girl who wept when she missed her Catechism appointment, and
told Thomas Charles of Bala that the bad weather was the cause of it,
for she had to walk seven miles to find a Bible every time she prepared
her lessons. See page 380.]

The Welsh learn their hymns by heart, as they do the Bible--a habit
inherited from those old days of scarcity, when memory served pious
people instead of print--so that a Welsh prayer-meeting is never
embarrassed by a lack of books. An anecdote illustrates this
characteristic readiness. In February, 1797, when Napoleon's name was a
terror to England, the French landed some troops near Fishguard,
Pembrokeshire. Mounted heralds spread the news through Wales, and in the
village of Rhydybont, Cardiganshire, the fright nearly broke up a
religious meeting; but one brave woman, Nancy Jones, stopped a panic by
singing this stanza of one of Thomas Williams' hymns,--

   _Diuw os wyt am ddylenu'r bya_

    If Thou wouldst end the world, O Lord,
    Accomplish first Thy promised Word,
    And gather home with one accord
      From every part Thine own,
    Send out Thy Word from pole to pole,
    And with Thy blood make thousands whole,
      And, _after that come down_.

Nancy Jones would have been a useful member of the "Singing Sisters"
band, so efficient a century or more afterwards.

The _tunes_ of the Reformation under the "Methodist Fathers" continued
far down the century to be the country airs of the nation, and
reverberations of the great spiritual movement were heard in their rude
music in the mountain-born revival led by Jack Edward Watkin in 1779 and
in the local awakenings of 1791 and 1817. Later in the 19th century new
hymns, and many of the old, found new tunes, made for their sake or
imported from England and America.

The sanctified gift of song helped to make 1829 a year of jubilee in
South Wales, nor was the same aid wanting during the plague in 1831,
when the famous Presbyterian preacher, John Elias,[42] won nearly a
whole county to Christ.

[Footnote 42: Those who read his biography will call him the "Seraphic
John Elias."

His name was John Jones when he was admitted a member of the presbytery.
What followed is a commentary on the embarrassing frequency of a common
name, nowhere realized so universally as it is in Wales.

"What is his father's name?" asked the moderator when John Jones was
announced.

"Elias Jones," was the answer.

"Then call the young man John Elias," said the speaker, "otherwise we
shall by and by have nobody but John Joneses."

And "John Elias" it remained.]

An accession of temperance hymns in Wales followed the spread of the
"Washingtonian" movement on the other side of the Atlantic in 1840, and
began a moral reformation in the county of Merioneth that resulted in a
spiritual one, and added to the churches several thousand converts,
scarcely any of whom fell away.

The revival of 1851-2 was a local one, but was believed by many to have
been inspired by a celestial antiphony. The remarkable sounds were
either a miracle or a psychic wonder born of the intense imagination of
a sensitive race. A few pious people in a small village of
Montgomeryshire had been making special prayer for an outpouring of the
spirit, but after a week of meetings with no sign of the result hoped
for, they were returning to their homes, discouraged, when they heard
strains of sweet music in the sky. They stopped in amazement, but the
beautiful singing went on--voices as of a choir invisible, indistinct
but melodious, in the air far above the roof of the chapel they had just
left. Next day, when the astonished worshippers told the story, numbers
in the district said they had heard the same sounds. Some had gone out
at eleven o'clock to listen, and thought that angels must be singing.
Whatever the music meant, the good brethren's and sisters' little
meetings became crowded very soon after, and the longed-for out-pouring
came mightily upon the neighborhood. Hundreds from all parts flocked to
the churches, all ages joining in the prayers and hymns and testimonies,
and a harvest of glad believers followed a series of meetings "led by
the Holy Ghost."

The sounds in the sky were never explained; but the belief that God sent
His angels to sing an answer to the anxious prayers of those pious
brethren and sisters did no one any harm.

Whether this event in Montgomeryshire was a preparation for what took
place six or seven years later is a suggestive question only, but when
the wave of spiritual power from the great American revival of 1857-8
reached England, its first messenger to Wales, Rev. H.R. Jones, a
Wesleyan, had only to drop the spark that "lit a prairie fire." The
reformation, chiefly under the leadership of Mr. Jones and Rev. David
Morgan, a Presbyterian, with their singing bands, was general and
lasting, hundreds of still robust and active Christians today dating
their new birth from the Pentecost of 1859 and its ingathering of eighty
thousand souls.

A favorite hymn of that revival was the penitential cry,--

   _O'th flaem, O Dduw! 'r wy'n dyfod_,

--in the seven-six metre so much loved in Wales.

    Unto Thy presence coming,
      O God, far off I stand:
   "A sinner" is my title,
      No other I demand.

    For mercy I am seeking
      For mercy still shall cry;
    Deny me not Thy mercy;
      O grant it or I die!

       *       *       *       *       *

    I heard of old that Jesus,
      Who still abides the same,
    To publicans gave welcome,
      And sinners deep in shame.

    Oh God! receive me with them,
      Me also welcome in,
    And pardon my transgression,
      Forgetting all my sin.

The author of the hymn was Thomas Williams of Glamorganshire, born 1761;
died 1844. He published a volume of hymns, _Waters of Bethesda_ in 1823.

The Welsh minor tune of "Clwyd" may appropriately have been the music to
express the contrite prayer of the words. The living composer, John
Jones, has several tunes in the Welsh revival manual of melodies, _Ail
Attodiad_.

The unparalleled religious movement of 1904-5 was a praying and singing
revival. The apostle and spiritual prompter of that unbroken campaign of
Christian victories--so far as any single human agency counted--was Evan
Roberts, of Laughor, a humble young worker in the mines, who had prayed
thirteen years for a mighty descent of the heavenly blessing on his
country and for a clear indication of his own mission. His convictions
naturally led him to the ministry, and he went to Newcastle Emlyn to
study. Evangelical work had been done by two societies, made up of
earnest Christians, and known as the "Forward Movement" and the
"Simultaneous Mission." Beginnings of a special season of interest as a
result of their efforts, appeared in the young people's prayer meetings
in February, 1904, at New Quay, Cardiganshire. The interest increased,
and when branch-work was organized a young praying and singing band
visited Newcastle Emlyn in the course of one of their tours, and held a
rally meeting. Evan Roberts went to the meeting and found his own
mission. He left his studies and consecrated himself, soul and body, to
revival work. In every spiritual and mental quality he was surpassingly
well-equipped. To the quick sensibility of his poetic nature he added
the inspiration of a seer and the zeal of a devotee. Like Moses, Elijah,
and Paul in Arabian solitudes, and John in the Dead Sea wilds, he had
prepared himself in silence and alone with God; and though, on occasion,
he could use effectively his gift of words, he stood distinct in a land
of matchless pulpit orators as "the silent leader." Without preaching he
dominated the mood of his meetings, and without dictating he could
change the trend of a service and shape the next song or prayer on the
intuition of a moment. In fact, judged by its results, it was God
Himself who directed the revival, only He endowed His minister with the
power of divination to watch its progress and take the stumbling-blocks
out of the way. By a kind of hallowed psychomancy, that humble man would
detect a discordant presence, and hush the voices of a congregation till
the stubborn soul felt God in the stillness, and penitently
surrendered.

Many tones of the great awakening of 1859 heard again in 1904-5,--the
harvest season without a precedent, when men, women and children
numbering ten per cent of the whole population of a province were
gathered into the membership of the church of Christ. But there were
tones a century older heard in the devotions of that harvest-home in
Wales. A New England Christian would have felt at home, with the tuneful
assemblies at Laughor, Trencynon, Bangor, Bethesda, Wrexham, Cardiff, or
Liverpool, singing Lowell Mason's "Meribah" or the clarion melody of
Edson's "Lenox" to Wesley's--

    Blow ye the trumpet, blow,
      The gladly solemn sound;

--or to his other well-known--

    Arise my soul, arise,
      Shake off thy guilty fears,
    The bleeding Sacrifice
      In thy behalf appear.

In short, the flood tide of 1904 and 1905 brought in very little new
music and very few new hymns. "Aberystwyth" and "Tanymarian," the minor
harmonies of Joseph Party and Stephens; E.M. Price's "St. Garmon;" R.M.
Pritchard's, "Hyfrydol," and a few others, were choral favorites, but
their composers were all dead, and the congregations loved the still
older singers who had found familiar welcome at their altars and
firesides. The most cherished and oftenest chosen hymns were those of
William Williams and Ann Griffiths, of Charles Wesley, of Isaac
Watts--indeed the very tongues of fire that appeared at Jerusalem took
on the Cymric speech, and sang the burning lyrics of the poet-saints.
And in their revival joy Calvinistic Wales sang the New Testament with
more of its Johannic than of its Pauline texts. The covenant of
peace--Christ and His Cross--is the theme of all their hymns.


"HERE BEHOLD THE TENT OF MEETING."

_Dyma Babell y cyfarfod._

This hymn, written by Ann Griffiths, is entitled "Love Eternal," and
praises the Divine plan to satisfy the Law and at the same time save the
sinner. The first stanza gives an idea of the thought:

    Here behold the tent of meeting,
      In the blood a peace with heaven,
    Refuge from the blood-avengers,
      For the sick a Healer given.
    Here the sinner nestles safely
      At the very Throne divine,
    And Heaven's righteous law, all holy.
      Still on him shall smile and shine.


"HOW SWEET THE COVENANT TO REMEMBER."

_Bydd melus gofio y cyfammod._

This, entitled "Mysteries of Grace," is also from the pen of Ann
Griffiths. It has the literalness noticeable in much of the Welsh
religious poetry, and there is a note of pietism in it. The two last
stanzas are these:

    He is the great Propitiation
      Who with the thieves that anguish bare;
    He nerved the arms of His tormentors
      To drive the nails that fixed Him there.
    While He discharged the sinner's ransom,
      And made the Law in honor be,
    Righteousness shone undimmed, resplendent,
      And me the Covenant set free.

    My soul, behold Him laid so lowly,
      Of peace the Fount, of Kings the Head,
    The vast creation in Him moving
      And He low-lying with the dead!
    The Life and portion of lost sinners,
      The marvel of heaven's seraphim,
    To sea and land the God Incarnate
      The choir of heaven cries, "Unto Him!"

Ann Griffiths' earliest hymn will be called her sweetest. Fortunately,
too, it is more poetically translated. It was before the vivid
consciousness and intensity of her religious experience had given her
spiritual writings a more involved and mystical expression.

    My soul, behold the fitness
      Of this great Son of God,
    Trust Him for life eternal
      And cast on Him thy load,
    A man--touched with the pity
      Of every human woe,
    A God--to claim the kingdom
      And vanquish every foe.

This stanza, the last of her little poem on the "Eternal Fitness of
Jesus," came to her when, returning from an exciting service, filled
with thoughts of her unworthiness and of the glorious beauty of her
Saviour, she had turned down a sheltered lane to pray alone. There on
her knees in communion with God her soul felt the spirit of the sacred
song. By the time she reached home she had formed it into words.

The first and second stanzas, written later, are these:

    Great Author of salvation
      And providence for man,
    Thou rulest earth and heaven
      With Thy far-reaching plan.
    Today or on the morrow,
      Whatever woe betide,
    Grant us Thy strong assistance,
      Within Thy hand to hide.

    What though the winds be angry,
      What though the waves be high
    While wisdom is the Ruler,
      The Lord of earth and sky?
    What though the flood of evil
      Rise stormily and dark?
    No soul can sink within it;
      God is Himself the ark.

Mrs. Ann Griffiths, of Dolwar Fechan, Montgomeryshire, was born in 1776,
and died in 1805. "She remains," says Dr. Parry, her fellow-countryman,
"a romantic figure in the religious history of Wales. Her hymns leave
upon the reader an undefinable impression both of sublimity and
mysticism. Her brief life-history is most worthy of study both from a
literary and a religious point of view."

[Illustration: Isaac Watts, D.D.]

A suggestive chapter of her short earthly career is compressed in a
sentence by the author of "Sweet Singers of Wales:"

"She had a Christian life of eight years and a married life of ten
months."

She died at the age of twenty-nine. In 1904, near the centennial of her
death, amid the echoes of her own hymns, and the rising waves of the
great Refreshing over her native land, the people of Dolwar Fechan
dedicated the new "Ann Griffiths Memorial Chapel" to her name and to the
glory of God.

Although the Welsh were not slow to adopt the revival tones of other
lands, it was the native, and what might be called the national, lyrics
of that emotional race that were sung with the richest unction and
_hwyl_ (as the Cymric word is) during the recent reformation, and that
evinced the strongest hold on the common heart. Needless to say that
with them was the world-famous song of William Williams,--

    Guide me, O Thou Great Jehovah;

   _Arglwydd ar wain truy'r anialoch_;

--and that of Dr. Heber Evans,--

    Keep me very near to Jesus,
      Though beneath His Cross it be,
    In this world of evil-doing
     'Tis the Cross that cleanseth me;

--and also that native hymn of expectation, high and sweet, whose writer
we have been unable to identify--

    The glory is coming! God said it on high,
    When light in the evening will break from the sky;
    The North and South and the East and the West,
    With joy of salvation and peace will be bless'd.

       *       *       *       *       *

    O summer of holiness, hasten along!
    The purpose of glory is constant and strong;
    The winter will vanish, the clouds pass away;
    O South wind of Heaven, breath softly today!

Of the almost countless hymns that voiced the spirit of the great
revival, the nine following are selected because they are
representative, and all favorites--and because there is no room for a
larger number. The first line of each is given in the original Welsh:


"DWY ADEN COLOMEN PE CAWN."

    O had I the wings of a dove
      How soon would I wander away
    To gaze from Mount Nebo I'd love
      On realms that are fairer than day.
    My vision, not clouded nor dim,
      Beyond the dark river should run;
    I'd sing, with my thoughts upon Him,
      The sinless, the crucified one.

This is another of Thomas Williams' hymns. One of the tunes suitable to
its feeling and its measure was "Edom," by Thomas Evans. It was much
sung in 1859, as well as in 1904.


"CAELBOD YN FORSEC DAN YR IAN."

    Early to bear the yoke excels
    By far the joy in sin that dwells;
    The paths of wisdom still are found
    In peace and solace to abound.

    The young who serve Him here below
    The wrath to come shall never know;
    Of such in heaven are pearls that shine
    Unnumbered in the crown divine.

Written for children and youth by Rev. Thomas Jones, of Denbigh, born
1756; died 1820,--a Calvinistic Methodist preacher, author of a
biography of Thomas Charles of Bala, and various theological works.


"DYMA GARIAD FEL Y MOROEDD, TOSTURIASTHAN FEL Y LLI."

    Love unfathomed as the ocean
      Mercies boundless as the wave!
    Lo the King of Life, the guiltless,
      Dies my guilty soul to save;
    Who can choose but think upon it,
      Who can choose but praise and sing?
    Here is love, while heaven endureth,
      Nought can to oblivion bring.

This is called "The great Welsh love-song." It was written by Rev.
William Rees, D.D., eminent as a preacher, poet, politician and
essayist. One of the greatest names of nineteenth century Wales. He died
in 1883.

The tune, "Cwynfan Prydian," sung to this hymn is one of the old Welsh
minors that would sound almost weird to our ears, but Welsh voices can
sing with strange sweetness the Saviour's passion on which Christian
hearts of that nation love so well to dwell, and the shadow of it, with
His love shining through, creates the paradox of a joyful lament in many
of their chorals. We cannot imitate it.


"RHYFEDDODAU DYDD YR ADGYFODIDD."

    Unnumbered are the marvels
     The Last Great Day shall see,
    With earth's poor storm-tossed children
     From tribulation free,
    All in their shining raiment
     Transfigured, bright and brave,
    Like to their Lord ascending
     In triumph from the grave.

The author of this Easter hymn is unknown.

The _most_ popular Welsh hymns would be named variously by different
witnesses according to the breadth and length of their observation. Two
of them, as a Wrexham music publisher testifies, are certainly the
following; "Heaven and Home," and "Lo, a Saviour for the Fallen." The
first of these was sung in the late revival with "stormy rapture."


"O FRYNAU CAERSALEM CEIR GIVELED."

    The heights of fair Salem ascended,
      Each wilderness path we shall see;
    Now thoughts of each difficult journey
      A sweet meditation shall be.
    On death, on the grave and its terrors
      And storms we shall gaze from above
    And freed from all cares we shall revel (?)
      In transports of heavenly love.

According to the mood of the meeting this was pitched in three sharps to
Evelyn Evans' tune of "Eirinwg" or with equal Welsh enthusiasm in the C
minor of old "Darby."

The author of the hymn was the Rev. David Charles, of Carmarthen, born
1762; died 1834. He was a heavenly-minded man who loved to dwell on the
divine and eternal wonders of redemption. A volume of his sermons was
spoken of as "Apples of gold in pictures of silver," and the beautiful
piety of all his writings made them strings of pearls. He understood
English as well as Welsh, and enjoyed the hymns not only of William and
Thomas Williams but of Watts, Wesley, Cowper, and Newton.[43]

[Footnote 43: The following verses were written by him in English:
    Spirit of grace and love divine,
    Help me to sing that Christ is mine;
    And while the theme my tongue employs
    Fill Thou my soul with living joys.

    Jesus is mine--surpassing thought!
    Well may I set the world at nought;
    Jesus is mine, O can it be
    That Jesus lived and died for me?]


"DYMA GEIDWAD I R COLLEDIG."

    Lo! a Saviour for the fallen,
      Healer of the sick and sore,
    One whose love the vilest sinners
      Seeks to pardon and restore.
    Praise Him, praise Him
      Who has loved us evermore!

The little now known of the Rev. Morgan Rhys, author of this hymn, is
that he was a schoolmaster and preacher, and that he was a contemporary
and friend of William Williams. Several of his hymns remain in use of
which the oftenest sung is one cited above, and "_O agor fy llygaid i
weled_:"

    I open my eyes to this vision,
      The deeps of Thy purpose and word;
    The law of Thy lips is to thousands
      Of gold and of silver preferred;
    When earth is consumed, and its treasure,
      God's words will unchanging remain,
    And to know the God-man is my Saviour
      Is life everlasting to gain.

"Lo! a Saviour for the Fallen" finds an appropriate voice in W.M.
Robert's tune of "Nesta," and also, like many others of the same
measure, in the much-used minors "Llanietyn," "Catharine," and "Bryn
Calfaria."


"O SANCTEIDDIA F'ENAID ARGLWYDD."

    Sanctify, O Lord, my spirit,
      Every power and passion sway,
    Bid Thy holy law within me
      Dwell, my wearied soul to stay;
        Let me never
      Rove beyond Thy narrow way.

This one more hymn of William Williams is from his "Song of a Cleansed
Heart" and is amply provided with tunes, popular ones like "Tyddyn
Llwyn," "Y Delyn Aur," or "Capel-Y-Ddol" lending their deep minors to
its lines with a thrilling effect realized, perhaps, only in the land of
Taliessin and the Druids.

The singular history and inspiring cause of one old Welsh hymn which
after various mutilations and vicissitudes survives as the key-note of a
valued song of trust, seems to illustrate the Providence that will never
let a good thing be lost. It is related of the Rev. David Williams, of
Llandilo, an obscure but not entirely forgotten preacher, that he had a
termagant wife, and one stormy night, when her bickerings became
intolerable, he went out in the rain and standing by the river composed
in his mind these lines of tender faith:

    In the waves and mighty waters
      No one will support my head
    But my Saviour, my Beloved,
      Who was stricken in my stead.
    In the cold and mortal river
      He would hold my head above;
    I shall through the waves go singing
      For one look of Him I love.

Apparently the sentiment and substantially the expression of this humble
hymn became the burden of more than one Christian lay. Altered and
blended with a modern gospel hymn, it was sung at the crowded meetings
of 1904 to Robert Lowry's air of "Jesus Only," and often rendered very
impressively as a solo by a sweet female voice.

    In the deep and mighty waters
      There is none to hold my head
    But my loving Bridegroom, Jesus,
      Who upon the cross hath bled.

    If I've Jesus, Jesus only
      Then my sky will have a gem
    He's the Sun of brightest splendor,
      He's the Star of Bethlehem.

    He's the Friend in Death's dark river,
      He will lift me o'er the waves,
    I will sing in the deep waters
      If I only see His face.
    If I've Jesus, Jesus only, etc.

A few of the revival tunes have living authors and are of recent date;
and the minor harmony of "Ebenezer" (marked "Ton Y Botel"), which was
copied in this country by the New York _Examiner_, with its hymn, is
apparently a contemporary piece. It was first sung at Bethany Chapel,
Cardiff, Jan, 8, 1905, the hymn bearing the name of Rev. W.E. Winks.

    Send Thy Spirit, I beseech Thee,
      Gracious Lord, send while I pray;
    Send the Comforter to teach me,
      Guide me, help me in Thy way.
    Sinful, wretched, I have wandered
      Far from Thee in darkest night,
    Precious time and talents squandered,
      Lead, O lead me into light.

    Thou hast heard me; light is breaking--
      Light I never saw before.
    Now, my soul with joy awaking,
      Gropes in fearful gloom no more:
    O the bliss! my soul, declare it;
      Say what God hath done for thee;
    Tell it out, let others share it--
      Christ's salvation, full and free.

One cannot help noticing the fondness of the Welsh for the 7-6, 8-7, and
8-7-4 metres. These are favorites since they lend themselves so
naturally to the rhythms of their national music--though their newest
hymnals by no means exclude exotic lyrics and melodies. Even "O mother
dear, Jerusalem," one of the echoes of Bernard of Cluny's great hymn, is
cherished in their tongue (_O, Frynian Caerselem_) among the favorites
of song. Old "Truro" by Dr. Burney appears among their tunes, Mason's
"Ernan," "Lowell" and "Shawmut," I.B. Woodbury's "Nearer Home" (to Phebe
Cary's hymn), and even George Hews' gently-flowing "Holley." Most of
these tunes retain their own hymns, but in Welsh translation. To find
our Daniel Read's old "Windham" there is no surprise. The minor mode--a
song-instinct of the Welsh, if not of the whole Celtic family of
nations, is their rural inheritance. It is in the wind of their
mountains and the semitones of their streams; and their nature can make
it a gladness as the Anglo-Saxon cannot. So far from being a gloomy
people, their capacity for joy in spiritual life is phenomenal. In
psalmody their emotions mount on wings, and they find ecstacy in solemn
sounds.

"A temporary excitement" is the verdict of skepticism on the Reformation
wave that for a twelvemonth swept over Wales with its ringing symphonies
of hymn and tune. But such excitements are the May-blossom seasons of
God's eternal husbandry. They pass because human vigor cannot last at
flood-tide, but in spiritual economy they will always have their place,
"If the blossoms had not come and gone there would be no fruit."




CHAPTER XII.

FIELD HYMNS.


Hymns of the hortatory and persuasive tone are sufficiently numerous to
make an "embarrassment of riches" in a compiler's hands. Not a few songs
of invitation and awakening are either quoted or mentioned in the
chapter on "Old Revival Hymns," and many appear among those in the last
chapter, (on the _Hymns of Wales_;) but the _working_ songs of Christian
hymnology deserve a special space _as_ such.


"COME HITHER ALL YE WEARY SOULS,"

Sung to "Federal St.," is one of the older soul-winning calls from the
great hymn-treasury of Dr. Watts; and another note of the same sacred
bard,--

    Life is the time to serve the Lord,

--is always coupled with the venerable tune of "Wells."[44] Aged
Christians are still remembered who were wont to repeat or sing with
quavering voices the second stanza,--

    The living know that they must die,
      But all the dead forgotten lie;
    Their memory and their sense are gone,
      Alike unknowing and unknown.

And likewise from the fourth stanza,--

    There are no acts of pardon passed
      In the cold grave to which we haste.

[Footnote 44: One of Israel Holroyd's tunes. He was born in England,
about 1690, and was both a composer and publisher of psalmody. His chief
collection is dated 1746.]


"AND WILL THE JUDGE DESCEND?"

Is one of Doddridge's monitory hymns, once sung to J.C. Woodman's tune
of "State St." with the voice of both the Old and New Testaments in the
last verse:

    Ye sinners, seek His grace
      Whose wrath ye cannot bear;
    Fly to the shelter of His Cross,
      And find Salvation there.

Jonathan Call Woodman was born in Newburyport, Mass., July 12, 1813,
and was a teacher, composer, and compiler. Was organist of St. George's
Chapel, in Flushing, L.I., and in 1858 published _The Musical Casket_.
Died January, 1894. He wrote "State St." for William B. Bradbury, in
August, 1844.


"HASTEN SINNER, TO BE WISE"

Is one of the few unforgotten hymns of Thomas Scott, every second line
repeating the solemn caution,--

    Stay not for tomorrow's sun,

--and every line enforcing its exhortation with a new word, "To be
wise," "to implore," "to return," and "to be blest" were natural
cumulatives that summoned and wooed the sinner careless and astray. It
is a finished piece of work, but it owes its longevity less to its
structural form than to its spirit. For generations it has been sung to
"Pleyel's Hymn."

The Rev. Thomas Scott (not Rev. Thomas Scott the Commentator) was born
in Norwich, Eng., in 1705, and died at Hupton, in Norfolk, 1776. He was
a Dissenting minister, pastor for twenty-one years--until disabled by
feeble health--at Lowestoft in Suffolk. He was the author of--

    Angels roll the rock away.


"MUST JESUS BEAR THE CROSS ALONE?"

This emotional and appealing hymn still holds its own in the hearts of
millions, though probably two hundred years old. It was written by a
clergyman of the Church of England, the Rev. Thomas Shepherd, Vicar of
Tilbrook, born in 1665. Joining the Nonconformists in 1694, he settled
first in Castle Hill, Nottingham, and afterward in Bocking, Essex, where
he remained until his death, January, 1739. He published a selection of
his sermons, and _Penitential Cries_, a book of sacred lyrics, some of
which still appear in collections.

The startling question in the above line is answered with emphasis in
the third of the stanza,--

   _No_! There's a cross for every one,
      And there's a cross for _me_,

--and this is followed by the song of resolve and triumph,--

    The consecrated cross I'll bear,
      Till death shall set me free.
    And then go home my crown to wear,
      For there's a crown for me.

       *       *       *       *       *

    O precious cross! O glorious crown!
      O Resurrection Day!
    Ye angels from the stars flash down
      And bear my soul away!

The hymn is a personal New Testament. No one who analyzes it and feels
its Christian vitality will wonder why it has lived so long.


_THE TUNE._

For half a century George N. Allen, composer of "Maitland," the music
inseparable from the hymn, was credited with the authorship of the words
also, but his vocal aid to the heart-stirring poem earned him sufficient
praise. The tune did not meet the hymn till the latter was so old that
the real author was mostly forgotten, for Allen wrote the music in 1849;
but if the fine stanzas needed any renewing it was his tune that made
them new. Since it was published nobody has wanted another.

George Nelson Allen was born in Mansfield, Mass., Sept. 7, 1812, and
lived at Oberlin, O. It was there that he composed "Maitland," and
compiled the _Social and Sabbath Hymn-book_--besides songs for the
_Western Bell_, published by Oliver Ditson and Co. He died in
Cincinnati, Dec. 9, 1877.


"AWAKE MY SOUL, STRETCH EVERY NERVE!"

This most popular of Dr. Doddridge's hymns is also the richest one of
all in lyrical and spiritual life. It is a stadium song that sounds the
starting-note for every young Christian at the outset of his career, and
the slogan for every faint Christian on the way.

    A _heavenly_ race demands thy zeal,
      And an immortal crown.

Like the "Coronation" hymn, it transports the devout singer till he
feels only the momentum of the words and forgets whether it is common or
hallelujah metre that carries him along.

    A cloud of witnesses around
      Hold thee in full survey;
    Forget the steps already trod,
      And onward urge thy way!

   'Tis God's all-animating voice
      That calls thee from on high,
   'Tis His own hand presents the prize
      To thine aspiring eye.

In all persuasive hymnology there is no more kindling lyric that this.
As a field-hymn it is indispensable.


_THE TUNE._

Whenever and by whomsoever the brave processional known as "Christmas"
was picked from among the great Handel's Songs and mated with
Doddridge's lines, the act gave both hymn and tune new reason to endure,
and all posterity rejoices in the blend. Old "Christmas" was originally
one of the melodies in the great Composer's Opera of "Ciroe" (Cyrus)
1738. It was written to Latin words (_Non vi piacque_) and afterwards
adapted to an English versification of Job 29:15, "I was eyes to the
blind."

Handel himself became blind at the age of sixty eight (1753).


"THERE IS A GREEN HILL FAR AWAY."

Written in 1848 by Miss Cecil Frances Humphreys, an Irish lady, daughter
of Major John Humphreys of Dublin. She was born in that city in 1823.
Her best known name is Mrs. Cecil Frances Alexander, her husband being
the Rt. Rev. William Alexander, Bishop of Derry. Among her works are
_Hymns for Little Children_, _Narrative Hymns_, _Hymns Descriptive and
Devotional_, and _Moral Songs_. Died 1895.

"There is a _green_ hill" is poetic license, but the hymn is sweet and
sympathetic, and almost childlike in its simplicity.

    There is a green hill far away
      Without the city wall,
    Where our dear Lord was crucified
      Who died to save us all.

    We may not know, we cannot tell
      What pains He had to bear;
    But we believe it was for us
      He hung and suffered there.

[Illustration: George Frederick Handel]


_THE TUNES._

There is no room here to describe them all. Airs and chorals by Berthold
Tours, Pinsuti, John Henry Cornell, Richard Storrs Willis, George C.
Stebbins and Hubert P. Main have been adapted to the words--one or two
evidently composed for them. It is a hymn that attracts
tune-makers--literally so commonplace and yet so quiet and tender, with
such a theme and such natural melody of line--but most of the scores
indicated are choir music rather than congregational. Mr. Stebbins'
composition comes nearest to being the favorite, if one judges by the
extent and frequency of its use. It can be either partly or wholly
choral; and the third stanza makes the refrain--

    O dearly, dearly has He loved
      And we must love Him too,
    And trust in His redeeming blood,
      And try His works to do.


"REJOICE AND BE GLAD!"

This musical shout of joy, written by Dr. Horatius Bonar, scarcely needs
a new song helper, as did Bishop Heber's famous hymn--not because it is
better than Heber's but because It was wedded at once to a tune worthy
of it.

    Rejoice and be glad! for our King is on high;
    He pleadeth for us on His throne in the sky.
    Rejoice and be glad! for He cometh again;
    He cometh in glory, the Lamb that was slain
                                 Hallelujah! Amen.

The hymn was composed in 1874.


_THE TUNE._

The author of the "English Melody" (as ascribed in _Gospel Hymns_) is
said to have been John Jenkins Husband, born in Plymouth, Eng., about
1760. He was clerk at Surrey Chapel and composed several anthems. Came
to the United States In 1809. Settled in Philadelphia, where he taught
music and was clerk of St. Paul's P.E. Church. Died there in 1825.

His tune, exactly suited to the hymn, is a true Christian paean. It has
few equals as a rouser to a sluggish prayer-meeting--whether sung to
Bonar's words or those of Rev. William Paton Mackay (1866)--

    We praise Thee, O God, for the Son of Thy love,

--with the refrain of similar spirit in both hymns--

    Hallelujah! Thine the glory, Hallelujah! Amen,
    Hallelujah! Thine the glory; revive us again;

--or,--

    Sound His praises! tell the story of Him who was slain!
    Sound His praises! tell with gladness, "He liveth again."

Husband's tune is supposed to have been written very early in the last
century. Another tune composed by him near the same date to the words--

   "We are on our journey home
    To the New Jerusalem,"

--is equally musical and animating, and with a vocal range that brings
out the full strength of choir and congregation.


"COME, SINNER, COME."

A singular case of the same tune originating in the brain of both author
and composer is presented in the history of this hymn of Rev. William
Ellsworth Witter, D.D., born in La Grange, N.Y., Dec. 9, 1854. He wrote
the hymn in the autumn of 1878, while teaching a district school near
his home. The first line--

    While Jesus whispers to you,

--came to him during a brief turn of outdoor work by the roadside and
presently grew to twenty-four lines. Soon after, Prof. Horatio Palmer,
knowing Witter to be a verse writer, invited him to contribute a hymn to
a book he had in preparation, and this hymn was sent. Dr. Palmer set it
to music, it soon entered into several collections, and Mr. Sankey sang
it in England at the Moody meetings.

Dr. Witter gives this curious testimony,

"While I cannot sing myself, though very fond of music, the hymn sang
itself to me by the roadside _in almost the exact tune given to it by
Professor Palmer_." Which proves that Professor Palmer had the feeling
of the hymn--and that the maker of a true hymn has at least a
sub-consciousness of its right tune, though he may be neither a musician
nor a poet.

    While Jesus whispers to you,
      Come, sinner, come!
    While we are praying for you,
      Come, sinner, come!
    Now is the time to own Him,
      Come, sinner, come!
    Now is the time to know Him,
      Come, sinner, come!


"ONE MORE DAY'S WORK FOR JESUS."

The writer of this hymn was Miss Anna Warner, one of the well-known
"Wetherell Sisters," joint authors of _The Wide World_, _Queechy_, and a
numerous succession of healthful romances very popular in the middle and
later years of the last century. Her own pen name is "Amy Lothrop,"
under which she has published many religious poems, hymns and other
varieties of literary work. She was born in 1820, at Martlaer, West
Point, N.Y., where she still resides.

    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.

  REFRAIN:--
    One more day's work for Jesus, (_ter_)
    One less of life for me.

The hymn has five stanzas all expressing the gentle fervor of an active
piety loving service:


_THE TUNE_

was composed by the Rev. Robert Lowry, and first published in _Bright
Jewels_.


THE GOSPEL HYMNS.

These popular religious songs have been criticised as "degenerate
psalmody" but those who so style them do not seem to consider the need
that made them.

The great majority of mankind can only be reached by missionary methods,
and in these art and culture do not play a conspicuous part. The
multitude could be supplied with technical preaching and technical music
for their religious wants, but they would not rise to the bait, whereas
nothing so soon kindles their better emotions or so surely appeals to
their better nature as even the humblest sympathetic hymn sung to a
simple and stirring tune. If the music is unclassical and the hymn crude
there is no critical audience to be offended.

The artless, almost colloquial, words "of a happily rhymed camp-meeting
lyric and the wood-notes wild" of a new melody meet a situation. Moral
and spiritual lapse makes it necessary at times for religion to put on
again her primitive raiment, and be "a voice crying in the wilderness."

Between the slums and the boulevards live the masses that shape the
generations, and make the state. They are wage-earners who never hear
the great composers nor have time to form fine musical and literary
tastes. The spiritual influences that really reach them are of a very
direct and simple kind; and for the good of the church--and the
nation--it is important that at least this elementary education in the
school of Christ should be supplied them.

It is the popular hymn tunes that speed a reformation. So say history
and experience. Once in two hundred years a great revival movement may
produce a Charles Wesley, but the humbler singers carry the divine fire
that quickens religious life in the years between.

All this is not saying that the gospel hymns, as a whole, are or ever
professed to be suitable for the stated service of the sanctuary. Their
very style and movement show exactly what they were made for--to win the
hearing of the multitude, and put the music of God's praise and Jesus'
love into the mouths and hearts of thousands who had been strangers to
both. They are the modern lay songs that go with the modern lay sermons.
They give voice to the spirit and sentiment of the conference, prayer
and inquiry meetings, the Epworth League and Christian Endeavor
meetings, the temperance and other reform meetings, and of the
mass-meetings in the cities or the seaside camps.

During their evangelistic mission in England and Scotland in 1873,
Dwight L. Moody and Ira D. Sankey used the hymnbook of Philip Phillips,
a compilation entitled _Hallowed Songs_, some of them his own. To these
Mr. Sankey added others of his own composing from time to time which
were so enthusiastically received that he published them in a pamphlet.
This, with the simultaneous publication in America of the revival
melodies of Philip P. Bliss, was the beginning of that series of popular
hymn-and-tune books, which finally numbered six volumes. Sankey's
_Sacred Songs and Solos_ combined with Bliss's _Gospel Songs_ were the
foundation of the _Gospel Hymns_.

Subjectively their utterances are indicative of ardent piety and
unquestioning faith, and on the other hand their direct and intimate
appeal and dramatic address are calculated to affect a throng as if each
individual in it was the person meant by the words. The refrain or
chorus feature is notable in nearly all.

A selection of between thirty and forty of the most characteristic is
here given.


"HALLELUJAH! 'TIS DONE."

This is named from its chorus. The song is one of the spontaneous
thanksgivings in revival meetings that break out at the announcement of
a new conversion.

   'Tis the promise of God full salvation to give
    Unto him who on Jesus His Son will believe,
        Hallelujah! 'tis done; I believe on the Son;
      I am saved by the blood of the crucified One.

    Though the pathway be lonely and dangerous too,
    Surely Jesus is able to carry me through--
        Hallelujah! etc.

The words and music are both by P.P. Bliss.


THE NINETY AND NINE.

The hymn was written by Mrs. Elizabeth Cecilia Clephane at Melrose,
Scotland, early in 1868. She was born in Edinburgh, June 10, 1830, and
died of consumption, Feb. 19, 1869. The little poem was seen by Mr.
Sankey in the _Christian Age_, and thinking it might be useful, he cut
it out. At an impressive moment in one of the great meetings in
Edinburgh, Mr. Moody said to him in a quiet aside, "Sing something."
Precisely what was wanted for the hour and theme, and for the thought in
the general mind, was in Mr. Sankey's vest pocket. But how could it be
sung without a tune? With a silent prayer for help, the musician took
out the slip containing Mrs. Clephane's poem, laid it on the little
reed-organ and began playing, and singing. He had to read the
unfamiliar words and at the same time make up the music. The tune
came--and grew as he went along till he finished the first verse. He
remembered it well enough to repeat it with the second, and after that
it was easy to finish the hymn. A new melody was born--in the presence
of more than a thousand pairs of eyes and ears. It was a feat of
invention, of memory, of concentration--and such was the elocution of
the trained soloist that not a word was lost. He had a tearful audience
at the close to reward him; but we can easily credit his testimony,

"It was the most intense moment of my life."

In a touching interview afterwards, a sister of Mrs. Clephane told Mr.
Sankey the authoress had not lived to see her hymn in print and to know
of its blessed mission.

The first six lines give the situation of the lost sheep in the parable
of that name--

    There were ninety and nine that safely lay
      In the shelter of the fold;
    But one was out on the hills away,
      Far off from the gates of gold.
    Away on the mountains wild and bare,
    Away from the tender Shepherd's care.

And, after describing the Shepherd's arduous search, the joy at his
return is sketched and spiritualized in the concluding stanza--

    But all through the mountains, thunder-riven,
      And up from the rocky steeps
    There arose a cry to the gate of heaven,
     "Rejoice! I have found my sheep."
    And the angels echoed around the Throne,
   "Rejoice! for the Lord brings back His own."


"HOLD THE FORT!"

This is named also from its chorus. The historic foundation of the hymn
was the flag-signal waved to Gen. G.M. Corse by Gen. Sherman's order
from Kenesaw Mountain to Altoona during the "March through Georgia," in
October, 1863. The flag is still in the possession of A.D. Frankenberry,
one of the Federal Signal-Corps whose message to the besieged General
said, "Hold the fort! We are coming!" A visit to the scene of the
incident inspired P.P. Bliss to write both the words and the music.

    Ho! my comrades, see the signal
      Waving in the sky!
    Reinforcements now appearing,
      Victory is nigh.
   "Hold the fort, for I am coming!"
      Jesus signals still;
    Wave the answer back to heaven,
     "By Thy grace we will!"

The popularity of the song (it has been translated into several
languages), made it the author's chief memento in many localities. On
his monument in Rome, Pennsylvania, is inscribed "P.P. Bliss--author of
'Hold the Fort.'"


"RESCUE THE PERISHING."

Few hymns, ancient or modern, have been more useful, or more variously
used, than this little sermon in song from Luke 14:23, by the blind
poet, Fanny J. Crosby, (Mrs. Van Alstyne). It is sung not only in the
church prayer-meetings with its spiritual meaning and application, but
in Salvation Army camps and marches, in mission-school devotions, in
social settlement services, in King's Daughters and Sons of Temperance
Meetings, and in the rallies of every reform organization that seeks the
lost and fallen.

    Rescue the perishing, care for the dying,
      Snatch them in pity from sin and the grave;
    Weep o'er the erring ones, lift up the fallen,
      Tell them of Jesus, the Mighty to Save.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Down in the human heart crushed by the Tempter,
      Feelings lie buried that grace can restore.
    Touched by a loving heart, wakened by kindness,
      Chords that were broken will vibrate once more.

The tune is by W.H. Doane, Mus.D., composed in 1870.


"WHAT A FRIEND WE HAVE IN JESUS."

The author was a pious gentleman of Dublin, Ireland, who came to Canada
when he was twenty-five. His name was Joseph Scriven, born in Dublin,
1820, and graduated at Trinity College. The accidental death by drowning
of his intended bride on the eve of their wedding day, led him to
consecrate his life and fortune to the service of Christ. He died in
Canada, Oct. 10, 1886, (Sankey's _Story of the Gospel Hymns_, pp.
245-6.)


_THE TUNE._

The music was composed by Charles Crozat Converse, LL.D., musician,
lawyer, and writer. He was born in Warren, Mass., 1832; a descendant of
Edward Converse, the friend of Gov. Winthrop and founder of Woburn,
Mass. He pursued musical and other studies in Leipsic and Berlin. His
compositions are numerous including concert overtures, symphonies and
many sacred and secular pieces. Residence at Highwood, Bergen Co., N.J.

The hymn is one of the most helpful of the Gospel Collections, and the
words and music have strengthened many a weak and failing soul to "try
again."

    Have we trials and temptations?
      Is there trouble anywhere?
    We should never be discouraged:
      Take it to the Lord in prayer.


"I HEAR THE SAVIOUR SAY."

This is classed with the _Gospel Hymns_, but it was a much-used and
much-loved revival hymn--especially in the Methodist churches--several
years before Mr. Moody's great evangelical movement. It was written by
Mrs. Elvina M. Hall (since Mrs. Myers) who was born in Alexandria, Va.,
in 1818. She composed it in the spring of 1865, while sitting in the
choir of the M.E. Church, Baltimore, and the first draft was pencilled
on a fly-leaf of a singing book, _The New Lute of Zion_.

    I hear the Saviour say,
      Thy strength indeed is small;
    Child of weakness, watch and pray,
      Find in me thine all in all.

The music of the chorus helped to fix its words in the common mind, and
some idea of the Atonement acceptable, apparently, to both Arminians and
Calvinists; for Sunday-school children in the families of both, hummed
the tune or sang the refrain when alone--

      Jesus paid it all,
      All to Him I owe,
    Sin had left a crimson stain;
      He washed it white as snow.


_THE TUNE._

John Thomas Grape, who wrote the music, was born in Baltimore, Md., May
6, 1833. His modest estimate of his work appears in his remark that he
"dabbled" in music for his own amusement. Few composers have amused
themselves with better results.


"TELL ME THE OLD, OLD STORY."

Miss Kate Hankey, born about 1846, the daughter of an English banker,
is the author of this very devout and tender Christian poem, written
apparently in the eighteen-sixties. At least it is said that her little
volume, _Heart to Heart_, was published in 1865 or 1866, and this volume
contains "Tell me the Old, Old Story," and its answer.

We have been told that Miss Hankey was recovering from a serious
illness, and employed her days of convalescence in composing this song
of devotion, beginning it in January and finishing it in the following
November.

The poem is very long--a thesaurus of evangelical thoughts, attitudes,
and moods of faith--and also a magazine of hymns. Four quatrains of it,
or two eight-line stanzas, are the usual length of a hymnal selection,
and editors can pick and choose anywhere among its expressive verses.

    Tell me the old, old story
      Of unseen things above,
    Of Jesus and His glory,
      Of Jesus and His love.

    Tell me the story simply
      As to a little child,
    For I am weak and weary,
      And helpless and defiled.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Tell me the story simply
      That I may take it in--
    That wonderful Redemption,
      God's remedy for sin.


_THE TUNE._

Dr. W.H. Doane was present at the International Conference of the
Y.M.C.A. at Montreal in 1867, and heard the poem read--with tears and in
a broken voice--by the veteran Major-General Russell. It impressed him
so much that he borrowed and copied it, and subsequently set it to music
during a vacation in the White Mountains.

The poem of fifty stanzas was entitled "The Story Wanted;" the sequel or
answer to it, by Miss Hankey, was named "The Story Told." This second
hymn, of the same metre but different accent, was supplied with a tune
by William Gustavus Fischer.

    I love to tell the story
      Of unseen things above,
    Of Jesus and His glory,
      Of Jesus and His love.

       *       *       *       *       *

    I love to tell the story
      Because I know its true;
    It satisfies my longings
      As nothing else can do.

  CHORUS.
    I love to tell the story;
    'Twill be my theme in glory;
    To tell the old, old story
      Of Jesus and his love.

William Gustavus Fischer was born in Baltimore, Md., Oct. 14, 1835. He
was a piano-dealer in the firm (formerly) of Gould and Fischer. His
melody to the above hymn was written in 1869, and was harmonized the
next year by Hubert P. Main.


THE PRODIGAL CHILD.

This is not only an impressive hymn as sung in sympathetic music, but a
touching poem.

    Come home! come home!
      You are weary at heart,
    For the way has been dark
      And so lonely and wild--
        O prodigal child,
        Come home!

    Come home! Come home!
      For we watch and we wait,
    And we stand at the gate
      While the shadows are piled;
        O prodigal child,
        Come home!

The author is Mrs. Ellen M.H. Gates, known to the English speaking world
by her famous poem, "Your Mission."


_THE TUNE_

To "The Prodigal Child" was composed by Dr. Doane in 1869 and no hymn
ever had a fitter singing ally. All a mother's yearning is in the
refrain and cadence.

    Come home! Oh, come home!


"LET THE LOWER LIGHTS BE BURNING!"

An illustration, recited in Mr. Moody's graphic fashion in one of his
discourses, suggested this hymn to P.P. Bliss.

"A stormy night on Lake Erie, and the sky pitch dark."

'Pilot, are you sure this is Cleveland? There's only one light.'

'Quite sure, Cap'n.'

'Where are the lower lights?'

'Gone out, sir.'

'Can you run in?'

'_We've got to_, Cap'n--or die.'

"The brave old pilot did his best, but, alas, he missed the channel. The
boat was wrecked, with a loss of many lives. The lower lights had gone
out.

"Brethren, the Master will take care of the great Lighthouse. It is our
work to keep the lower lights burning!"

    Brightly beams our Father's mercy
      From His lighthouse evermore;
    But to us He gives the keeping
      Of the lights along the shore.

  CHORUS.
    Let the lower lights be burning!
      Send a gleam across the wave;
    Some poor fainting, struggling seaman
      You may rescue, you may save.

Both words and music--composed in 1871--are by Mr. Bliss. There are
wakening chords in the tune--and especially the chorus--when the
counterpoint is well vocalized; and the effect is more pronounced the
greater the symphony of voices. Congregations find a zest in every note.
"Hold the Fort" can be sung in the street. "Let the Lower Lights be
Burning" is at home between echoing walls.

The use of the song in "Bethel" meetings classes it with sailors' hymns.


"SWEET HOUR OF PRAYER."

Included with the _Gospel Hymns_, but of older date. Rev. William W.
Walford, a blind English minister, was the author, and it was probably
written about the year 1842. It was recited to Rev. Thomas Salmon,
Congregational pastor at Coleshill, Eng., who took it down and brought
it to New York, where it was published in the New York _Observer_.

Little is known of Mr. Walford save that in his blindness, besides
preaching occasionally, he employed his mechanical skill in making small
useful articles of bone and ivory.

The tune was composed by W.B. Bradbury in 1859, and first appeared with
the hymn in _Cottage Melodies_.

    Sweet hour of prayer, sweet hour of prayer
    That calls me from a world of care,
    And bids me at my Father's throne
    Make all my wants and wishes known.
    In seasons of distress and grief
    My soul has often found relief,
    And oft escaped the tempter's snare
    By thy return, sweet hour of prayer.


"O BLISS OF THE PURIFIED! BLISS OF THE FREE!"

Rev. Francis Bottome, D.D., born in Belper, Derbyshire, Eng., May 26,
1823, removed to the United States in 1850, and entered the Methodist
ministry. A man of sterling character and exemplary piety. He received
the degree of Doctor of Divinity at Dickinson College, Carlisle, Pa. Was
assistant compiler of several singing books, and wrote original hymns.
The above, entitled "O sing of His mighty love" was composed by him in
1869. The last stanza reads,--

    O Jesus the Crucified! Thee will I sing,
    My blessed Redeemer, my God and my King!
    My soul, filled with rapture shall shout o'er the grave
    And triumph in death in the Mighty to save.

  CHORUS.
      O sing of His mighty love     (_ter_)
        Mighty to save!

Dr. Bottome returned to England, and died at Tavistock June 29, 1894.


_THE TUNE._

Bradbury's "Songs of the Beautiful" (in _Fresh Laurels_). The hymn was
set to this chorus in 1871.


"WHAT SHALL THE HARVEST BE?"

Very popular in England. Mr. Sankey in his _Story of the Gospel Hymns_
relates at length the experience of Rev. W.O. Lattimore, pastor of a
large church in Evanston, Ill., who was saved to Christian manhood and
usefulness by this hymn. It has suffered some alterations, but its
original composition was Mrs. Emily Oakey's work. The Parables of the
Sower and of the Tares may have been in her mind when she wrote the
lines in 1850, but more probably it was the text in Gal. 6:7--

    Sowing the seed by the daylight fair,
    Sowing the seed by the noonday glare,
    Sowing the seed by the fading light,
    Sowing the seed in the solemn night.
      O, what shall the harvest be?

Lattimore, the man whose history was so strangely linked with this hymn,
entered the army in 1861, a youth of eighteen with no vices, but when
promoted to first lieutenant he learned to drink in the officers' mess.
The habit so contracted grew upon him till when the war was over, though
he married and tried to lead a sober life, he fell a victim to his
appetite, and became a physical wreck. One day in the winter of 1876 he
found himself in a half-drunken condition, in the gallery of Moody's
Tabernacle, Chicago. Discovering presently that he had made a mistake,
he rose to go out, but Mr. Sankey's voice chained him. He sat down and
heard the whole of the thrilling hymn from beginning to end. Then he
stumbled out with the words ringing in his ears.

    Sowing the seed of a lingering pain,
    Sowing the seed of a maddened brain,
    Sowing the seed of a tarnished name,
    Sowing the seed of Eternal shame.
        O, what shall the harvest be?

In the saloon, where he went to drown the awakenings of remorse, those
words stood in blazing letters on every bottle and glass. The voice of
God in that terrible song of conviction forced him back to the
Tabernacle, with his drink untasted. He went into the inquiry meeting
where he found friends, and was led to Christ. His wife and child, from
whom he had long been exiled, were sent for and work was found for him
to do. A natural eloquence made him an attractive and efficient helper
in the meetings, and he was finally persuaded to study for the ministry.
His faithful pastorate of twenty years in Evanston ended with his death
in 1899.

Mrs. Emily Sullivan Oakey was an author and linguist by profession, and
though in her life of nearly fifty-four years she "never enjoyed a day
of good health," she earned a grateful memory. Born in Albany, N.Y.,
Oct. 8, 1829, she was educated at the Albany Female Academy, and fitted
herself for the position of teacher of languages and English literature
in the same school, which she honored by her service while she lived.
Her contributions to the daily press and to magazine literature were
numerous, but she is best known by her remarkable hymn. Her death
occurred on the 11th of May, 1883.


_THE TUNE_,

By P.P. Bliss, is one of that composer's tonal successes. The march of
the verses with their recurrent words is so automatic that it would
inevitably suggest to him the solo and its organ-chords; and the chorus
with its sustained soprano note dominating the running concert adds the
last emphasis to the solemn repetition. The song with its warning cry
owes no little of its power to this choral appendix--

    Gathered in time or eternity,
    Sure, ah sure will the harvest be.


"O THINK OF THE HOME OVER THERE."

A hymn of Rev. D.W.C. Huntington, suggested by Ps. 55:6. It was a
favorite from the first.

Rev. DeWitt Clinton Huntington was born at Townshend, Vt., Apr. 27,
1830. He graduated at the Syracuse University, and received the degrees
of D.D. and LL.D. from Genesee College. Preacher, instructor and
author--Removed to Lincoln, Nebraska.

    O think of the home over there,
      By the side of the river of light,
    Where the saints all immortal and fair
      Are robed in their garments of white.
                    Over there, (_rep_)

    O think of the friends over there,
      Who before us the journey have trod,
    Of the songs that they breathe on the air,
      In their home in the palace of God.
                    Over there. (_rep_)


_THE TUNE._

The melody was composed by Tullius Clinton O'Kane, born in Delaware, O.,
March 10, 1830, a hymnist and musician. It is a flowing tune, with sweet
chords, and something of the fugue feature in the chorus as an
accessory. The voices of a multitude in full concord make a building
tremble with it.


"WHEN JESUS COMES."

    Down life's dark vale we wander
        Till Jesus comes;
    We watch and wait and wonder
        Till Jesus comes.

Both words and music are by Mr. Bliss. A relative of his family, J.S.
Ellsworth, says the song was written in Peoria, Illinois, in 1872, and
was suggested by a conversation on the second coming of Christ, a
subject very near his heart. The thought lingered in his mind, and as he
came down from his room, soon after, the verses and notes came to him
simultaneously on the stairs. Singing them over, he seized pencil and
paper, and in a few minutes fixed hymn and tune in the familiar harmony
so well known.

    No more heart-pangs nor sadness
      When Jesus comes;
    All peace and joy and gladness
      When Jesus comes.

The choral abounds in repetition, and is half refrain, but among all
Gospel Hymns remarkable for their tone-delivery this is unsurpassed in
the swing of its rhythm.

    All joy his loved ones bringing
      When Jesus comes.
    All praise thro' heaven ringing
      When Jesus comes.
    All beauty bright and vernal
      When Jesus comes.
    All glory grand, eternal
      When Jesus comes.


"TO THE WORK, TO THE WORK."

One of Fanny Crosby's most animating hymns--with Dr. W.H. Doane's full
part harmony to re-enforce its musical accent. Mr. Sankey says, "I sang
it for the first time in the home of Mr. and Mrs. J.B. Cornell at Long
Branch. The servants gathered from all parts of the house while I was
singing, and looked into the parlor where I was seated. When I was
through one of them said, 'That is the finest hymn I have heard for a
long time,' I felt that this was a test case, and if the hymn had such
power over those servants it would be useful in reaching other people as
well; so I published it in the _Gospel Hymns_ in 1875, where it became
one of the best work-songs for our meetings that we had." (_Story of
the Gospel Hymns_.)

The hymn, written in 1870, was first published in 1871 in "_Pure
Gold_"--a book that had a sale of one million two hundred thousand
copies.

    To the work! to the work! there is labor for all,
    For the Kingdom of darkness and error shall fall,
    And the name of Jehovah exalted shall be,
    In the loud-swelling chorus, "Salvation is free!"

  CHORUS.
    Toiling on, toiling on, toiling on, toiling on! (_rep_)
    Let us hope and trust, let us watch and pray,
    And labor till the Master comes.


"O WHERE ARE THE REAPERS?"

Matt. 13:30 is the text of this lyric from the pen of Eben E. Rexford.

    Go out in the by-ways, and search them all,
    The wheat may be there though the weeds are tall;
    Then search in the highway, and pass none by,
    But gather them all for the home on high.

  CHORUS.
    Where are the reapers? O who will come,
    And share in the glory of the harvest home?
    O who will help us to garner in
    The sheaves of good from the fields of sin?


_THE TUNE._

Hymn and tune are alike. The melody and harmony by Dr. George F. Root
have all the eager trip and tread of so many of the gospel hymns, and
of so much of his music, and the lines respond at every step. Any other
composer could not have escaped the compulsion of the final spondees,
and much less the author of "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp," and all the best
martial song-tunes of the great war. In this case neither words nor
notes can say to the other, "We have piped unto you and ye have not
danced," but a little caution will guard too enthusiastic singing
against falling into the drum-rhythm, and travestying a sacred piece.

Eben Eugene Rexford was born in Johnsburg, N.Y., July 16, 1841, and has
been a writer since he was fourteen years old. He is the author of
several popular songs, as "Silver Threads Among the Gold," "Only a Pansy
Blossom" etc., and many essays and treatises on flowers, of which he is
passionately fond.


"IT IS WELL WITH MY SOUL."

Horatio Gates Spafford, the writer of this hymn, was a lawyer, a native
of New York state, born Oct. 30, 1828. While connected with an
institution in Chicago, as professor of medical jurisprudence, he lost a
great part of his fortune by the great fire in that city. This disaster
was followed by the loss of his children on the steamer, Ville de Havre,
Nov. 22, 1873. He seems to have been a devout Christian, for he wrote
his hymn of submissive faith towards the end of the same year--

    When peace like a river attendeth my way,
    When sorrows like sea-billows roll--
    Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught me to say,
   "It is well, it is well with my soul."

A friend of Spafford who knew his history read this hymn while repining
under an inferior affliction of his own. "If he can feel like that after
suffering what he has suffered," he said, "I will cease my complaints."

It may not have been the weight of Mr. Spafford's sorrows wearing him
down, but one would infer some mental disturbance in the man seven or
eight years later. "In 1881" [writes Mr. Hubert P. Main] "he went to
Jerusalem under the hallucination that he was a second Messiah--and died
there on the seventh anniversary of his landing in Palestine, Sept. 5,
1888." The aberrations of an over-wrought mind are beckonings to God's
compassion. When reason wanders He takes the soul of His helpless child
into his own keeping--and "it is well."

The tune to Spafford's hymn is by P.P. Bliss; a gentle, gliding melody
that suits the mood of the words.


"WAITING AND WATCHING FOR ME."

Written by Mrs. Marianne Farningham Hearn, born in Kent, Eng., Dec. 17,
1834. The hymn was first published in the fall of 1864 in the _London
Church World_. Its unrhythmical first line--

    When mysterious whispers are floating about,

--was replaced by the one now familiar--

    When my final farewell to the world I have said,
      And gladly lain down to my rest,
    When softly the watchers shall say, "He is dead,"
      And fold my pale hands on my breast,
    And when with my glorified vision at last
      The walls of that City I see,
    Will any one there at the Beautiful Gate
      Be waiting and watching for me?

Mrs. Hearn--a member of the Baptist denomination--has long been the
editor of the (English) _Sunday School Times_, but her literary work has
been more largely in connection with the _Christian World_ newspaper of
which she has been a staff-member since its foundation.


_THE TUNE._

The long lines, not easily manageable for congregational singing, are
wisely set by Mr. Bliss to duet music. There is a weighty thought in the
hymn for every Christian, and experience has shown that a pair of good
singers can make it very affecting, but the only use of the repeat, by
way of a chorus, seems to be to give the miscellaneous voices a brief
chance to sing.


"HE WILL HIDE ME."

(Isa. 49:2.)

Miss Mary Elizabeth Servoss, the author of this trustful hymn, was born
in Schenectady, N.Y., Aug. 22, 1849. When a very young girl her
admiration of Fanny Crosby's writings, and the great and good service
they were doing in the world, inspired her with a longing to resemble
her. Though her burden was as real, it was not like the other's, and her
opportunities for religious meditation and literary work were fewer than
those of the elder lady, but the limited number of hymns she has written
have much of the spirit and beauty of their model.

Providence decreed for her a life of domestic care and patient waiting.
For eighteen years she was the constant attendant of a disabled
grandmother, and long afterwards love and duty made her the home nurse
during her mother's protracted illness and the last sickness of her
father, until both parents passed away.

From her present home in Edeson, Ill., some utterances of her chastened
spirit have found their way to the public, and been a gospel of
blessing. Besides "He Will Hide Me" other hymns of Miss Servoss are
"Portals of Light," "He Careth," "Patiently Enduring," and "Gates of
Praise," the last being the best known.

    When the storms of life are raging.
      Tempests wild on sea and land,
    I will seek a place of refuge
      In the shadow of God's hand.

  CHORUS.
    He will hide me, He will hide me,
    Where no harm can e'er betide me,
    He will hide me, safely hide me
      In the shadow of His hand.

       *       *       *       *       *

    So while here the cross I'm bearing,
      Meeting storms and billows wild,
    Jesus for my soul is caring,
      Naught can harm His Father's child.
        He will hide me, etc.


_THE TUNE._

An animating choral in nine-eight tempo, with a swinging movement and
fugue chorus, is rather florid for the hymn, but undeniably musical. Mr.
James McGranahan was the composer. He was born in Adamsville, Pa., July
4, 1840. His education was acquired mostly at the public schools, and
both in general knowledge and in musical accomplishments it may be said
of him that he is "self-made."

Music was born in him, and at the age of nineteen, with some valuable
help from men like Bassini, Webb, Root and Zerrahn, he had studied to so
good purpose that he taught music classes himself. This talent, joined
to the gift of a very sweet tenor voice, made him the natural successor
of the lamented Bliss, and, with Major D.W. Whittle, he entered on a
career of gospel work, making between 1881 and 1885 two successful tours
of England, Scotland and Ireland, and through the chief American
cities.

Among his publications are the _Male Chorus Book_, _Songs of the Gospel_
and the _Gospel Male Choir_.

Resides at Kinsman, O.


"REVIVE THY WORK, O LORD."

(Heb. 3:2.)

The supposed date of the hymn is 1860; the author, Albert Midlane. He
was born at Newport on the Isle of Wight, Jan. 23, 1825 a business man,
but, being a Sunday-school teacher, he was prompted to write verses for
children. The habit grew upon him till he became a frequent and
acceptable hymn-writer, both for juvenile and for general use. English
collections have at least three hundred credited to him.

    Revive Thy work, O Lord,
      Thy mighty arm make bare,
    Speak with the voice that wakes the dead,
      And make Thy people hear.


_THE TUNE._

Music and words together make a song-litany alive with all the old
psalm-tune unction and the new vigor; and both were upon Mr. McGranahan
when he wrote the choral. It is one of his successes.

    Revive thy work, O Lord,
      Exalt Thy precious name,
    And by the Holy Ghost our love
      For Thee and Thine inflame.

  REFRAIN.
    Revive Thy work, O Lord,
      And give refreshing showers;
    The glory shall be all Thine own,
      The blessing shall be ours.


"WHERE IS MY WANDERING BOY TO-NIGHT?"

This remarkable composition--words and music by Rev. Robert Lowry--has a
record among sacred songs like that of "The Prodigal Son" among
parables.

A widowed lady of culture, about forty years of age, who was an
accomplished vocalist, had ceased to sing, though her sweet voice was
still in its prime. The cause was her sorrow for her runaway boy. She
had not heard from him for five years. While spending a week with
friends in a city distant from home, her hidden talent was betrayed by
the friends to the pastor of their church, where a revival was in
progress, and persuasion that seemed to put a duty upon her finally
procured her consent to sing a solo.

The church was crowded. With a force and feeling that can easily be
guessed she sang "Where Is My Boy Tonight?" and finished the first
stanza. She began the second,--

    Once he was pure as morning dew,
      As he knelt at his mother's knee,
    No face was so bright, no heart more true,
      And none were so sweet as he;

--and as the congregation caught up the refrain,--

      O where is my boy tonight?
      O where is my boy tonight?
    My heart overflows, for I love him he knows,
      O where is my boy tonight?

--a young man who had been sitting in a back seat made his way up the
aisle and sobbed, "Mother, I'm here!" The embrace of that mother and her
long-lost boy turned the service into a general hallelujah. At the
inquiry meeting that night there were many souls at the Mercy Seat who
never knelt there before--and the young wanderer was one.

[Illustration: Philip Doddridge, D.D.]

Mr. Sankey, when in California with Mr. Moody, sang this hymn in one of
the meetings and told the story of a mother in the far east who had
commissioned him to search for her missing son. By a happy providence
the son was in the house--and the story and the song sent him home
repentant.

At another time Mr. Sankey sang the same hymn from the steps of a
snow-bound train, and a man between whose father and himself had been
trouble and a separation, was touched, and returned to be reconciled
after an absence of twenty years.

At one evening service in Stanberry, Mo., the singing of the hymn by the
leader of the choir led to the conversion of one boy who was present,
and whose parents were that night praying for him in an eastern state,
and inspired such earnest prayer in the hearts of two other runaway
boys' parents that the same answer followed.

There would not be room in a dozen pages to record all the similar
saving incidents connected with the singing of "Where Is My Wandering
Boy?" The rhetoric of love is strong in every note and syllable of the
solo, and the tender chorus of voices swells the song to heaven like an
antiphonal prayer.

Strange to say, Dr. Lowry set lightly by his hymns and tunes, and
deprecated much mention of them though he could not deny their success.
An active Christian since seventeen years of age, through his early
pulpit service, his six years' professorship, and the long pastorate in
Plainfield, N.J., closed by his death, he considered preaching to be his
supreme function as it certainly was his first love. Music was to him "a
side-issue," an "efflorescence," and writing a hymn ranked far below
making and delivering a sermon. "I felt a sort of meanness when I began
to be known as a composer," he said. And yet he was the author of a hymn
and tune which "has done more to bring back wandering boys than any
other" ever written.[45]

[Footnote 45: "Where Is My Boy Tonight" was composed for a book of
temperance hymns, _The Fountain of Song_, 1877.]


"ETERNITY."

This is the title and refrain of both Mrs. Ellen M.H. Gates' impressive
poem and its tune.

    O the clanging bells of Time!
      Night and day they never cease;
    We are weaned with their chime,
      For they do not bring us peace.
    And we hush our hearts to hear,
      And we strain our eyes to see
    If thy shores are drawing near
        Eternity! Eternity!

Skill was needed to vocalize this great word, but the ear of Mr. Bliss
for musical prosody did not fail to make it effective. After the
beautiful harmony through the seven lines, the choral reverently softens
under the rallentando of the closing bars, and dwelling on the
awe-inspiring syllables, solemnly dies away.


TRIUMPH BY AND BY.

This rally-song of the Christian arena is wonderfully stirring,
especially in great meetings, for it sings best in full choral volume.

    The prize is set before us,
    To win His words implore us,
    The eye of God is o'er us
      From on high.
    His loving tones are falling
    While sin is dark, appalling,
   'Tis Jesus gently calling;
      He is nigh!

  CHORUS.
    By and by we shall meet Him,
    By and by we shall greet Him,
    And with Jesus reign in glory,
      By and by!

    We'll follow where He leadeth,
    We'll pasture where He feedeth,
    We'll yield to Him who pleadeth
      From on high.
    Then nought from Him shall sever,
    Our hope shall brighten ever
    And faith shall fail us never;
      He is nigh.

  CHORUS--   By and by, etc.

Dr. Christopher Ruby Blackall, the author of the hymn, was born in
Albany, N.Y., Sept. 18, 1830. He was a surgeon in the Civil War, and in
medical practice fifteen years, but afterwards became connected with the
American Baptist Publication Society as manager of one of its branches.
He has written several Sunday-school songs set to music by W.H. Doane.


_THE TUNE_,

By Horatio R. Palmer is exactly what the hymn demands. The range
scarcely exceeds an octave, but with the words "From on high," the
stroke of the soprano on upper D carries the feeling to unseen summits,
and verifies the title of the song. From that note, through melody and
chorus the "Triumph by and by" rings clear.


"NOT HALF HAS EVER BEEN TOLD"

This is emotional, but every word and note is uplifting, and creates the
mood for religious impressions. The writer, Rev. John Bush Atchison, was
born at Wilson, N.Y., Feb. 18, 1840, and died July 15, 1882.

    I have read of a beautiful city
      Far away in the kingdom of God,
    I have read how its walls are of jasper,
      How its streets are all golden and broad;
    In the midst of the street is Life's River
      Clear as crystal and pure to behold,
    But not half of that city's bright glory
      To mortals has ever been told.

The chorus (twice sung)--

    Not half has been told,

--concludes with repeat of the two last lines of this first stanza.

Mr. Atchison was a Methodist clergyman who composed several good hymns.
"Behold the Stone is Rolled Away," "O Crown of Rejoicing," and "Fully
Persuaded," indicate samples of his work more or less well-known. "Not
Half Has Ever Been Told" was written in 1875.


_THE TUNE._

Dr. Otis F. Presbry, the composer, was a young farmer of York,
Livingston Co., N.Y., born there the 20th of December, 1820. Choice of a
professional life led him to Berkshire Medical College, where he
graduated in 1847. In after years his natural love of musical studies
induced him to give his time to compiling and publishing religious
tunes, with hymns more especially for Sunday-schools.

He became a composer and wrote the melody to Atchison's words in 1877,
which was arranged by a blind musician of Washington, D.C., J.W.
Bischoff by name, with whom he had formed a partnership. The solo is
long--would better, perhaps, have been four-line instead of eight--but
well sung, it is a flight of melody that holds an assembly, and touches
hearts.

Dr. Presbry's best known book was _Gospel Bells_ (1883), the joint
production of himself, Bischoff, and Rev. J.E. Rankin. He died Aug. 20,
1901.


"COME."

One of the most characteristic (both words and music) of the _Gospel
Hymns_--"Mrs. James Gibson Johnson" is the name attached to it as its
author, though we have been unable to trace and verify her claim.

    O, word of words the sweetest,
      O, words in which there lie
    All promise, all fulfillment,
      And end of mystery;
    Lamenting or rejoicing,
      With doubt or terror nigh,
    I hear the "Come" of Jesus,
      And to His cross I fly.

  CHORUS.
      Come, come--
    Weary, heavy-laden, come, O come to me.


_THE TUNE_,

Composed by James McGranahan, delivers the whole stanza in soprano or
tenor solo, when the alto, joining the treble, leads off the refrain in
duet, the male voices striking alternate notes until the full harmony in
the last three bars. The style and movement of the chorus are somewhat
suggestive of a popular glee, but the music of the duet is flexible and
sweet, and the bass and tenor progress with it not in the
ride-and-tie-fashion but marking time with the title-syllable.

The contrast between the spiritual and the intellectual effect of the
hymn and its wakeful tune is illustrated by a case in Baltimore. While
Moody and Sankey were doing their gospel work in that city, a man, who,
it seems, had brought a copy of the _Gospel Hymns_, walked out of one of
the meetings after hearing this hymn-tune, and on reaching home, tore
out the leaves that contained the song and threw them into the fire,
saying he had "never heard such twaddle" in all his life.

The sequel showed that he had been too hasty. The hymn would not leave
him. After hearing it night and day in his mind till he began to
realize what it meant, he went to Mr. Moody and told him he was "a vile
sinner" and wanted to know how he could "come" to Christ. The divine
invitation was explained, and the convicted man underwent a vital
change. His converted opinion of the hymn was quite as remarkably
different. He declared it was "the sweetest one in the book." (_Story of
the Gospel Hymns_.)


"ALMOST PERSUADED."

The Rev. Mr. Brundage tells the origin of this hymn. In a sermon
preached by him many years ago, the closing words were:

"He who is almost persuaded is almost saved, but to be almost saved is
to be entirely lost." Mr. Bliss, being in the audience, was impressed
with the thought, and immediately set about the composition of what
proved one of his most popular songs, deriving his inspiration from the
sermon of his friend, Mr. Brundage. _Memoir of Bliss_.

    Almost persuaded now to believe,
    Almost persuaded Christ to receive;
    Seems now some soul to say
   "Go Spirit, go thy way,
    Some more convenient day
      On Thee I'll call."

       *       *       *       *       *

    Almost persuaded--the harvest is past!

Both hymn and tune are by Mr. Bliss--and the omission of a chorus is in
proper taste. This revival piece brings the eloquence of sense and
sound to bear upon the conscience in one monitory pleading. Incidents in
this country and in England related in Mr. Sankey's book, illustrate its
power. It has a convicting and converting history.


"MY AIN COUNTREE."

This hymn was written by Miss Mary Augusta Lee one Sabbath day in 1860
at Bowmount, Croton Falls, N.Y., and first published in the _New York
Observer_, Dec, 1861. The authoress had been reading the story of John
Macduff who, with his wife, left Scotland for the United States, and
accumulated property by toil and thrift in the great West. In her
leisure after the necessity for hard work was past, the Scotch woman
grew homesick and pined for her "ain countree." Her husband, at her
request, came east and settled with her in sight of the Atlantic where
she could see the waters that washed the Scotland shore. But she still
pined, and finally to save her life, John Macduff took her back to the
heather hills of the mother-land, where she soon recovered her health
and spirits.

    I am far from my hame an' I'm weary aften whiles
    For the langed-for hame-bringing an' my Father's welcome smiles.
    I'll ne'er be fu' content until mine eyes do see
    The shinin' gates o' heaven an' mine ain countree.

    The airt' is flecked wi' flowers mony-tinted, frish an' gay,
    The birdies warble blithely, for my Father made them sae,
    But these sights an' these soun's will naething be to me
    When I hear the angels singin' in my ain countree.

Miss Lee was born in Croton Falls in 1838, and was of Scotch descent,
and cared for by her grandfather and a Scotch nurse, her mother dying in
her infancy. In 1870 she became the wife of a Mr. Demarest, and her
married life was spent in Passaic, N.J., until their removal to
Pasadena, Cal., in hope of restoring her failing health. She died at Los
Angeles, Jan. 8, 1888.


_THE TUNE_

Is an air written in 1864 in the Scottish style by Mrs. Ione T. Hanna,
wife of a banker in Denver, Colo., and harmonized for choral use by
Hubert P. Main in 1873. Its plaintive sweetness suits the words which
probably inspired it. The tone and metre of the hymn were natural to the
young author's inheritance; a memory of her grandfather's home-land
melodies, with which he once crooned "little Mary" to sleep.

Sung as a closing hymn, "My ain countree" sends the worshipper away with
a tender, unworldly thought that lingers.

Mrs. Demarest wrote an additional stanza in 1881 at the request of Mr.
Main.

Some really good gospel hymns and tunes among those omitted in this
chapter will cry out against the choice that passed them by. Others are
of the more ephemeral sort, the phenomena (and the demand) of a
generation. Carols of pious joy with inordinate repetition, choruses
that surprise old lyrics with modern thrills, ballads of ringing sound
and slender verse, are the spray of tuneful emotion that sparkles on
every revival high-tide, but rarely leaves floodmarks that time will not
erase. Religious songs of the demonstrative, not to say sensational,
kind spring impromptu from the conditions of their time--and give place
to others equally spontaneous when the next spiritual wave sweeps by.
Their value lingers in the impulse their novelty gave to the life of
sanctuary worship, and in the Christian characters their emotional power
helped into being.




CHAPTER XIII.

HYMNS, FESTIVAL AND OCCASIONAL.


_CHRISTMAS._


"ADESTE FIDELES."

This hymn is of doubtful authorship, by some assigned to as late a date
as 1680, and by others to the 13th century as one of the Latin poems of
St. Bonaventura, Bishop of Albano, who was born at Bagnarea in Tuscany,
A.D. 1221. He was a learned man, a Franciscan friar, one of the greatest
teachers and writers of his church, and finally a cardinal. Certainly
Roman Catholic in its origin, whoever was its author, it is a Christian
hymn qualified in every way to be sung by the universal church.

        Adeste, fideles
        Laeti triumphantes,
        Venite, venite in Bethlehem;
        Natum videte Regem angelorum.

      CHORUS.
        Venite, adoremus,
        Venite, adoremus!
        Venite, adoremus Dominum.

This has been translated by Rev. Frederick Oakeley (1808-1880) and by
Rev. Edward Caswall (1814-1878) the version of the former being the one
in more general use. The ancient hymn is much abridged in the hymnals,
and even the translations have been altered and modernized in the three
or four stanzas commonly sung. Caswall's version renders the first line
"Come hither, ye faithful," literally construing the Latin words.

The following is substantially Oakeley's English of the "Adeste,
fideles."

      O come all ye faithful
      Joyful and triumphant,
    To Bethlehem hasten now with glad accord;
      Come and behold Him,
      Born the King of Angels.

  CHORUS.
      O come, let us adore Him,
      O come, let us adore Him,
      O come, let us adore Him,
        Christ, the Lord.

      Sing choirs of angels,
      Sing in exultation
    Through Heaven's high arches be your praises poured;
      Now to our God be
      Glory in the highest!
        O come, let us adore Him!

      Yea, Lord, we bless Thee,
      Born for our salvation
    Jesus, forever be Thy name adored!
      Word of the Father
      Now in flesh appearing;
        O come, let us adore Him!

The hymn with its primitive music as chanted in the ancient churches,
was known as "The Midnight Mass," and was the processional song of the
religious orders on their way to the sanctuaries where they gathered in
preparation for the Christmas morning service. The modern tune--or
rather the tune in modern use--is the one everywhere familiar as the
"Portuguese Hymn." (See page 205.)


MILTON'S HYMN TO THE NATIVITY.

      It was the winter wild
      While the Heavenly Child
    All meanly wrapped in the rude manger lies.
      Nature in awe of Him
      Had doffed her gaudy trim
    With her great Master so to sympathize.

       *       *       *       *       *

      No war nor battle sound
      Was heard the world around.
    The idle spear and shield were high uphung.
      The hooked chariot stood
      Unstained with hostile blood,
    The trumpets spake not to the armed throng,
      And Kings sat still with awful eye
    As if they knew their Sovereign Lord was by.

This exalted song--the work of a boy of scarcely twenty-one--is a Greek
ode in form, of two hundred and sixteen lines in twenty-seven strophes.
Some of its figures and fancies are more to the taste of the seventeenth
century than to ours, but it is full of poetic and Christian
sublimities, and its high periods will be heard in the Christmas hymnody
of coming centuries, though it is not the fashion to sing it now.

John Milton, son and grandson of John Miltons, was born in Breadstreet,
London, Dec. 9, 1608, fitted for the University in St. Paul's school,
and studied seven years at Cambridge. His parents intended him for the
church, but he chose literature as a profession, travelled and made
distinguished friendships in Italy, Switzerland and France, and when
little past his majority was before the public as a poet, author of the
Ode to the Nativity, of a Masque, and of many songs and elegies. In
later years he entered political life under the stress of his Puritan
sympathies, and served under Cromwell and his successor as Latin
Secretary of State through the time of the Commonwealth. While in public
duty he became blind, but in his retirement composed "Paradise Lost and
Paradise Regained." Died in 1676.


_THE TUNE._

In the old "Carmina Sacra" a noble choral (without name except "No war
nor battle sound") well interprets portions of the 4th and 5th stanzas
of the great hymn, but replaces the line--

   "The idle spear and shield were high uphung."

--with the more modern and less figurative--

   "No hostile chiefs to furious combat ran."

Three stanzas are also added, by the Rev. H.O. Dwight, missionary to
Constantinople. The substituted line, which is also, perhaps, the
composition of Mr. Dwight, rhymes with--

   "His reign of peace upon the earth began,"

--and as it is not un-Miltonic, few singers have ever known that it was
not Milton's own.

Dr. John Knowles Paine, Professor of Music at Harvard University, and
author of the Oratorio of "St. Peter," composed a cantata to the great
Christmas Ode of Milton, probably about 1868.

Professor Paine died Apr. 25, 1906.

It is worth noting that John Milton senior, the great poet's father, was
a skilled musician and a composer of psalmody. The old tunes "York" and
"Norwich," in Ravenscroft's collection and copied from it in many early
New England singing-books, are supposed to be his.

The Miltons were an old Oxfordshire Catholic family, and John, the
poet's father, was disinherited for turning Protestant, but he prospered
in business, and earned the comfort of a country gentleman. He died,
very aged, in May, 1646, and his son addressed a Latin poem ("Ad
Patrem") to his memory.


"HARK! THE HERALD ANGELS SING."

This hymn of Charles Wesley, dating about 1730, was evidently written
with the "Adeste Fideles" in mind, some of the stanzas, in fact, being
almost like translations of it. The form of the two first lines was
originally--

    Hark! how all the welkin rings,
   "Glory to the King of Kings!"

--but was altered thirty years later by Rev. Martin Madan (1726-1790)
to--

    Hark! the herald angels sing
    Glory to the new-born King!

Other changes by the same hand modified the three following stanzas, and
a fifth stanza was added by John Wesley--

    Hail the heavenly Prince of Peace!
    Hail the Sun of Righteousness!
    Light and life to all He brings,
    Ris'n with healing in His wings.


_THE TUNE._

"Mendelssohn" is the favorite musical interpreter of the hymn. It is a
noble and spirited choral from Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy's cantata,
"Gott ist Licht."


"JOY TO THE WORLD, THE LORD IS COME!"

This inspirational lyric of Dr. Watts never grows old. It was written in
1719.

    Joy to the world! the Saviour reigns!
      Let men their songs employ
    While fields and floods, rocks, hills and plains
      Repeat the sounding joy.

Dr. Edward Hodges (1796-1867) wrote an excellent psalm-tune to it which
is still in occasional use, but the music united to the hymn in the
popular heart is "Antioch," an adaptation from Handel's Messiah. This
companionship holds unbroken from hymnal to hymnal and has done so for
sixty or seventy years; and, in spite of its fugue, the tune--apparently
by some magic of its own--contrives to enlist the entire voice of a
congregation, the bass falling in on the third beat as if by intuition.
The truth is, the tune has become the habit of the hymn, and to the
thousands who have it by heart, as they do in every village where there
is a singing school, "Antioch" is "Joy to the World," and "Joy to the
World" is "Antioch."


"HARK! WHAT MEAN THOSE HOLY VOICES?"

This fine hymn, so many years appearing with the simple sign "Cawood" or
"J. Cawood" printed under it, still holds its place by universal
welcome.

    Hark! what mean those holy voices
      Sweetly sounding through the skies?
    Lo th' angelic host rejoices;
      Heavenly hallelujahs rise.

    Hear them tell the wondrous story,
      Hear them chant in hymns of joy,
    Glory in the highest, glory,
      Glory be to God on high!

The Rev. John Cawood, a farmer's son, was born at Matlock, Derbyshire,
Eng., March 18, 1775, graduated at Oxford, 1801, and was appointed
perpetual curate of St. Anne's in Bendly, Worcestershire. Died Nov. 7,
1852. He is said to have written seventeen hymns, but was too modest to
publish any.


_THE TUNE._

Dr. Dykes' "Oswald," and Henry Smart's "Bethany" are worthy expressions
of the feeling in Cawood's hymn. In America, Mason's "Amaland," with
fugue in the second and third lines, has long been a favorite.


"WHILE SHEPHERDS WATCHED THEIR FLOCKS."

This was written by Nahum Tate (1652-1715), and after two hundred years
the church remembers and sings the song. Six generations have grown up
with their childhood memory of its pictorial verses illustrating St.
Luke's Christmas story.

    While shepherds watched their flocks by night,
      All seated on the ground,
    The angel of the Lord came down
      And glory shone around.

   "Fear not" said he, for mighty dread
      Had seized their troubled mind,
   "Glad tidings of great joy I bring
      To you and all mankind."


_THE TUNE._

Modern hymnals have substituted "Christmas" and other more or less
spirited tunes for Read's "Sherburne," which was the first musical
translation of the hymn to American ears. But, to show the traditional
hold that the New England fugue melody maintains on the people, many
collections print it as alternate tune. Some modifications have been
made in it, but its survival is a tribute to its real merit.

Daniel Read, the creator of "Sherburne," "Windham," "Russia,"
"Stafford," "Lisbon," and many other tunes characteristic of a bygone
school of psalmody, was born in Rehoboth, Mass., Nov. 2, 1757. He
published _The American Singing Book_, 1785, _Columbian Harmony_, 1793,
and several other collections. Died in New Haven, Ct., 1836.


"IT CAME UPON THE MIDNIGHT CLEAR."

Rev. Edmund Hamilton Sears, author of this beautiful hymn-poem, was born
at Sandisfield, Berkshire Co., Mass., April 6, 1810, and educated at
Union College and Harvard University. He became pastor of the Unitarian
Church in Wayland, Mass., 1838. Died in the adjoining town of Weston,
Jan. 14, 1876. The hymn first appeared in the _Christian Register_ in
1857.

    It came upon the midnight clear,
      That glorious song of old,
    From angels bending near the earth
      To touch their harps of gold.

   "Peace to 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 lonely plains
      They bend on hovering wing,
    And ever o'er its Babel sounds
      The blessed angels sing.


_THE TUNE._

No more sympathetic music has been written to these lines than "Carol,"
the tune composed by Richard Storrs Willis, a brother of Nathaniel
Parker Willis the poet, and son of Deacon Nathaniel Willis, the founder
of the _Youth's Companion_. He was born Feb, 10, 1819, graduated at Yale
in 1841, and followed literature as a profession. He was also a musician
and composer. For many years he edited the _N.Y. Musical World_, and,
besides contributing frequently to current literature, published _Church
Chorals and Choir Studies_, _Our Church Music_ and several other volumes
on musical subjects. Died in Detroit, May 7, 1900.

The much-loved and constantly used advent psalm of Mr. Sears,--

    Calm on the listening ear of night
      Come heaven's melodious strains
    Where wild Judea stretches far
      Her silver-mantled plains,

--was set to music by John Edgar Gould, and the smooth choral with its
sweet chords is a remarkable example of blended voice and verse.


"O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM!"

Phillips Brooks, the eloquent bishop of Massachusetts, loved to write
simple and tender poems for the children of his church and diocese. They
all reveal his loving heart and the beauty of his consecrated
imagination. This one, the best of his _Christmas Songs_, was slow in
coming to public notice, but finally found its place in hymn-tune
collections.

    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 dark streets 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.

Phillips Brooks, late bishop of the diocese of Massachusetts, was born
in Boston, Dec. 13, 1835; died Jan. 23, 1893. He was graduated at
Harvard in 1855, and at the Episcopal Divinity School of Alexandria,
Va., 1859. The first ten years of his ministry were spent in
Pennsylvania, after which he became rector of Trinity Church, Boston,
and was elected bishop in 1891. He was an inspiring teacher and
preacher, an eloquent pulpit orator, and a man of deep and rich
religious life.

The hymn was written in 1868, and it was, no doubt, the ripened thought
of his never-forgotten visit to the "little town of Bethlehem" two years
before.


_THE TUNE._

"Bethlehem" is the appropriate name of a tune written by J. Barnby, and
adapted to the words, but it is the hymn's first melody (named "St.
Louis" by the compiler who first printed it in the _Church Porch_ from
original leaflets) that has the credit of carrying it to popularity.

The composer was Mr. Redner, organist of the Church of the Holy Trinity,
Philadelphia, of which Rector Brooks was then in charge. Lewis Henry
Redner, born 1831, was not only near the age of his friend and pastor
but as much devoted to the interests of the Sunday-school, for whose use
the hymn was written, and he had promised to write a score to which it
could be sung on the coming Sabbath. Waking in the middle of the night,
after a busy Saturday that sent him to bed with his brain "in a whirl,"
he heard "an angel strain," and immediately rose and pricked the notes
of the melody. The tune had come to him just in time to be sung. A much
admired tune has also been written to this hymn by Hubert P. Main.



_PALM SUNDAY_.


FAURE'S "PALM BRANCHES."

 _Sur nos chemins les rameaux et les fleurs
  Sont repandos--_

    O'er all the way green palms and blossoms gay
    Are strewn to-day in festive preparation,
    Where Jesus comes to wipe our tears away.
    E'en now the throng to welcome Him prepare;
    Join all and sing.--

Jean Baptiste Faure, author of the words and music, was born at Moulins,
France, Jan. 15, 1830. As a boy he was gifted with a beautiful voice,
and crowds used to gather wherever he sang in the streets of Paris.
Little is known of his parentage, and apparently the sweet voice of the
wandering lad was his only fortune. He found wealthy friends who sent
him to the _Conservatoire_, but when his voice matured it ceased to
serve him as a singer. He went on with his study of instrumental music,
but mourned for his lost vocal triumphs, and his longing became a
subject of prayer. He promised God that if his power to sing were given
back to him he would use it for charity and the good of mankind. By
degrees he recovered his voice, and became known as a great baritone. As
professional singer and composer at the Paris _Grand Opera_, he had been
employed largely in dramatic work, but his "Ode to Charity" is one of
his enduring and celebrated pieces, and his songs written for benevolent
and religious services have found their way into all Christian lands.

His "Palm-Branches" has come to be a _sine qua non_ on its calendar
Sunday wherever church worship is planned with any regard to the Feasts
of the Christian year.



_EASTER._


Perhaps the most notable feature in the early hymnology of the Oriental
Church was its Resurrection songs. Being hymns of joy, they called forth
all the ceremony and spectacle of ecclesiastical pomp. Among them--and
the most ancient one of those preserved--is the hymn of John of
Damascus, quoted in the second chapter (p. 54). This was the
proclamation-song in the watch-assemblies, when exactly on the midnight
moment at the shout of "Christos egerthe!" ([Greek: Christos egerthe].)
"Christ is risen!" thousands of torches were lit, bells and trumpets
pealed, and (in the later centuries) salvos of cannon shook the air.

Another favorite hymn of the Eastern Church was the "_Salve, Beate
Mane_," "Welcome, Happy Morning," of Fortunatus. (Chap. 10, p. 357.) This
poem furnished cantos for Easter hymns of the Middle Ages. Jerome of
Prague sang stanzas of it on his way to the stake.

An anonymous hymn, "_Poneluctum, Magdelena_," in medieval Latin rhyme,
is addressed to Mary Magdelene weeping at the empty sepulchre. The
following are the 3d and 4th stanzas, with a translation by Prof. C.S.
Harrington of Wesleyan University:

    Gaude, plaude, Magdalena!
      Tumba Christus exiit!
    Tristis est peracta scena,
      Victor mortis rediit;
    Quem deflebas morientem,
    Nunc arride resurgentem!
            Alleluia!

    Tolle vultum, Magdalena!
      Redivivum aspice;
    Vide frons quam sit amoena,
      Quinque plagas inspice;
    Fulgent, sic ut margaritae,
    Ornamenta novae vitae.
            Alleluia!

       *       *       *       *       *

    Magdalena, shout for gladness!
    Christ has left the gloomy grave;
    Finished is the scene of sadness;
      Death destroyed, He comes to save;
    Whom with grief thou sawest dying,
    Greet with smiles, the tomb defying.
            Hallelujah!

    Lift thine eyes, O Magdalena!
      Lo! thy Lord before thee stands;
    See! how fair the thorn-crowned forehead;
      Mark His feet, His side, His hands;
    Glow His wounds with pearly whiteness!
    Hallowing life with heavenly brightness!
            Hallelujah!

The hymnaries of the Christian Church for seventeen hundred years are so
rich in Easter hallelujahs and hosannas that to introduce them all would
swell a chapter to the size of an encyclopedia--and even to make a
selection is a responsible task.

Simple mention must suffice of Luther's--

    In the bonds of death He lay;

--of Watts'--

    He dies, the Friend of sinners dies;

--of John Wesley's--

    Our Lord has gone up on high;

--of C.F. Gellert's--

    Christ is risen! Christ is risen!
      He hath burst His bonds in twain;

--omitting hundreds which have been helpful in psalmody, and are,
perhaps, still in choir or congregational use.


"CHRIST THE LORD IS RISEN TODAY"

Begins a hymn of Charles Wesley's and is also the first line of a hymn
prepared for Sunday-school use by Mrs. Storrs, wife of the late Dr.
Richard Salter Storrs of Brooklyn, N.Y.

Wesley's hymn is sung--with or without the hallelujah interludes--to
"Telemann's Chant," (Zeuner), to an air of Mendelssohn, and to John
Stainer's "Paschale Gaudium." Like the old New England "Easter Anthem"
it appears to have been suggested by an anonymous translation of some
more ancient (Latin) antiphony.

    Jesus Christ is risen to day,
          Hallelujah!
    Our triumphant holy day,
          Hallelujah!

       *       *       *       *       *

    Who endured the cross and grave.
          Hallelujah!
    Sinners to redeem and save,
          Hallelujah!


AN ANTHEM FOR EASTER.

This work of an amateur genius, with its rustic harmonies, suited the
taste of colonial times, and no doubt the devout church-goers of that
day found sincere worship and thanksgiving in its flamboyant music. "An
Anthem for Easter," in A major by William Billings (1785) occupied
several pages in the early collections of psalmody and "the sounding
joy" was in it. Organs were scarce, but beyond the viols of the village
choirs it needed no instrumental accessories. The language is borrowed
from the New Testament and _Young's Night Thoughts_.

    The Lord is risen indeed!
          Hallelujah!
    The Lord is risen indeed!
          Hallelujah!

Following this triumphant overture, a recitative bass solo repeats I
Cor. 15:20, and the chorus takes it up with crowning hallelujahs.
Different parts, _per fugam_, inquire from clef to clef--

        And did He rise?
        And did He rise?--
    Hear [the answer], O ye nations!
        Hear it, O ye dead!

Then duet, trio and chorus sing it, successively--

      He rose! He rose! He rose!
        He burst the bars of death,
        And triumphed o'er the grave!

The succeeding thirty-four bars--duet and chorus--take home the sacred
gladness to the heart of humanity--

      Then, then _I_ rose,

       *       *       *       *       *

        And seized eternal youth,
        Man all immortal, hail!
    Heaven's all the glory, man's the boundless bliss.


"YES, THE REDEEMER ROSE."

In the six-eight syllable verse once known as "hallelujah
metre"--written by Dr. Doddridge to be sung after a sermon on the text
in 1st Corinthians noted in the above anthem--

    Yes, the Redeemer rose,
      The Saviour left the dead,
    And o'er our hellish foes
      High raised His conquering head.
    In wild dismay the guards around
    Fall to the ground and sink away.

Lewis Edson's "Lenox" (1782) is an old favorite among its musical
interpreters.


"O SHORT WAS HIS SLUMBER."

This hymn for the song-service of the Ruggles St. Church, Boston, was
written by Rev. Theron Brown.

    O short was His slumber; He woke from the dust;
      The Saviour death's chain could not hold;
    And short, since He rose, is the sleep of the just;
      They shall wake, and His glory behold.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Dear grave in the garden; hope smiled at its door
      Where love's brightest triumph was told;
    Christ lives! and His life will His people restore!
      They shall wake, and His glory behold.

The music is Bliss' tune to Spafford's "When Peace Like a River."

Another by the same writer, sung by the same church chorus, is--

    He rose! O morn of wonder!
      They saw His light go down
    Whose hate had crushed Him under,
      A King without a crown.
    No plume, no garland wore He,
      Despised death's Victor lay,
    And wrapped in night His glory,
      That claimed a grander day.

       *       *       *       *       *

    He rose! He burst immortal
      From death's dark realm alone,
    And left its heavenward portal
      Swung wide for all his own.
    Nor need one terror seize us
      To face earth's final pain,
    For they who follow Jesus,
      But die to live again.

The composer's name is lost, the tune being left nameless when printed.
The impression is that it was a secular melody. A very suitable tune for
the hymn is Geo. J. Webb's "Millennial Dawn" ("the Morning Light is
breaking.")



_THANKSGIVING._


"DIE FELDER WIR PFLUeGEN UND STREUEN."

    We plow the fields and scatter
      The good seed on the land,
    But it is fed and watered
      By God's Almighty hand,
    He sends the snow in winter,
      The warmth to swell the grain,
    The breezes, and the sunshine
      And soft, refreshing rain,
    All, all good gifts around us
      Are sent from heaven above
    Then thank the Lord, O thank the Lord
        For all His love!

Matthias Claudius, who wrote the German original of this little poem,
was a native of Reinfeld, Holstein, born 1770 and died 1815. He wrote
lyrics, humorous, pathetic and religious, some of which are still
current in Germany.

The translator of the verses is Miss Jane Montgomery Campbell, whose
identity has not been traced. Hers is evidently one of the retiring
names brought to light by one unpretending achievement. English readers
owe to her the above modest and devout hymn, which was first published
here in Rev. C.S. Bere's _Garland of Songs with Tunes_, 1861.

Little is known of Arthur Cottman, composer to Miss Campbell's words. He
was born in 1842, and died in 1879.

[Illustration: Lowell Mason]


"WITH SONGS AND HONORS SOUNDING LOUD."

Stanzas of this enduring hymn of Watts' have been as often recited as
sung.

    He sends His showers of blessing down
      To cheer the plains below;
    He makes the grass the mountains crown,
      And corn in valleys grow.


_THE TUNE_,

One of the chorals--if not the best--to claim partnership with this
sacred classic, is John Cole's "Geneva," distinguished among the few
fugue tunes which the singing world refuses to dismiss. There is a
growing grandeur in the opening solo and its following duet as they
climb the first tetra-chord, when the full harmony suddenly reveals the
majesty of the music. The little parenthetic duo at the eighth bar
breaks the roll of the song for one breath, and the concord of voices
closes in again like a diapason. One thinks of a bird-note making a
waterfall listen.


"HARVEST HOME."

    Let us sing of the sheaves, when the summer is done,
    And the garners are stored with the gifts of the sun.
    Shouting home from the fields like the voice of the sea,
    Let us join with the reapers in glad jubilee,--

 _Refrain._
            Harvest home! (_double rep._)
    Let us chant His praise who has crowned our days
      With bounty of the harvest home.

    Who hath ripened the fruits into golden and red?
    Who hath grown in the valleys our treasures of bread,
    That the owner might heap, and the stranger might glean
    For the days when the cold of the winter is keen?
            Harvest home!
                                    Let us chant, etc.

    For the smile of the sunshine, again and again,
    For the dew on the garden, the showers on the plain,
    For the year, with its hope and its promise that end,
    Crowned with plenty and peace, let thanksgiving ascend,
            Harvest home!
                                   Let us chant, etc.

    We shall gather a harvest of glory, we know,
    From the furrows of life where in patience we sow.
    Buried love in the field of the heart never dies,
    And its seed scattered here will be sheaves in the skies,
            Harvest home!
                                  Let us chant, etc.

Thanksgiving Hymn. Boston, 1890. Theron Brown.

Tune "To the Work, To the Work." W.H. Doane.


"THE GOD OF HARVEST PRAISE."

Written by James Montgomery in 1840, and published in the _Evangelical
Magazine_ as the Harvest Hymn for that year.

    The God of harvest praise;
    In loud thanksgiving raise
      Heart, hand and voice.
    The valleys smile and sing,
    Forests and mountains sing,
    The plains their tribute bring,
      The streams rejoice.

       *       *       *       *       *

    The God of harvest praise;
    Hearts, hands and voices raise
      With sweet accord;
    From field to garner throng,
    Bearing your sheaves along,
    And in your harvest song
      Bless ye the Lord.

Tune, "Dort"--Lowell Mason.



_MORNING._


"STILL, STILL WITH THEE."

These stanzas of Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe, with their poetic beauty
and grateful religious spirit, have furnished an orison worthy of a
place in all the hymn books. In feeling and in faith the hymn is a matin
song for the world, supplying words and thoughts to any and every heart
that worships.

    Still, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh,
      When the bird waketh and the shadows flee;
    Fairer than morning, lovelier than 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 eyes look up to Thee in prayer,
    Sweet the repose beneath Thy wings o'ershadowing,
      But sweeter still to wake and find Thee there.


_THE TUNES._

Barnby's "Windsor," and "Stowe" by Charles H. Morse (1893)--both written
to the words.

Mendelssohn's "Consolation" is a classic interpretation of the hymn, and
finely impressive when skillfully sung, but simpler--and sweeter to the
popular ear--is Mason's "Henley," written to Mrs. Eslings'--

    "Come unto me when shadows darkly gather."



_EVENING HYMNS._

John Keble's beautiful meditation--

    Sun of my soul, Thou Saviour dear;

John Leland's--

    The day is past and gone;

and Phebe Brown's--

    I love to steal awhile away;

--have already been noticed. Bishop Doane's gentle and spiritual lines
express nearly everything that a worshipping soul would include in a
moment of evening thought. The first and last stanzas are the ones most
commonly sung.

    Softly now the light of day
    Fades upon my sight away:
    Free from care, from labor free,
    Lord I would commune with Thee.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Soon for me the light of day
    Shall forever pass away;
    Then, from sin and sorrow free,
    Take me, Lord, to dwell with Thee.


_THE TUNE._

Both Kozeluck and J.E. Gould, besides Louis M. Gottschalk and Dr. Henry
John Gauntlett, have tried their skill in fitting music to this hymn,
but only Gottschalk and Kozeluck approach the mood into which its quiet
words charm a pious and reflective mind. Possibly its frequent
association with "Holley," composed by George Hews, may influence a
hearer's judgement of other melodies but there is something in that tune
that makes it cling to the hymn as if by instinctive kinship.

Others may have as much or more artistic music but "Holley" in its soft
modulations seems to breathe the spirit of every word.

It was this tune to which a stranger recently heard a group of
mill-girls singing Bishop Doane's verses. The lady, a well-known
Christian worker, visited a certain factory, and the superintendent,
after showing her through the building, opened a door into a long
work-room, where the singing of the girls delighted and surprised her.
It was sunset, and their hymn was--

    Softly now the light of day.

Several of the girls were Sunday-school teachers, who had encouraged
others to sing at that hour, and it had become a habit.

"Has it made a difference?" the lady inquired.

"There is seldom any quarrelling or coarse joking among them now," said
the superintendent with a smile.

Dr. S.F. Smith's hymn of much the same tone and tenor--

    Softly fades the twilight ray
    Of the holy Sabbath day,

--is commonly sung to the tune of "Holley."

George Hews, an American composer and piano-maker, was born in
Massachusetts 1800, and died July 6, 1873. No intelligence of him or his
work or former locality is at hand, beyond this brief note in Baptie,
"He is believed to have followed his trade in Boston, and written music
for some of Mason's earlier books."


_DEDICATION._


"CHRIST IS OUR CORNER-STONE."

This reproduces in Chandler's translation a song-service in an ancient
Latin liturgy (_angulare fundamentum_).

    Christ is our Corner-Stone;
      On Him alone we build,
    With His true saints alone
      The courts of heaven are filled,
        On His great love
        Our hopes we place
        Of present grace
          And joys above.

    O then with hymns of praise
      These hallowed courts shall ring;
    Our voices we will raise
      The Three-in-One to sing.
        And thus proclaim
        In joyful song
        But loud and long
          That glorious Name.

The Rev. John Chandler was born at Witley, Surrey, Eng. June 16, 1806.
He took his A.M. degree at Oxford, and entered the ministry of the
Church of England, was Vicar of Witley many years, and became well-known
for his translations of hymns of the primitive church. Died at Putney,
July 1, 1876.


_THE TUNE._

Sebastian Wesley's "Harewood" is plainer and of less compass, but
Zundel's "Brooklyn" is more than its rival, both in melody and vivacity.


"OH LORD OF HOSTS WHOSE GLORY FILLS THE BOUNDS OF THE ETERNAL HILLS."

A hymn of Dr. John Mason Neale--

    Endue the creatures with Thy grace
    That shall adorn Thy dwelling-place
    The beauty of the oak and pine,
    The gold and silver, make them Thine.

    The heads that guide endue with skill,
    The hands that work preserve from ill,
    That we who these foundations lay
    May raise the top-stone in its day.


_THE TUNE._

"Welton," by Rev. Caesar Malan--author of "Hendon," once familiar to
American singers.

Henri Abraham Caesar Malan was born at Geneva, Switzerland, 1787, and
educated at Geneva College. Ordained to the ministry of the State
church, (Reformed,) he was dismissed for preaching against its formalism
and spiritual apathy; but he built a chapel of his own, and became a
leader with D'Aubigne, Monod, and others in reviving the purity of the
Evangelical faith and laboring for the conversion of souls.

Malan wrote many hymns, and published a large collection, the "_Chants
de Sion_," for the Evangelical Society and the French Reformed Church.
He composed the music of his own hymns. Died at Vandosurre, 1864.


"DAUGHTER OF ZION, FROM THE DUST."

Cases may occur where an _exhortation_ hymn earns a place with
dedication hymns.

The charred fragment of a hymn-book leaf hangs in a frame on the
auditorium wall of the "New England Church," Chicago. The former edifice
of that church, all the homes of its resident members, and all their
business offices except one, were destroyed in the great fire. In the
ruins of their sanctuary the only scrap of paper found on which there
was a legible word was this bit of a hymn-book leaf with the two first
stanzas of Montgomery's hymn,

    Daughter of Zion, from the dust,
      Exalt thy fallen head;
    Again in thy Redeemer trust,
      He calls thee from the dead.

    Awake, awake! put on thy strength,
      Thy beautiful array;
    The day of freedom dawns at length,
      The Lord's appointed day.

The third verse was not long in coming to every mind--

    Rebuild thy walls! thy bounds enlarge!

--and even without that added word the impoverished congregation
evidently enough had received a message from heaven. They took heart of
grace, overcame all difficulties, and in good time replaced their ruined
Sabbath-home with the noble house in which they worship today.[46]

[Footnote 46: The story is told by Rev. William E. Barton D.D. of Oak
Park, Ill.]

If the "New England Church" of Chicago did not sing this hymn at the
dedication of their new temple it was for some other reason than lack of
gratitude--not to say reverence.


_THE SABBATH_.


The very essence of all song-worship pitched on this key-note is the
ringing hymn of Watts--

    Sweet is the day of sacred rest,
    No mortal cares disturb my breast, etc.

--but it has vanished from the hymnals with its tune. Is it because
profane people or thoughtless youth made a travesty of the two next
lines--

    O may my heart in tune be found
    Like David's harp of solemn sound?


_THE TUNE._

Old "Portland" by Abraham Maxim, a fugue tune in F major of the canon
style, expressed all the joy that a choir could put into music, though
with more sound than skill. The choral is a relic among relics now, but
it is a favorite one.

"Sweet is the Light of Sabbath Eve" by Edmeston; Stennett's "Another Six
Days' Work is Done," sung to "Spohr," the joint tune of Louis Spohr and
J.E. Gould; and Doddridge's "Thine Earthly Sabbath, Lord, We Love"
retain a feeble hold among some congregations. And Hayward's "Welcome
Delightful Morn," to the impossible tune of "Lischer," survived
unaccountably long in spite of its handicap. But special Sabbath hymns
are out of fashion, those classed under that title taking an incidental
place under the general head of "Worship."


_COMMUNION._


"BREAD OF HEAVEN, ON THEE WE FEED."

This hymn of Josiah Conder, copying the physical metaphors of the 6th of
John, is still occasionally used at the Lord's Supper.

    Vine of Heaven, Thy blood supplies
    This blest cup of sacrifice,
    Lord, Thy wounds our healing give,
    To Thy Cross we look and live.

The hymn is notable for the felicity with which it combines imagery and
reality. Figure and fact are always in sight of each other.

Josiah Conder was born in London, September 17, 1789. He edited the
_Eclectic Review_, and was the author of numerous prose works on
historic and religious subjects. Rev. Garrett Horder says that more of
his hymns are in common use now than those of any other except Watts and
Doddridge. More _in proportion to the relative number_ may be nearer the
truth. In his lifetime Conder wrote about sixty hymns. He died Dec. 27,
1855.


_THE TUNE._

The tune "Corsica" sometimes sung to the words, though written by the
famous Von Gluck, shows no sign of the genius of its author. Born at
Weissenwang, near New Markt, Prussia, July 2, 1714, he spent his life in
the service of operatic art, and is called "the father of the lyric
drama," but he paid little attention to sacred music. Queen Marie
Antoinette was for a while his pupil. Died Nov. 25, 1787.

"Wilmot," (from Von Weber) one of Mason's popular hymn-tune
arrangements, is a melody with which the hymn is well acquainted. It has
a fireside rhythm which old and young of the same circles take up
naturally in song.


"HERE, O MY LORD, I SEE THEE FACE TO FACE."

Written in October, 1855, by Dr. Horatius Bonar. James Bonar, brother of
the poet-preacher, just after the communion for that month, asked him to
furnish a hymn for the communion record. It was the church custom to
print a memorandum of each service at the Lord's table, with an
appropriate hymn attached, and an original one would be thrice welcome.
Horatius in a day or two sent this hymn:

    Here, O my Lord, I see Thee face to face,
    Here would I touch and handle things unseen
    Here grasp with firmer hand th' eternal grace
    And all my weariness upon Thee lean.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Too soon we rise; the symbols disappear;
    The feast, though not the love, is past and gone;
    The bread and wine remove, but Thou art here
    Nearer than ever--still my Shield and Sun.


_THE TUNE._

"Morecambe" is an anonymous composition printed with the words by the
_Plymouth Hymnal_ editors. "Berlin" by Mendelssohn is better. The metre
of Bonar's hymn is unusual, and melodies to fit it are not numerous, but
for a meditative service it is worth a tune of its own.


"O THOU MY SOUL, FORGET NO MORE."

The author of this hymn found in the Baptist hymnals, and often sung at
the sacramental seasons of that denomination, was the first Hindoo
convert to Christianity.

Krishna Pal, a native carpenter, in consequence of an accident, came
under the care of Mr. Thomas, a missionary who had been a surgeon in the
East Indies and was now an associate worker with William Carey. Mr.
Thomas set the man's broken arm, and talked of Jesus to him and the
surrounding crowd with so much tact and loving kindness that Krishna Pal
was touched. He became a pupil of the missionaries; embraced Christ, and
influenced his wife and daughter and his brother to accept his new
faith.

He alone, however, dared the bitter persecution of his caste, and
presented himself for church-membership. He and Carey's son were
baptized in the Ganges by Dr. Carey, Dec. 28, 1800, in the presence of
the English Governor and an immense concourse of people representing
four or five different religions.

Krishna Pal wrote several hymns. The one here noted was translated from
the Bengalee by Dr. Marshman.

    O thou, my soul, forget no more
    The Friend who all thy sorrows bore;
    Let every idol be forgot;
    But, O my soul, forget him not.

    Renounce thy works and ways, with grief,
    And fly to this divine relief;
    Nor Him forget, who left His throne,
    And for thy life gave up His own.

    Eternal truth and mercy shine
    In Him, and He Himself is thine:
    And canst thou then, with sin beset,
    Such charms, such matchless charms forget?

    Oh, no; till life itself depart,
    His name shall cheer and warm my heart;
    And lisping this, from earth I'll rise,
    And join the chorus of the skies.


_THE TUNE._

There is no scarcity of good long-metre tunes to suit the sentiment of
this hymn. More commonly in the Baptist manuals its vocal mate is
Bradbury's "Rolland" or the sweet and serious Scotch melody of "Ward,"
arranged by Mason. Best of all is "Hursley," the beautiful Ritter-Monk
choral set to "Sun of My Soul."


_NEW YEAR._


Two representative hymns of this class are John Newton's--

    While with ceaseless course the sun,

--and Charles Wesley's--

    Come let us anew our journey pursue;

the one a voice at the next year's threshold, the other a song at the
open door.

    While with ceaseless course the sun
    Hasted thro' the former year
    Many souls their race have run
    Nevermore to meet us here.

       *       *       *       *       *

    As the winged arrow flies
    Speedily the mark to find,
    As the lightening from the skies
    Darts and leaves no trace behind,
    Swiftly thus our fleeting days
    Bear we down life's rapid stream,
    Upward, Lord, our spirits raise;
    All below is but a dream.

A grave occasion, whether unexpected or periodical, will force
reflection, and so will a grave truth; and when both present themselves
at once, the truth needs only commonplace statement. If the statement is
in rhyme and measure more attention is secured. Add a _tune_ to it, and
the most frivolous will take notice. Newton's hymn sung on the last
evening of the year has its opportunity--and never fails to produce a
solemn effect; but it is to the immortal music given to it in Samuel
Webbe's "Benevento" that it owes its unique and permanent place. Dykes'
"St. Edmund" may be sung in England, but in America it will never
replace Webbe's simple and wonderfully impressive choral.

Charles Wesley's hymn is the antipode of Newton's in metre and movement.

    Come, let us anew our journey pursue,
      Roll round with the year
    And never stand still till the Master appear.
    His adorable will let us gladly fulfil
      And our talents improve
    By the patience of hope and the labor of love.

    Our life is a dream, our time as a stream
      Glides swiftly away,
    And the fugitive moment refuses to stay.
    The arrow is flown, the moment is gone,
      The millennial year,
    Rushes on to our view, and eternity's near.

[Illustration: Carl von Weber]

One could scarcely imagine a greater contrast than between this hymn and
Newton's. In spite of its eccentric metre one cannot dismiss it as
rhythmical jingle, for it is really a sermon shaped into a popular
canticle, and the surmise is not a difficult one that he had in mind a
secular air that was familiar to the crowd. But the hymn is not one of
Wesley's _poems_. Compilers who object to its lilting measure omit it
from their books, but it holds its place in public use, for it carries
weighty thoughts in swift sentences.

    O that each in the Day of His coming may say,
     "I have fought my way through,
    I have finished the work Thou didst give me to do."
    O that each from the Lord may receive the glad word,
     "Well and faithfully done,
    Enter into my joy, and sit down on my throne."

For a hundred and fifty years this has been sung in the Methodist
watch-meetings, and it will be long before it ceases to be sung--and
reprinted in Methodist, and some Baptist hymnals.

The tune of "Lucas," named after James Lucas, its composer, is the
favorite vehicle of song for the "Watch-hymn." Like the tune to "O How
Happy Are They," it has the movement of the words and the emphasis of
their meaning.

No knowledge of James Lucas is at hand except that he lived in England,
where one brief reference gives his birth-date as 1762 and "about 1805"
as the birth-date of the tune.


"GREAT GOD, WE SING THAT MIGHTY HAND."

The admirable hymn of Dr. Doddridge may be noted in this division with
its equally admirable tune of "Melancthon," one of the old Lutheran
chorals of Germany.

    Great God, we sing that mighty hand
    By which supported still we stand.
    The opening year Thy mercy shows;
    Thy mercy crown it till its close!

    By day, by night, at home, abroad,
    Still we are guarded by our God.

As this last couplet stood--and ought now to stand--pious parents
teaching the hymn to their children heard them repeat--

    By day, by night, at home, abroad,
   _We are surrounded still with God_.

Many are now living whose first impressive sense of the Divine
Omnipresence came with that line.


_PARTING._


"GOD BE WITH YOU TILL WE MEET AGAIN."

A lyric of benediction, born, apparently, at the divine moment for the
need of the great "Society of Christian Endeavor," and now adopted into
the Christian song-service of all lands. The author, Rev. Jeremiah Eames
Rankin, D.D., LL.D., was born in Thornton, N.H., Jan. 2, 1828. He was
graduated at Middlebury College, Vt., in 1848, and labored as a
Congregational pastor more than thirty years. For thirteen years he was
President of Howard University, Washington, D.C. Besides the "Parting
Hymn" he wrote _The Auld Scotch Mither_, _Ingleside Rhymes_, _Hymns pro
Patria_, and various practical works and religious essays. Died 1904.


_THE TUNE._

As in a thousand other partnerships of hymnist and musician, Dr. Rankin
was fortunate in his composer. The tune is a symphony of hearts--subdued
at first, but breaking into a chorus strong with the uplift of hope. It
is a farewell with a spiritual thrill in it.

Its author, William Gould Tomer, was born in Finesville, Warren Co.,
N.J., October 5, 1832; died in Phillipsburg, N.J., Sept. 26, 1896. He
was a soldier in the Civil War and a writer of good ability as well as a
composer. For some time he was editor of the _High Bridge Gazette_, and
music with him was an avocation rather than a profession. He wrote the
melody to Dr. Rankin's hymn in 1880, Prof. J.W. Bischoff supplying the
harmony, and the tune was first published in _Gospel Bells_ the same
year.


_FUNERALS._


The style of singing at funerals, as well as the character of the hymns,
has greatly changed--if, indeed, music continues to be a part of the
service, as frequently, in ordinary cases, it is not. "China" with its
comforting words--and terrifying chords--is forever obsolete, and not
only that, but Dr. Muhlenberg's, "I Would Not Live Alway," with its
sadly sentimental tune of "Frederick," has passed out of common use.
Anna Steele's "So Fades the Lovely, Blooming Flower," on the death of a
child, is occasionally heard, and now and then Dr. S.F. Smith's,
"Sister, Thou Wast Mild and Lovely," (with its gentle air of "Mt.
Vernon,") on the death of a young lady. Standard hymns like Watts',
"Unveil Thy Bosom, Faithful Tomb," to the slow, tender melody of the
"Dead March," (from Handel's oratorio of "Saul") and Montgomery's
"Servant of God, Well Done," to "Olmutz," or Woodbury's "Forever with
the Lord," still retain their prestige, the music of the former being
played on steeple-chimes on some burial occasions in cities, during the
procession--

    Nor pain nor grief nor anxious fear
      Invade thy bounds; no mortal woes
    Can reach the peaceful sleeper here
      While angels watch the soft repose.

The latter hymn (Montgomery's) is biographical--as described on page
301--

    Servant of God, well done;
      Rest from thy loved employ;
    The battle fought, the victory won,
      Enter thy Master's joy.

Only five stanzas of this long poem are now in use.

The exquisite elegy of Montgomery, entitled "The Grave,"--

    There is a calm for those who weep,
      A rest for weary mortals found
    They softly lie and sweetly sleep
      Low in the ground.

--is by no means discontinued on funeral occasions, nor Margaret
Mackay's beloved hymn,--

    Asleep in Jesus, blessed sleep,

--melodized in Bradbury's "Rest."

Mrs. Margaret Mackay was born in 1801, the daughter of Capt. Robert
Mackay of Hedgefield, Inverness, and wife of a major of the same name.
She was the author of several prose works and _Lays of Leisure Hours_,
containing seventy-two original hymns and poems, of which "Asleep in
Jesus" is one. She died in 1887.


"MY JESUS, AS THOU WILT."

(_Mein Jesu, wie du willst._)

This sweet hymn for mourners, known to us here in Jane Borthwick's
translation, was written by Benjamin Schmolke (or Schmolk) late in the
17th century. He was born at Brauchitzchdorf, in Silesia, Dec. 21, 1672,
and received his education at the Labau Gymnasium and Leipsic
University. A sermon preached while a youth, for his father, a Lutheran
pastor, showed such remarkable promise that a wealthy man paid the
expenses of his education for the ministry. He was ordained and settled
as pastor of the Free Church at Schweidnitz, Silesia, in which charge he
continued from 1701 till his death.

Schmolke was the most popular hymn-writer of his time, author of some
nine hundred church pieces, besides many for special occasions. Withal
he was a man of exalted piety and a pastor of rare wisdom and influence.

His death, of paralysis, occurred on the anniversary of his wedding,
Feb. 12, 1737.

    My Jesus, as Thou wilt,
      Oh may Thy will be mine!
    Into Thy hand of love
      I would my all resign.
    Thro' sorrow or thro' joy
      Conduct me as Thine own,
    And help me still to say,
      My Lord, Thy will be done.

The last line is the refrain of the hymn of four eight-line stanzas.


_THE TUNE._

"Sussex," by Joseph Barnby, a plain-song with a fine harmony, is good
congregational music for the hymn.

But "Jewett," one of Carl Maria Von Weber's exquisite flights of song,
is like no other in its intimate interpretation of the prayerful words.
We hear Luther's "bird in the heart" singing softly in every inflection
of the tender melody as it glides on. The tune, arranged by Joseph
Holbrook, is from an opera--the overture to Weber's Der Freischutz--but
one feels that the gentle musician when he wrote it must have caught an
inspiration of divine trust and peace. The wish among the last words he
uttered when dying in London of slow disease was, "Let me go back to my
own (home), and then God's will be done." That wish and the sentiment of
Schmolke's hymn belong to each other, for they end in the same way.

    My Jesus, as Thou wilt:
      All shall be well for me;
    Each changing future scene
      I gladly trust with Thee.
    Straight to my home above
      I travel calmly on,
    And sing in life or death
      My Lord, Thy will be done.


"I CANNOT ALWAYS TRACE THE WAY."

In later years, when funeral music is desired, the employment of a male
quartette has become a favorite custom. Of the selections sung in this
manner few are more suitable or more generally welcomed than the tender
and trustful hymn of Sir John Bowring, rendered sometimes in Dr. Dykes'
"Almsgiving," but better in the less-known but more flexible tune
composed by Howard M. Dow--

    I cannot always trace the way
      Where Thou, Almighty One, dost move,
    But I can always, always say
      That God is love.

    When fear her chilling mantle flings
      O'er earth, my soul to heaven above
    As to her native home upsprings,
      For God is love.

    When mystery clouds my darkened path,
      I'll check my dread, my doubts reprove;
    In this my soul sweet comfort hath
      That God is love.

    Yes, God is love. A thought like this
      Can every gloomy thought remove,
    And turn all tears, all woes to bliss
      For God is love.

The first line of the hymn was originally, "'Tis seldom I can trace the
way."

Howard M. Dow has been many years a resident of Boston, and organist of
the Grand Lodge of Freemasons at the Tremont St. (Masonic) Temple.


_WEDDING._


Time was when hymns were sung at weddings, though in America the
practice was never universal. Marriage, among Protestants, is not one of
the sacraments, and no masses are chanted for it by ecclesiastical
ordinance. The question of music at private marriages depends on
convenience, vocal or instrumental equipment, and the general drift of
the occasion. At public weddings the organ's duty is the "Wedding
March."

To revive a fashion of singing at home marriages would be considered an
oddity--and, where civil marriages are legal, a superfluity--but in the
religious ceremony, just after the prayer that follows the completion of
the nuptial formula, it will occur to some that a hymn would "tide over"
a proverbially awkward moment. Even good, quaint old John Berridge's
lines would happily relieve the embarrassment--besides reminding the
more thoughtless that a wedding is not a mere piece of social fun--

    Since Jesus truly did appear
      To grace a marriage feast
    O Lord, we ask Thy presence here
      To make a wedding guest.

    Upon the bridal pair look down
      Who now have plighted hands;
    Their union with Thy favor crown
      And bless the nuptial bands

       *       *       *       *       *

    In purest love these souls unite
      That they with Christian care
    May make domestic burdens light
      By taking each a share.

Tune, "Lanesboro," Mason.

A wedding hymn of more poetic beauty is the one written by Miss Dorothy
Bloomfield (now Mrs. Gurney), born 1858, for her sister's marriage in
1883.

    O perfect Love, all human thought transcending,
      Lowly we kneel in prayer before Thy throne
    That their's may be a love which knows no ending
      Whom Thou forevermore dost join in one.

    O perfect Life, be Thou their first assurance
      Of tender charity and steadfast faith,
    Of patient hope and quiet, brave endurance,
      With childlike trust that fears nor pain nor death.

    Grant them the joy which brightens earthly sorrow,
      Grant them the peace which calms all earthly strife,
    And to their day the glorious unknown morrow
      That dawns upon eternal love and life.

Tune by Joseph Barnby, "O Perfect Love."


_FRUITION DAY._


"LO! HE COMES WITH CLOUDS DESCENDING."

Thomas Olivers begins one of his hymns with this line. The hymn is a
Judgment-day lyric of rude strength and once in current use, but now
rarely printed. The "Lo He Comes," here specially noted, is the
production of John Cennick, the Moravian.

    Lo! He comes with clouds descending
      Once for favored sinners slain,
    Thousand thousand saints attending
      Swell the triumph of His train.
          Hallelujah!
    God appears on earth to reign.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Yea, amen; let all adore Thee
      High on Thy eternal throne.
    Saviour, take the power and glory,
      Claim the kingdom for thine own;
          O come quickly;
    Hallelujah! Come, Lord, come.


_THE TUNES._

Various composers have written music to this universal hymn, but none
has given it a choral that it can claim as peculiarly its own. "Brest,"
Lowell Mason's plain-song, has a limited range, and runs low on the
staff, but its solemn chords are musical and commanding. As much can be
said of the tunes of Dr. Dykes and Samuel Webbe, which have more
variety. Those who feel that the hymn calls for a more ornate melody
will prefer Madan's "Helmsley."


"LO! WHAT A GLORIOUS SIGHT APPEARS."

The great Southampton bard who wrote "Sweet fields beyond the swelling
flood" was quick to kindle at every reminder of Fruition Day.

    Lo! what a glorious sight appears
      To our believing eyes!
    The earth and seas are passed away,
      And the old rolling skies.
    From the third heaven, where God resides,
      That holy, happy place,
    The New Jerusalem comes down,
      Adorned with shining grace.

This hymn of Watts' sings one of his most exalted visions. It has been
dear for two hundred years to every Christian soul throbbing with
millennial thoughts and wishful of the day when--

    The God of glory down to men
      Removes His best abode,

--and when--

    His own kind hand shall wipe the tears
      From every weeping eye,
    And pains and groans, and griefs and fears,
      And death itself shall die,

--and the yearning cry of the last stanza, when the vision fades, has
been the household ? [A] of myriads of burdened and sorrowing saints--

    How long, dear Saviour, O how long
      Shall this bright hour delay?
    Fly swifter round ye wheels of Time,
      And bring the welcome day!

[Footnote A: Transcriber's note--This question mark is in the original.
It is possibly a compositor's query which the author missed when
correcting the proofs. The missing text could be "word".]


_THE TUNES._

By right of long appropriation both "Northfield" and "New Jerusalem" own
a near relationship to these glorious verses. Ingalls, one of the
constellation of early Puritan psalmodists, to which Billings and Swan
belonged, evidently loved the hymn, and composed his "New Jerusalem" to
the verse, "From the third heaven," and his "Northfield" to "How long,
dear Saviour." The former is now sung only as a reminiscence of the
music of the past, at church festivals, charity fairs and
entertainments of similar design, but the action and hearty joy in it
always evoke sympathetic applause. "Northfield" is still in occasional
use, and it is a jewel of melody, however irretrievably out of fashion.
Its union to that immortal stanza, if no other reason, seems likely to
insure its permanent place in the lists of sacred song.

John Cole's "Annapolis," still found in a few hymnals with these words,
is a little too late to be called a contemporary piece, but there are
some reminders of Ingalls' "New Jerusalem" in its style and vigor, and
it really partakes the flavor of the old New England church music.

Jeremiah Ingalls was born in Andover, Mass., March 1, 1764. A natural
fondness for music increased with his years, but opportunities to
educate it were few and far between, and he seemed like to become no
more than a fairly good bass-viol player in the village choir. But his
determination carried him higher, and in time his self-taught talent
qualified him for a singing-school master, and for many years he
travelled through Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Vermont, training the
raw vocal material in the country towns, and organizing choirs.

Between his thirtieth and fortieth years, he composed a number of tunes,
and, in 1804 published a two hundred page collection of his own and
others' music, which he called the _Christian Harmony_.

His home was for some time in Newberry, Vt., but he subsequently lived
at Rochester and at Hancock in the same state.

Among the traditions of him is this anecdote of the origin of his famous
tune "Northfield," which may indicate something of his temper and
religious habit. During his travels as a singing-school teacher he
stopped at a tavern in the town of Northfield and ordered his dinner. It
was very slow in coming, but the inevitable "how long?" that formulated
itself in his hungry thoughts, instead of sharpening into profane
complaint, fell into the rhythm of Watts' sacred line--and the tune came
with it. To call it "Northfield" was natural enough; the place where its
melody first beguiled him from his bodily wants to a dream of the final
Fruition Day.

Ingalls died in Hancock, Vt., April 6, 1828.




CHAPTER XIV.

HYMNS OF HOPE AND CONSOLATION.


"JERUSALEM THE GOLDEN."

_Urbs Sion Aurea._

"The Seven Great Hymns" of the Latin Church are:

    Laus Patriae Coelestis,--(Praise of the Heavenly Country).
    Veni, Sancte Spiritus,--(Come, Holy Spirit)
    Veni, Creator Spiritus,--(Come, Creator Spirit)
    Dies Irae,--(The Day of Wrath)
    Stabat Mater,--(The Mother Stood By)
    Mater Speciosa,--(The Fair Mother.)
    Vexilla Regis.--(The Banner of the King.)

Chief of these is the first named, though that is but part of a
religious poem of three thousand lines, which the author, Bernard of
Cluny, named "De Contemptu Mundi" (Concerning Disdain of the World.)

Bernard was of English parentage, though born at Morlaix, a seaport town
in the north of France. The exact date of his birth is unknown, though
it was probably about A.D. 1100. He is called Bernard of Cluny because
he lived and wrote at that place, a French town on the Grone where he
was abbot of a famous monastery, and also to distinguish him from
Bernard of Clairvaux.

His great poem is rarely spoken of as a whole, but in three portions, as
if each were a complete work. The first is the long exordium, exhausting
the pessimistic title (contempt of the world), and passing on to the
second, where begins the real "Laus Patriae Coelestis." This being cut
in two, making a third portion, has enriched the Christian world with
two of its best hymns, "For Thee, O Dear, Dear Country," and "Jerusalem
the Golden."

Bernard wrote the medieval or church Latin in its prime of literary
refinement, and its accent is so obvious and its rhythm so musical that
even one ignorant of the language could pronounce it, and catch its
rhymes. The "Contemptu Mundi" begins with these two lines, in a
hexameter impossible to copy in translation:

    Hora novissima; tempora pessima sunt; Vigilemus!
      Ecce minaciter imminet Arbiter, Ille Supremus!

    'Tis the last hour; the times are at their worst;
      Watch; lo the Judge Supreme stands threat'ning nigh!

Or, as Dr. Neale paraphrases and softens it,--

    The World is very evil,
      The times are waxing late,
    Be sober and keep vigil,
      The Judge is at the gate,

--and, after the poet's long, dark diorama of the world's wicked
condition, follows the "Praise of the Heavenly Fatherland," when a
tender glory dawns upon the scene till it breaks into sunrise with the
vision of the Golden City. All that an opulent and devout imagination
can picture of the beauty and bounty of heaven, and all that faith can
construct from the glimpses in the Revelation of its glory and happiness
is poured forth in the lavish poetry of the inspired monk of Cluny--

    Urbs Sion aurea, patria lactea, cive decora,
    Omne cor obruis, omnibus obstruis, et cor et ora.
    Nescio, nescio quae jubilatio lux tibi qualis,
    Quam socialia gaudia, gloria quam specialis.

      Jerusalem, the golden;
        With milk and honey blest;
      Beneath thy contemplation
        Sink heart and voice opprest.
      I know not, O I know not
        What joys await us there,
      With radiancy of glory,
        With bliss beyond compare.

      They stand, those halls of Zion,
        All jubilant with song,[47]
      And bright with many an angel;
        And all the martyr throng.
      The Prince is ever in them,
        The daylight is serene;
      The pastures of the blessed
        Are decked in glorious sheen.

       *       *       *       *       *

      O sweet and blessed country,
        The home of God's elect!
      O sweet and blessed country,
        That eager hearts expect!
      Jesu, in mercy bring us
        To that dear land of rest,
      Who art, with God the Father,
        And Spirit, ever blest.

[Footnote 47: In first editions, "_conjubilant_ with song."]

Dr. John Mason Neale, the translator, was obliged to condense Bernard's
exuberant verse, and he has done so with unsurpassable grace and melody.
He made his translation while "inhibited" from his priestly functions in
the Church of England for his high ritualistic views and practice, and
so poor that he wrote stories for children to earn his living. His
poverty added to the wealth of Christendom.


_THE TUNE._

The music of "Jerusalem the Golden" used in most churches is the
composition of Alexander Ewing, a paymaster in the English army. He was
born in Aberdeen, Scotland, Jan. 3d, 1830, and educated there at
Marischal College. The tune bears his name, and this honor, and its
general favor with the public, are so much testimony to its merit. It is
a stately harmony in D major with sonorous and impressive chords. Ewing
died in 1895.


"WHY SHOULD WE START AND FEAR TO DIE?"

Probably it is an embarrassment of riches and despair of space that have
crowded this hymn--perhaps the sweetest that Watts ever wrote--out of
some of our church singing-books. It is pleasant to find it in the new
_Methodist Hymnal_, though with an indifferent tune.

Christians of today should surely sing the last two stanzas with the
same exalted joy and hope that made them sacred to pious generations
past and gone--

    O if my Lord would come and meet,
      My soul would stretch her wings in haste.
    Fly fearless through death's iron gate,
      Nor feel the terrors as she passed.
    Jesus can make a dying bed
      Feel soft as downy pillows are,
    While on His breast I lean my head
      And breathe my life out sweetly there.


_THE TUNE._

The plain-music of William Boyd's "Pentecost," (with modulations in the
tenor), creates a new accent for the familiar lines. Preferable in every
sense are Bradbury's tender "Zephyr" or "Rest."

No coming generation will ever feel the pious gladness of Amariah Hall's
"All Saints New" in E flat major as it stirred the Christian choirs of
seventy five years ago. Fitted to this heart-felt lyric of Watts, it
opened with the words--

    O if my Lord would come and meet,

in full harmony and four-four time, continuing to the end of the stanza.
The melody, with its slurred syllables and beautiful modulations was
almost blithe in its brightness, while the strong musical bass and the
striking chords of the "counter," chastened it and held the anthem to
its due solemnity of tone and expression. Then the fugue took up--

    Jesus can make a dying bed,

--bass, treble and tenor adding voice after voice in the manner of the
old "canon" song, and the full harmony again carried the words, with
loving repetitions, to the final bar. The music closed with a minor
concord that was strangely effective and sweet.

Amariah Hall was born in Raynham, Mass., April 28, 1785, and died there
Feb. 8, 1827. He "farmed it," manufactured straw-bonnets, kept tavern
and taught singing-school. Music was only an avocation with him, but he
was an artist in his way, and among his compositions are found in some
ancient Tune books his "Morning Glory," "Canaan," "Falmouth,"
"Restoration," "Massachusetts," "Raynham," "Crucifixion," "Harmony,"
"Devotion," "Zion," and "Hosanna."

"All Saints New" was his masterpiece.


"WHEN I CAN READ MY TITLE CLEAR."

No sacred song has been more profanely parodied by the thoughtless, or
more travestied, (if we may use so strong a word), in popular religious
airs, than this golden hymn which has made Isaac Watts a benefactor to
every prisoner of hope. Not to mention the fancy figures and refrains
of camp-meeting music, which have cheapened it, neither John Cole's
"Annapolis" nor Arne's "Arlington" nor a dozen others that have borrowed
these speaking lines, can wear out their association with "Auld lang
Syne." The hymn has permeated the tune, and, without forgetting its own
words, the Scotch melody preforms both a social and religious mission.
Some arrangements of it make it needlessly repetitious, but its pathos
will always best vocalize the hymn, especially the first and last
stanzas--

    When I can read my title clear
      To mansions in the skies
    I'll bid farewell to every fear
      And wipe my weeping eyes.

       *       *       *       *       *

    There shall I bathe my weary soul
      In seas of heavenly rest,
    And not a wave of trouble roll
      Across my peaceful breast.


"VITAL SPARK OF HEAVENLY FLAME."

This paraphrase, by Alexander Pope, of the Emperor Adrian's death-bed
address to his soul--

    Animula, vagula, blandula,
      Hospes, comesque corporis,

--transfers the poetry and constructs a hymnic theme.

An old hymn writer by the name of Flatman wrote a Pindaric, somewhat
similar to "Adrian's Address," as follows:

    When on my sick-bed I languish,
    Full of sorrow, full of anguish,
    Fainting, gasping, trembling, crying,
    Panting, groaning, speechless, dying;
    Methinks I hear some gentle spirit say,
   "Be not fearful, come away."

Pope combined these two poems with the words of Divine inspiration, "O
death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?" and made a
pagan philosopher's question the text for a triumphant Christian anthem
of hope.

    Vital spark of heavenly flame,
    Quit, oh quit this mortal frame.
    Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying,
    Oh the pain, the bliss of dying!
    Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife,
    And let me languish into life.

    Hark! they whisper: angels say,
   "Sister spirit, come away!"
    What is this absorbs me quite,
    Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
    Drowns my spirit, draws my breath,
    Tell me, my soul, can this be death?

    The world recedes: it disappears:
    Heaven opens on my eyes; my ears
      With sounds seraphic ring.
    Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
    O grave where is thy victory?
      O death, where is thy sting?


_THE TUNE._

The old anthem, "The Dying Christian," or "The Dying Christian to his
Soul," which first made this lyric familiar in America as a musical
piece, will never be sung again except at antique entertainments, but it
had an importance in its day.

Beginning in quadruple time on four flats minor, it renders the first
stanza in flowing concords largo affettuoso, and a single bass fugue,
Then suddenly shifting to one flat, major, duple time, it executes the
second stanza, "Hark! they whisper" ... "What is this, etc.," in
alternate pianissimo and forte phrases; and finally, changing to triple
time, sings the third triumphant stanza, andante, through staccato and
fortissimo. The shout in the last adagio, on the four final bars, "O
Death! O Death!" softening with "where is thy sting?" is quite in the
style of old orchestral magnificence.

Since "The Dying Christian" ceased to appear in church music, the poem,
for some reason, seems not to have been recognized as a hymn. It is,
however, a Christian poem, and a true lyric of hope and consolation,
whatever the character of the author or however pagan the original that
suggested it.

The most that is now known of Edward Harwood, the composer of the
anthem, is that he was an English musician and psalmodist, born near
Blackburn, Lancaster Co., 1707, and died about 1787.


"YOUR HARPS, YE TREMBLING SAINTS."

This hymn of Toplady,--unlike "A Debtor to Mercy Alone," and "Inspirer
and Hearer of Prayer," both now little used,--stirs no controversial
feeling by a single line of his aggressive Calvinism. It is simply a
song of Christian gratitude and joy.

    Your harps, ye trembling saints
      Down from the willows take;
    Loud to the praise of Love Divine
      Bid every string awake.

    Though in a foreign land,
      We are not far from home,
    And nearer to our house above
      We every moment come.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Blest is the man, O God,
      That stays himself on Thee,
    Who waits for Thy salvation, Lord,
      Shall Thy salvation see.


_THE TUNE._

"Olmutz" was arranged by Lowell Mason from a Gregorian chant. He set it
himself to Toplady's hymn, and it seems the natural music for it. The
words are also sometimes written and sung to Jonathan Woodman's "State
St."

Jonathan Call Woodman was born in Newburyport, Mass., July 12, 1813. He
was the organist of St. George's Chapel, Flushing L.I. and a teacher,
composer and compiler. His _Musical Casket_ was not issued until Dec.
1858, but he wrote the tune of "State St." in August, 1844. It was a
contribution to Bradbury's _Psalmodist_, which was published the same
year.


"YE GOLDEN LAMPS OF HEAVEN, FAREWELL."

Dr. Doddridge's "farewell" is not a note of regret. Unlike Bernard, he
appreciates this world while he anticipates the better one, but his
contemplation climbs from God's footstool to His throne. His thought is
in the last two lines of the second stanza, where he takes leave of the
sun--

    My soul that springs beyond thy sphere
      No more demands thine aid.

But his fancy will find a function for the "golden lamps" even in the
glory that swallows up their light--

    Ye stars are but the shining dust
      Of my divine abode,
    The pavement of those heavenly courts
      Where I shall dwell with God.

    The Father of eternal light
      Shall there His beams display,
    Nor shall one moment's darkness mix
      With that unvaried day.


_THE TUNE._

The hymn has been assigned to "Mt. Auburn," a composition of George
Kingsley, but a far better interpretation--if not best of all--is H.K.
Oliver's tune of "Merton," (1847,) older, but written purposely for the
words.


"TRIUMPHANT ZION, LIFT THY HEAD."

This fine and stimulating lyric is Doddridge in another tone. Instead of
singing hope to the individual, he sounds a note of encouragement to
the church.

    Put all thy beauteous garments on,
    And let thy excellence be known;
    Decked in the robes of righteousness,
    The world thy glories shall confess.

       *       *       *       *       *

    God from on high has heard thy prayer;
    His hand thy ruins shall repair,
    Nor will thy watchful Monarch cease
    To guard thee in eternal peace.

The tune, "Anvern," is one of Mason's charming melodies, full of vigor
and cheerful life, and everything can be said of it that is said of the
hymn. Duffield compares the hymn and tune to a ring and its jewel.

It is one of the inevitable freaks of taste that puts so choice a strain
of psalmody out of fashion. Many younger pieces in the church manuals
could be better spared.


"SHRINKING FROM THE COLD HAND OF DEATH."

This is a hymn of contrast, the dark of recoiling nature making the
background of the rainbow. Written by Charles Wesley, it has passed
among his forgotten or mostly forgotten productions but is notable for
the frequent use of its 3rd stanza by his brother John. John Wesley, in
his old age, did not so much shrink from death as from the thought of
its too slow approach. His almost constant prayer was, "Lord, let me not
live to be useless." "At every place," says Belcher, "after giving to
his societies what he desired them to consider his last advice, he
invariably concluded with the stanza beginning--

  "'Oh that, without a lingering groan,
      I may the welcome word receive.
    My body with my charge lay down,
      And cease at once to work and live.'"

The anticipation of death itself by both the great evangelists ended
like the ending of the hymn--

    No anxious doubt, no guilty gloom
      Shall daunt whom Jesus' presence cheers;
    My Light, my Life, my God is come,
      And glory in His face appears.


"FOREVER WITH THE LORD."

Montgomery had the Ambrosian gift of spiritual song-writing. Whatever
may be thought of his more ambitious descriptive or heroic pages of
verse, and his long narrative poems, his lyrics and cabinet pieces are
gems. The poetry in some exquisite stanzas of his "Grave" is a dream of
peace:

    There is a calm for those who weep,
      A rest for weary mortals found;
    They softly lie and sweetly sleep
        Low in the ground.

    The storms that wreck the winter's sky
      No more disturb their deep repose
    Than summer evening's latest sigh
        That shuts the rose.

But in the poem, "At Home in Heaven," which we are considering--with its
divine text in I Thess. 4:17--the Sheffield bard rises to the heights of
vision. He wrote it when he was an old man. The contemplation so
absorbed him that he could not quit his theme till he had composed
twenty-two quatrains. Only four or five--or at most only seven of
them--are now in general use. Like his "Prayer is the Soul's Sincere
Desire," they have the pith of devotional thought in them, but are less
subjective and analytical.

    Forever with the Lord!
      Amen, so let it be,
    Life from the dead is in that word;
     'Tis immortality.

    Here in the body pent,
      Absent from Him I roam,
    Yet nightly pitch my moving tent
      A day's march nearer home.

    My Father's house on high!
      Home of my soul, how near
    At times to faith's foreseeing eye
      Thy golden gates appear.

    I hear at morn and even,
      At noon and midnight hour,
    The choral harmonies of heaven
      Earth's Babel tongues o'erpower.

The last line has been changed to read--

    Seraphic music pour,

--and finally the hymnals have dropped the verse and substituted others.
The new line is an improvement in melody but not in rhyme, and,
besides, it robs the stanza of its leading thought--heaven and earth
offsetting each other, and heavenly music drowning earthly noise--a
thought that is missed even in the rich cantos of "Jerusalem the
Golden."


_THE TUNES._

Nearly the whole school of good short metre tunes, from "St. Thomas" to
"Boylston" have offered their notes to Montgomery's "At Home in Heaven,"
but the two most commonly recognized as its property are "Mornington,"
named from Lord Mornington, its author, and I.B. Woodbury's familiar
harmony, "Forever with the Lord."

Garret Colley Wellesley, Earl of Mornington, and ancestor of the Duke of
Wellington, was born in Dagan, Ireland, July 19, 1735. Remarkable for
musical talent when a child, he became a skilled violinist, organ-player
and composer in boyhood, with little aid beyond his solitary study and
practice. When scarcely twenty-one, the University of Dublin conferred
on him the degree of Doctor of Music, and a professorship. He excelled
as a composer of glees, but wrote also tunes and anthems for the church,
some of which are still extant in the choir books of the Dublin
Cathedral Died March 22, 1781.


"HARK! HARK, MY SOUL!"

The Methodist Reformation, while it had found no practical sympathy
within the established church, left a deep sense of its reason and
purpose in the minds of the more devout Episcopalians, and this feeling,
instead of taking form in popular revival methods, prompted them to
deeper sincerity and more spiritual fervor in their traditional rites of
worship. Many of the next generation inherited this pious
ecclesiasticism, and carried their loyalty to the old Christian culture
to the extreme of devotion till they saw in the sacraments the highest
good of the soul. It was Keble's "Christian Year" and his "Assize
Sermon" that began the Tractarian movement at Oxford which brought to
the front himself and such men as Henry Newman and Frederick William
Faber.

The hymns and sacred poems of these sacramentarian Christians would
certify to their earnest piety, even if their lives were unknown.

Faber's hymn "Hark, Hark My Soul," is welcomed and loved by every
Christian sect for its religious spirit and its lyric beauty.

    Hark! hark, my soul! angelic songs are swelling
      O'er earth's green fields and ocean's wave-beat shore;
    How sweet the truth those blessed strains are telling
      Of that new life where sin shall be no more.

  REFRAIN
    Angels of Jesus, angels of light
      Singing to welcome the pilgrims of the night.

    Onward we go, for still we hear them singing
     "Come, weary souls, for Jesus bids you come,"
    And through the dark, its echoes sweetly ringing,
      The music of the gospel leads us home.
                                        Angels of Jesus.

    Far, far away, like bells at evening pealing,
      The voice of Jesus sounds o'er land and sea,
    And laden souls, by thousands meekly stealing,
      Kind Shepherd, turn their weary steps to Thee.
                                        Angels of Jesus.


_THE TUNES._

John B. Dykes and Henry Smart--both masters of hymn-tune
construction--have set this hymn to music. "Vox Angelica" in B flat, the
work of the former, is a noble composition for choir or congregation,
but "Pilgrim," the other's interpretation, though not dissimilar in
movement and vocal range, has, perhaps, the more sympathetic melody. It
is, at least, the favorite in many localities. Some books print the two
on adjacent pages as optionals.

Another much-loved hymn of Faber's is--

    O Paradise, O Paradise!
      Who doth not crave for rest?
    Who would not see the happy land
      Where they that loved are blest?

  REFRAIN
    Where loyal hearts and true
      Stand ever in the light,
    All rapture through and through
      In God's most holy sight.

    O Paradise, O Paradise,
      The world is growing old;
    Who would not be at rest and free
      Where love is never cold.

                Where loyal hearts and true.

    O Paradise, O Paradise,
      I greatly long to see
    The special place my dearest Lord,
      In love prepares for me.

                Where loyal hearts and true.

This aspiration, from the ardent soul of the poet has been interpreted
in song by the same two musicians, and by Joseph Barnby--all with the
title "Paradise." Their similarity of style and near equality of merit
have compelled compilers to print at least two of them side by side for
the singers' choice. A certain pathos in the strains of Barnby's
composition gives it a peculiar charm to many, and in America it is
probably the oftenest sung to the words.

Dr. David Breed, speaking of Faber's "unusual" imagination, says, "He
got more out of language than any other poet of the English tongue, and
used words--even simple words--so that they rendered him a service which
no other poet ever secured from them." The above hymns are
characteristic to a degree, but the telling simplicity of his
style--almost quaint at times--is more marked in "There's a Wideness in
God's Mercy," given on p. 234.

[Illustration: Horatius Bonar, D.D.]


"BEYOND THE SMILING AND THE WEEPING."

This song of hope--one of the most strangely tuneful and rune-like of
Dr. Bonar's hymn-poems--is less frequently sung owing to the peculiarity
of its stanza form. But it scarcely needs a staff of notes--

    Beyond the smiling and the weeping
        I shall be soon;
    Beyond the waking and the sleeping,
    Beyond the sowing and the reaping
        I shall be soon.

  REFRAIN
    Love, rest and home!
      Sweet hope!
    Lord, tarry not, but come.

       *       *       *       *       *

    Beyond the parting and the meeting
        I shall be soon;
    Beyond the farewell and the greeting,
    Beyond the pulses' fever-beating
        I shall be soon.
                    Love, rest and home!

    Beyond the frost-chain and the fever
        I shall be soon;
    Beyond the rock-waste and the river
    Beyond the ever and the never
        I shall be soon.
                    Love, rest and home!

The wild contrasts and reverses of earthly vicissitude are spoken and
felt here in the sequence of words. Perpetual black-and-white through
time; then the settled life and untreacherous peace of eternity.
Everywhere in the song the note of heavenly hope interrupts the wail of
disappointment, and the chorus returns to transport the soul from the
land of emotional whirlwinds to unbroken rest.


_THE TUNES._

Mr. Bradbury wrote an admirable tune to this hymn, though the one since
composed by Mr. Stebbins has in some localities superseded it in popular
favor. Skill in following the accent and unequal rhythms produces a
melodious tone-poem, and completes the impression of Bonar's singular
but sweet lyric of hope which suggests a chant-choral rather than a
regular polyphonic harmony. W.A. Tarbutton and the young composer, Karl
Harrington, have set the hymn to music, but the success of their work
awaits the public test.


"WE SHALL MEET BEYOND THE RIVER."

The words were written by Rev. John Atkinson, D.D., in January, 1867,
soon after the death of his mother. He had been engaged in revival work
and one night in his study, "that song, in substance, seemed," he says,
"to sing itself into my heart." He said to himself, "I would better
write it down, or I shall lose it."

"There," he adds, "in the silence of my study, and not far from
midnight, I wrote the hymn."

    We shall meet beyond the river
      By and by, by and by;
    And the darkness will be over
      By and by, by and by.

    With the toilsome journey done,
      And the glorious battle won.
    We shall shine forth as the sun
      By and by, by and by.

The Rev. John Atkinson was born in Deerfield, N.J. Sept. 6, 1835. A
clergyman of the Methodist denomination, he is well-known as one of its
writers. The _Centennial History of American Methodism_ is his work, and
besides the above hymn, he has written and published _The Garden of
Sorrows_, and _The Living Way_. He died Dec. 8, 1897.

The tune to "We Shall Meet," by Hubert P. Main, composed in 1867,
exactly translates the emotional hymn into music. S.J. Vail also wrote
music to the words. The hymn, originally six eight-line stanzas, was
condensed at his request to its present length and form by Fanny Crosby.


"ONE SWEETLY SOLEMN THOUGHT."

Phebe Cary, the author of this happy poem, was the younger of the two
Cary sisters, Alice and Phebe, names pleasantly remembered in American
literature. The praise of one reflects the praise of the other when we
are told that Phebe possessed a loving and trustful soul, and her life
was an honor to true womanhood and a blessing to the poor. She had to
struggle with hardship and poverty in her early years: "I have cried in
the street because I was poor," she said in her prosperous years, "and
the poor always seem nearer to me than the rich."

When reputation came to her as a writer, she removed from her little
country home near Cincinnati, O., where she was born, in 1824, and
settled in New York City with her sister. She died at Newport, N.Y.,
July 31, 1871, and her hymn was sung at her funeral. Her remains rest in
Greenwood Cemetery.

"One Sweetly Solemn Thought," was written in 1852, during a visit to one
of her friends. She wrote (to her friend's inquiry) years afterwards
that it first saw the light "in your own house ... in the little back
third-story bedroom, one Sunday after coming from church." It was a
heart experience noted down without literary care or artistic effort,
and in its original form was in too irregular measure to be sung. She
set little value upon it as a poem, but when shown hesitatingly to
inquiring compilers, its intrinsic worth was seen, and various revisions
of it were made. The following is one of the best versions--stanzas one,
two and three:--

    One sweetly solemn thought
      Comes to me o'er and o'er,
    I am nearer home to-day,
      Than I ever have been before.

    Nearer my Father's house,
      Where the many mansions be,
    Nearer the great white throne,
      Nearer the crystal sea.

    Nearer the bound of life,
      Where we lay our burdens down,
    Nearer leaving the cross
      Nearer gaining the crown.


_THE TUNE._

The old revival tune of "Dunbar," with its chorus, "There'll be no more
sorrow there," has been sung to the hymn, but the tone-lyric of Philip
Phillips, "Nearer Home," has made the words its own, and the public are
more familiar with it than with any other. It was this air that a young
man in a drinking house in Macao, near Hong-Kong, began humming
thoughtlessly while his companion was shuffling the cards for a new
game. Both were Americans, the man with the cards more than twenty years
the elder. Noticing the tune, he threw down the pack. Every word of the
hymn had come back to him with the echo of the music.

"Harry, where did you learn that hymn?"

"What hymn?"

"Why the one you have been singing."

The young man said he did not know what he had been singing. But when
the older one repeated some of the lines, he said they were learned in
the Sunday-school.

"Come, Harry," said the older one, "here's what I've won from you. As
for me, as God sees me, I have played my last game, and drank my last
bottle. I have misled you, Harry, and I am sorry for it. Give me your
hand, my boy, and say that, for old America's sake, if for no other,
you will quit this infernal business."

Col. Russel H. Conwell, of Boston, (now Rev. Dr. Conwell of
Philadelphia) who was then visiting China, and was an eye-witness of the
scene, says that the reformation was a permanent one for both.


"I WILL SING YOU A SONG OF THAT BEAUTIFUL LAND."

One day, in the year 1865, Mrs. Ellen M.H. Gates received a letter from
Philip Phillips noting the passage in the _Pilgrim's Progress_ which
describes the joyful music of heaven when Christian and Hopeful enter on
its shining shore beyond the river of death, and asking her to write a
hymn in the spirit of the extract, as one of the numbers in his _Singing
Pilgrim_. Mrs. Gates complied--and the sequel of the hymn she wrote is
part of the modern song-history of the church. Mr. Phillips has related
how, when he received it, he sat down with his little boy on his knee,
read again the passage in Bunyan, then the poem again, and, turning to
his organ, pencil in hand, pricked the notes of the melody. "The 'Home
of the Soul,'" he says, "seems to have had God's blessing from the
beginning, and has been a comfort to many a bereaved soul. Like many
loved hymns, it has had a peculiar history, for its simple melody has
flowed from the lips of High Churchmen, and has sought to make itself
heard above the din of Salvation Army cymbals and drums. It has been
sung in prisons and in jailyards, while the poor convict was waiting to
be launched into eternity, and on hundreds of funeral occasions. One man
writes me that he has led the singing of it at one hundred and twenty
funerals. It was sung at my dear boy's funeral, who sat on my knee when
I wrote it. It is my prayer that God may continue its solace and
comfort. I have books containing the song now printed in seven different
languages."

A writer in the _Golden Rule_ (now the _Christian Endeavor World_) calls
attention to an incident on a night railroad train narrated in the late
Benjamin F. Taylor's _World on Wheels_, in which "this hymn appears as a
sort of Traveller's Psalm." Among the motley collection of passengers,
some talkative, some sleepy, some homesick and cross, all tired, sat two
plain women who, "would make capital country aunts.... If they were
mothers at all they were good ones." Suddenly in a dull silence, near
twelve o'clock, a voice, sweet and flexible, struck up a tune. The
singer was one of those women. "She sang on, one after another the good
Methodist and Baptist melodies of long ago," and the growing interest of
the passengers became chained attention when she began--

   "I will sing you a song of that beautiful land,
      The far-away home of the soul,
    Where no storms can beat on the glittering strand,
      While the years of eternity roll.

    O, that home of the soul, in my visions and dreams,
      Its bright jasper walls I can see;
    Till I fancy but thinly the veil intervenes
      Between the fair city and me."

"The car was a wakeful hush long before she had ended; it was as if a
beautiful spirit were floating through the air. None that heard will
ever forget. Philip Phillips can never bring that 'home of the soul' any
nearer to anybody. And never, I think, was quite so sweet a voice lifted
in a storm of a November night on the rolling plains of Iowa."

In an autograph copy of her hymn, sent to the editor, Mrs. Gates changes
"harps" to "palms." Is it an improvement? "Palms" is a word of two
meanings.

    O how sweet it will be in that beautiful land,
      So free from all sorrow and pain,
    With songs on our lips and with harps in our hands
      To meet one another again.


"THERE'S A LAND THAT IS FAIRER THAN DAY."

This belongs rather with "Christian Ballads" than with genuine hymns,
but the song has had and still has an uplifting mission among the lowly
whom literary perfection and musical nicety could not touch--and the
first two lines, at least, are good hymn-writing. Few of the best sacred
lyrics have been sung with purer sentiment and more affectionate fervor
than "The Sweet By-and-By." To any company keyed to sympathy by time,
place, and condition, the feeling of the song brings unshed tears.

As nearly as can be ascertained it was in the year 1867 that a man about
forty-eight years old, named Webster, entered the office of Dr. Bennett
in Elkhorn. Wis., wearing a melancholy look, and was rallied
good-naturedly by the doctor for being so blue--Webster and Bennett were
friends, and the doctor was familiar with the other's frequent fits of
gloom.

The two men had been working in a sort of partnership, Webster being a
musician and Bennett a ready verse-writer, and together they had created
and published a number of sheet-music songs. When Webster was in a fit
of melancholy, it was the doctor's habit to give him a "dose" of new
verses and cure him by putting him to work. Today the treatment turned
out to be historic.

"What's the matter now," was the doctor's greeting when his "patient"
came with the tell-tale face.

"O, nothing," said Webster. "It'll be all right by and by."

"Why not make a song of the sweet by and by?" rejoined the doctor,
cheerfully.

"I don't know," said Webster, after thinking a second or two. "If you'll
make the words, I'll write the music."

The doctor went to his desk, and in a short time produced three stanzas
and a chorus to which his friend soon set the notes of a lilting air,
brightening up with enthusiasm as he wrote. Seizing his violin, which
he had with him, he played the melody, and in a few minutes more he had
filled in the counterpoint and made a complete hymn-tune. By that time
two other friends, who could sing, had come in and the quartette tested
the music on the spot. Here different accounts divide widely as to the
immediate sequel of the new-born song.

A Western paper in telling its story a year or two ago, stated that
Webster took the "Sweet By and By" (in sheet-music form), with a batch
of other pieces, to Chicago, and that it was the only song of the lot
that Root and Cady would not buy; and finally, after he had tried in
vain to sell it, Lyon and Healy took it "out of pity," and paid him
twenty dollars. They sold eight or ten copies (the story continued) and
stowed it away with dead goods, and it was not till apparently a long
time after, when a Sunday-school hymn-book reprinted it, and began to
sell rapidly on its account, that the "Sweet By and By" started on its
career round the world.

This seems circumstantial enough, and the author of the hymn in his own
story of it might have chosen to omit some early particulars, but,
untrustworthy as the chronology of mere memory is, he would hardly
record immediate popularity of a song that lay in obscurity for years.
Dr. Bennett's words are, "I think it was used in public shortly after
[its production], for within two weeks children on the street were
singing it."

The explanation may be partly the different method and order of the
statements, partly lapses of memory (after thirty years) and partly in
collateral facts. The Sunday-school hymn-book was evidently _The Signet
Ring_, which Bennett and Webster were at work upon and into which first
went the "Sweet By and By"--whatever efforts may have been made to
dispose of it elsewhere or whatever copyright arrangement could have
warranted Mr. Healy in purchasing a song already printed. The _Signet
Ring_ did not begin to profit by the song until the next year, after a
copy of it appeared in the publishers' circulars, and started a demand;
so that the _immediate_ popularity implied in Doctor Bennett's account
was limited to the children of Elkhorn village.

The piece had its run, but with no exceptional result as to its hold on
the public, until in 1873 Ira D. Sankey took it up as one of his working
hymns. Modified from its first form in the "_Signet Ring_" with
pianoforte accompaniment and chorus, it appeared that year in _Winnowed
Hymns_ as arranged by Hubert P. Main, and it has so been sung ever
since.

Sanford Filmore Bennett, born in 1836, appears to have been a native of
the West, or, at least, removed there when a young man. In 1861 he
settled in Elkhorn to practice his profession. Died Oct., 1898.

Joseph Philbrick Webster was born in Manchester, N.H. March 22, 1819. He
was an active member of the Handel and Haydn Society, and various other
musical associations. Removed to Madison, Ind. 1851, Racine, Wis. 1856,
and Elkhorn, Wis., 1857, where he died Jan. 18, 1875. His _Signet Ring_
was published in 1868.

    There's a land that is fairer than day,
      And by faith I can see it afar
    For the Father waits over the way
      To prepare us a dwelling-place there.

  CHORUS
      In the sweet by and by
    We shall meet on that beautiful shore.

    We shall sing on that beautiful shore
      The melodious songs of the blest,
    And our spirits shall sorrow no more,
      Nor sigh for the blessing of rest.
                    In the sweet by and by, etc.


"SUNSET AND EVENING STAR."

Was it only a poet's imagination that made Alfred Tennyson approach
perhaps nearest of all great Protestants to a sense of the real
"Presence," every time he took the Holy Communion at the altar? Whatever
the feeling was, it characterized all his maturer life, so far as its
spiritual side was known. His remark to a niece expressed it, while
walking with her one day on the seashore, "God is with us now, on this
down, just as truly as Jesus was with his two disciples on the way to
Emmaus."

Such a man's faith would make no room for dying terrors.

    Sunset and evening star,
      And one clear call for me,
    And may there be no moaning of the bar
      When I put out to sea,

    But such a tide as, moving, seems asleep,
      Too full for sound and foam,
    When that which drew from out the boundless deep
      Turns again home.

    Twilight and evening bell,
      And after that the dark,
    And may there be no sadness of farewell
      When I embark.

    For though from out our bourne of time and place
      The flood may bear me far,
    I hope to see my Pilot face to face
      When I have crossed the bar.

Tennyson lived three years after penning this sublime prayer. But it was
his swan-song. Born at Somersby, Lincolnshire, Aug. 63 1809, dying at
Farringford, Oct. 6, 1892, he filled out the measure of a good old age.
And his prayer was answered, for his death was serene and dreadless. His
unseen Pilot guided him gently "across the bar"--and then _he saw Him_.


_THE TUNE._

Joseph Barnby's "Crossing the Bar" has supplied a noble choral to this
poem. It will go far to make it an accepted tone in church worship,
among the more lyrical strains of verse that sing hope and euthanasia.


"SAFE IN THE ARMS OF JESUS."

If Tennyson had the mistaken feeling (as Dr. Benson intimates) "that
hymns were expected to be commonplace," it was owing both to his mental
breeding and his mental stature. Genius in a colossal frame cannot
otherwise than walk in strides. What is technically a hymn he never
wrote, but it is significant that as he neared the Shoreless Sea, and
looked into the Infinite, his sense of the Divine presence instilled
something of the hymn spirit into his last verses.

Between Alfred Tennyson singing trustfully of his Pilot and Fanny Crosby
singing "Safe in the Arms of Jesus," is only the width of the choir. The
organ tone and the flute-note breathe the same song. The stately poem
and the sweet one, the masculine and the feminine, both have wings, but
while the one is lifted in anthem and solemn chant in the great
sanctuaries, the other is echoing Isaiah's tender text[48] in prayer
meeting and Sunday-school and murmuring it at the humble firesides like
a mother's lullaby.

[Footnote 48: Isa. 40:11.]

    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.

  REFRAIN
    Safe in the arms of Jesus (1st four lines rep.).

    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.

              Safe in the arms of Jesus.

    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 with patience,
      Wait till the night is o'er,
    Wait till I see the morning
      Break on the Golden Shore.

              Safe in the arms of Jesus.

                            --Composed 1868.


_THE TUNE._

Those who have characterized the _Gospel Hymns_ as "sensational" have
always been obliged to except this modest lyric of Christian peace and
its sweet and natural musical supplement by Dr. W.H. Doane. No hurried
and high-pitched chorus disturbs the quiet beauty of the hymn, a simple
_da capo_ being its only refrain. "Safe in the Arms of Jesus" sang
itself into public favor with the pulses of hymn and tune beating
together.




                INDEX OF NAMES.

  ABBOT, Lyman,                      237, 326
  ABT, Franz,                        228, 364
  ADAMS, E.,                              369
  ADAMS, John,                            368
  ADAMS, John Quincy,                     293
  ADAMS, Sarah F.,                        152
  ADDISON, Joseph,              113, 114, 353
  ADRIAN, (Emperor),                      515
  AIBLINGER, Johan Caspar,               357
  ALDRICH, Jonathan,                      287
  ALEXANDER, Mrs. C.F.,                   414
  ALLEN, George N.,                       412
  ALLEN, J.O.,                            129
  ALMOND, ----,                      364, 365
  ALTENBURG, Johan M.,                     84
  AMBROSE,                      xiii, 1, 2, 3
  ANATOLIUS,                              354
  APES, William,                          265
  ARATUS,                                 237
  ARNE, Thomas A.,                   107, 108
  ARNOLD, Matthew,                        109
  ARNOLD, S.,                             287
  ATCHISON, John B.,                      451
  ATKINSON, John,                    528, 529
  AUBER, Harriet,                    168, 169
  AUGUSTINE,                         ix, 2, 3
  AVISON, Charles,                        327

  BACH, Emanuel,                            9
  BACH, Sebastian,                      9, 71
  BAILEY, Thomas H.,                      112
  BAKER, Sir Henry,                        57
  BALDWIN, Thomas,                        262
  BARLOW, Joel,                      242, 243
  BARNBY, Joseph,          102, 111, 469, 500,
                                504, 526, 539
  BARNES, Albert,                          35
  BARTHELEMON, F.H.,                 202, 222
  BASIL THE GREAT,                         56
  BASSINI, ----,                          444
  BEANES, William,                        333
  BEDDOME, Benjamin,                 160, 169
  BEECHER, Henry Ward,                    218
  BEETHOVEN, Ludwig Von,     5, 193, 327, 338
  BELCHER, Dr.,                            44
  BENNETT, Sanford F.,                535-537
  BENSON, Louis F.,                  204, 206
  BENTHAM, Jeremy,                         97
  BERKELEY, Bp. George,               324-326
  BERNARD OF CLAIRVAUX,                   100
  BERNARD OF CLUNY,        407, 510, 511, 519
  BERRIDGE, John,               122, 123, 503
  BERTHOLD OF TOURS,                       55
  BEZA, Theodore,                         xvi
  BIGLOW AND MAIN,                        229
  BILLINGS, William,   16, 327, 332, 333, 475
  BISHOP, Sir Henry,                      135
  BLACKALL, C.R.,                         450
  BLISS, Mrs. J. Worthington,             259
  BLISS, Philip P.,        155, 156, 319, 372,
                           421, 422, 424, 431,
                      436, 437, 442, 444, 454
  BLOOMFIELD, Dorothy,                    503
  BOARDMAN, George Dana,                  247
  BOHLER, Peter,                           46
  BONAPARTE, Napoleon,                97, 389
  BONAR, Horatius,              225, 226, 228,
                           309, 490, 415, 527
  BONAR, James,                           490
  BONAVENTURA,                        54, 458
  BORTHWICK, Jane,                   103, 499
  BORTNIANSKY, Dimitri,                   213
  BOTTOME, Francis,                       433
  BOURDALOUE,                              13
  BOURGEOIS, Louis,                        15
  BOWRING, Sir John,         97, 98, 170, 501
  BOYD, William,                          513
  BRADBURY, William B.,         106, 107, 215,
                           217, 235, 311, 312,
                           363, 410, 513, 528
  BRADY, Nicholas,                12, 14, 193
  BRAINERD, David,                        263
  BREED, David R.,    171, 176, 180, 226, 526
  BROOKS, Charles T.,                     348
  BROOKS, Bp. Phillips,           x, 164, 169
  BROWN, John,                            342
  BROWN, Phebe H.,               229-232, 482
  BROWN, Samuel,                          232
  BROWN, Theron,                188, 476, 480
  BROWN, Timothy H.,                      229
  BRUCE, Michael,                         297
  BRUNDAGE, ----,                         454
  BULL, John,                             338
  BURGMUeLLER, F.,                         425
  BURNEY, Charles,                   241, 407
  BURNS, Robert,                333, 336, 367
  BUTE, Walter,                      379, 380
  BUTTERWORTH, Hezekiah,           v, vi, 186,
                                187, 252, 254

  CALDWELL, William,                      277
  CAMPBELL, David E.,                     222
  CAMPBELL, Jane M.,                      478
  CAMPBELL, Robert,                        61
  CARADOC, ----,                          381
  CAREY, Henry,                           339
  CAREY, William,               172, 491, 492
  CAROLINE, (Queen),                      203
  CARY, Phebe,                  407, 529, 530
  CARTWRIGHT, Peter,                 271, 272
  CASE, Charles C.,                       187
  CASWALL, Edward,               75, 101, 459
  CAWOOD, John,                      414, 465
  CELANO, Thomas di.,                  62, 63
  CENNICK, John,                124, 126, 504
  CHALMERS, Thomas,                  225, 226
  CHANDLER, John,                         485
  CHANDLER, S.,                           270
  CHAPIN, Amzi,                           275
  CHARLEMAGNE,                              5
  CHARLES, David,                         403
  CHARLES, Thomas,                        401
  CIBBER, Mrs.,                           108
  CLARK, Jeremiah,                          9
  CLARKE, Adam,                           177
  CLAUDIUS, Matthias,                     478
  CLEMENT OF ALEXANDRIA,             294, 296
  CLEPHANE, Elizabeth C.,                 423
  CLICHTOVIUS,                              5
  COLE, John,              115, 479, 507, 515
  COLES, George,                126, 127, 285
  COLLYER, William B.,                 72, 73
  COLUMBUS, Christopher,                  356
  CONDER, Josiah,                         489
  CONKEY, Ithamar,                    99, 249
  CONVERSE, Charles Crozat,               426
  CONWELL, Russell H.,                    532
  COOK, Martha A.W.,                 148, 149
  COOK, Parsons,                     148, 149
  COOPER, George,                         312
  CORELLI, Arcangelo,                      39
  CORNELL, J.B.,                          438
  CORNELL, John Henry,           96, 355, 415
  CORSE, Gen. G.M.,                       424
  COUSIN, Anne R.,                     78, 82
  COVERT,                                 333
  COWDELL, Samuel,                        265
  COWPER, William,                x, 129, 131,
                                176, 192, 403
  CROFT, William,                         204
  CROSBY, Fanny J.,             156, 184, 312,
                                425, 438, 546
  CUYLER, Theodore L.,                    377
  CYPRIAN OF CARTHAGE,                      1

  DADMUN, J.W.,                           272
  DAGGET, Simeon,                         330
  DANA, Mary S.B.,                   287, 288
  DARTMOUTH, Lord,                        269
  DAVENANT, Sir William,                  306
  DE GROOTE, Gerard,                       67
  DE LA MOTHE, Jeanne M.B.,          190, 191
  DE LISLE, Roget,                        329
  DENHAM, David,                          134
  DERMID, (King),                         328
  DEXTER, Henry M.,                  294, 296
  DITSON, Oliver,                    vii, 413
  DIXON, William,                          36
  DOANE, Bp. George W.,              482, 483
  DOANE, William H.,       157, 425, 429, 430,
                           438, 450, 480, 541
  DODDRIDGE, Philip,       116, 117, 169, 410,
                      413, 476, 488, 495, 519
  DODGE, Ossian E.,                       333
  DOUGLAS, George,                        vii
  DOW, Howard M.,                         502
  DOW, Lorenzo,                           272
  DOW, Peggy,                             272
  DRAPER, Bourne H.,                      171
  DUNBAR, E.W.,                           288
  D'URHAN, Christian,                      82
  DUTTON, Deodatus,                       232
  DWIGHT, H.O.,                           462
  DWIGHT, John S.,                   347, 348
  DWIGHT, Timothy,               29, 133, 134
  DYKES, John B.,             51, 57, 65, 104,
                           152, 224, 228, 363,
                           370, 372, 465, 525
  EDMESTON, James,                   299, 488
  EDSON, Lewis,                      395, 476
  EDWARDS, Jonathan,                      263
  ELIAS, John,                            390
  ELIZABETH, (Queen),                      17
  ELLIOTT, Charlotte,                214, 215
  ELLIOT, Ebenezer,                       183
  ELLSWORTH, J.S.,                        437
  EMERSON, Ralph Waldo,              339, 340
  EPHREM, Syrus,                           56
  ERBURY, ----,                           381
  ESLING, Catherine,            208, 209, 482
  EVANS, Evelyn,                          407
  EVANS, Heber,                           399
  EVANS, John Miller,                     369
  EVANS, Thomas,                          401
  EWING, Alexander,                       512

  FABER, Frederick W.,     233, 234, 302, 524
  FAURE, Jean Baptiste,                   470
  FAWCETT, John,                     132, 133
  FINDLATER, Mrs.,                        103
  FISCHER, William Gustavus,              429
  FLATMAN, ----,                          515
  FORTUNATUS, Venantius,             357, 472
  FOSTER, Paul,                           vii
  FRANC, Guillaume,                       194
  FRANCIS, Benjamin,                      132
  FRANKENBERRY, A.D.,                     424
  FREDERICK, (King),                       94
  FREEMAN, John E.,                       222
  FROTHINGHAM, N.L.,                       ix
  FULBERT, Bp.,                         59-61

  GARDINER, William,                  48, 130
  GATES, Bernard,                          96
  GATES, Ellen M.H.,            vii, 256, 258,
                           430, 449, 532, 534
  GAUNTLETT, Henry I.,                48, 483
  GELLERT, C.F.,                          473
  GEORGE I, (King),                        11
  GERHARDT, Paul,          84, 85, 87, 88, 93
  GIARDINI, Felice,                       227
  GILMORE, Joseph Henry,             235, 236
  GLADSTONE, William E.,             139, 140
  GLASER, Carl,                            48
  GLENELG, Lord,                           22
  GOODE, William,                      14, 31
  GORDON, A.J.,                      162, 164
  GORDON, Mrs. A.J.,                      vii
  GOTTSCHALK, Louis,                      483
  GOUGH, John B.,                         215
  GOULD, Eliza,                           151
  GOULD, John Edgar,            374, 468, 488
  GOULD, Sabine Baring,                   185
  GRANNIS, Sidney M.,                     259
  GRAPE, John T.,                         429
  GRANT, Sir Robert,              21, 22, 212
  GREGORY NAZIANZEN,                       56
  GREGORY THE GREAT, (Pope), xiii, xiv, 8, 10
  GRENADE, John,                          298
  GRIFFITHS, Ann,                     396-399
  GRIFFITHS, Edward,                      386
  GRIGGS, ----,                           102
  GROOTE, Gerald de,                       67
  GUIDO, Arentino,                        xiv
  GUILD, Curtis,                          206
  GURNEY, Mrs.,                           503
  GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS, (King),            82-84
  GUYON, Madame,                     190, 192

  HAGUE, John R.,                         vii
  HALL, Amasiah,                     513, 514
  HALL, Elvina M.,                        426
  HAMMOND, William,                        29
  HANDEL, George Frederick,       11, 31, 134,
                                     166, 414
  HANKEY, Kate,                      427, 429
  HANNA, Ione T.,                         456
  HARRINGTON, C.S.,                       149
  HARRINGTON, Karl,                       528
  HARRIS, Howell,               381, 387, 388
  HARRIS, Thomas,                         366
  HARRISON, Ralph,                         48
  HART, Joseph,                      119, 121
  HAREWOOD, Edward,                       517
  HASTINGS, H.L.,                         204
  HASTINGS, Thomas,          25, 59, 142, 160,
                       168, 174, 219-221, 223
  HATFIELD, C.F.,                          14
  HATTON, John,                            37
  HATTON, John Liphot,                     37
  HAVERGAL, Frances Ridley,          154, 155
  HAVERGAL, William Henry,                227
  HAWKES, Annie S.,                       153
  HAWKES, Robert,                          14
  HAYDN, Joseph,                           32
  HAYWARD, Thomas,                        488
  HEARN, Marianne Farningham,        441, 442
  HEATH, George,                          143
  HEATH, Lyman,                           247
  HEBER, Bp. Reginald,              4, 50, 51,
                                178, 179, 318
  HEDGE, Frederick H.,                     71
  HEMANS, Felicia,    196, 359, 323, 324, 333
  HENRY vii, (King),                       18
  HEWS, George,                 407, 483, 484
  HICKS, John J.,                         272
  HILARY, Bp.,                           xiii
  HILLER, Ferdinand,                   65, 66
  HINSDALE, George,                       229
  HODGES, Edward,                    212, 464
  HOLBROOK, Joseph P.,          360, 364, 501
  HOLDEN, Oliver,                      27, 28
  HOLMES, O.W.,                  52, 249, 344
  HOLROYD, Israel,                        409
  HOLZMAN, ----,                          329
  HOPKINS, Edward,                    30, 112
  HOPKINS, John,                           15
  HOPKINSON, Joseph,                      331
  HOPPER, Edward,                         373
  HORDER, Garrett,                        489
  HOWARD, John,                            24
  HOWE, Julia Ward,                  340, 343
  HUCBALD,                               xiii
  HUFFER, Francis,                         95
  HUGHES AND SON,                         vii
  HUGHES, Mrs.,                           359
  HUMPHREYS, Cecil Frances,               414
  HUNTER, William,              272, 288, 289
  HUNTINGDON, (Lady) Selina,       25, 88, 89,
                                119, 128, 201
  HUNTINGTON, DeWitt C.,                  436
  HUSBAND, John Jenkins,                  416
  HYATT, John,                            216
  HYDE, Charles,                          230

  INGALLS, Jeremiah,       121, 274, 278, 507
  IRVING, Washington,                     322
  ISAAC, Heinrich,                    91, 112

  JACKSON, Andrew,                        206
  JACKSON, Deborah,                       206
  JEROME OF PRAGUE,                       472
  JOHN OF DAMASCUS,                53, 54, 57
  JOHNSON, Albert,                        222
  JOHNSON, Mrs. James G.,                 452
  JONES, H.R.,                            392
  JONES, John,                            393
  JONES, Nancy,                      389, 390
  JONES, Thomas,                          401
  JUDAH, Daniel Ben,                       20
  JUDSON, Sarah B.,                       246
  JULIAN, John,                           204

  KEBLE, John,                  159, 252, 482
  KEENE, Robert,                          204
  KELLER, Matthias,             343, 345, 347
  KELLY, Thomas,                    173, 174
  KEMPIS, Thomas a,                        67
  KEN, Bp.,                            13, 14
  KEY, Francis Scott,                 49, 333
  KEY, John R.,                            49
  KING, Jacob,                             71
  KING ROBERT II,              11, 57, 58, 60
  KINGSLEY, George,              34, 102, 158,
                                281, 318, 519
  KIPLING, Rudyard,                   349-351
  KOZELUCK, ----,                         483
  KRISHNA PAL,                            491

  LAMB, Frank M.,                    253, 254
  LATTIMORE, W.O.,                        434
  LEE, Mary Augusta,                 455, 456
  LEE, Gen. Robert E.,                    206
  LELAND, John,                 224, 276, 482
  LINCOLN, Abraham,                  239, 256
  LINDSAY, Miss,                          259
  LOGAN, John,                            279
  LONGFELLOW, Henry W.,              248, 249
  LONGFELLOW, Samuel,                      ix
  LORIMER, George,                        252
  LOUIS, (King),                       5, 191
  LOWRY, J.C.,                            118
  LOWRY, Robert,                 39, 148, 153,
                           406, 419, 446, 448
  LOYOLA, Ignatius,                        74
  LUCAS, James,                           495
  LUDWIG, Duke,                           121
  LUKE, Jemima T.,                   305, 306
  LULLI, ----,                            338
  LUMMIS, Franklin H.,                    342
  LUTHER, Martin,          xvi, 8, 69-71, 388
  LYON, Meyer,                             20
  LYTE, Henry Francis,               217, 221

  MACGILL, Hamilton M.,                   296
  MACKAY, Charles,                        135
  MACKAY, Margaret,                       499
  MACKAY, William Paton,                  416
  MADAN, Martin,         29, 30, 41, 463, 505
  MAFFIT, John,                           274
  MAIN, Hubert P.,          vi, vii, 115, 134,
                           228, 240, 299, 307,
                      369, 415, 430, 470, 537
  MALAN, Caesar,           xvi, 214, 384, 436
  MARCO, (?), Portugalis,            205, 206
  MAROT, Clement,                         xvi
  MARSH, ----,                            363
  MARVIN, Bp.,                            151
  MARY, (Queen),                       12, 18
  MARY, (Princess),                    12, 18
  MARY, (Virgin),                    356, 358
  MARY STUART, (Queen),                    77
  MASON, Francis,                         175
  MASON, Lowell,              36, 91, 93, 105,
                 106, 111, 118, 131, 133, 146,
                 170, 173, 179, 196, 302, 337,
                      339, 348, 363, 581, 526
  MASTERS, Mary,                          303
  MAURICE, ----,                          381
  MAXIM, Abraham,               282, 283, 488
  MAYO, Mrs. Herbert,                     310
  MAZZINGHI, Joseph,                 202, 203
  McGRANAHAN, James,            308, 444, 452
  McKEEVER, F.G.,                         vii
  McKINLEY, William,                 151, 251
  McMULLEN, Mr. and Mrs.,                 222
  MEEK, William T.,                       vii
  MEDLEY, Samuel,                    136, 276
  MELANCTHON, Philip,                      69
  MENDELSSOHN, Felix,           463, 482, 491
  MERRIAM, Edmund F.,                     vii
  MERRILL, Abraham, D.,                   269
  MIDLANE, Albert,                        445
  MILLER, James,                          367
  MILMAN, Henry Hart,                     278
  MILLS, Elizabeth,                       307
  MILTON, John,                      461, 462
  MOHAMMED,                                 5
  MONK, William H.,             160, 219, 245
  MONTGOMERY, James,             21, 144, 145,
                           176, 177, 285, 353,
                           480, 487, 499, 521
  MOODY, Dwight L.,   308, 310, 421, 426, 431
  MOORE, (More), Joshua,             267, 269
  MOORE, Thomas,  112, 219, 243, 325-328, 333
  MORGAN, David,                          392
  MORNINGTON, Garret,
    Colley Wellesley, Earl of             523
  MORRIS, Robert,                         260
  MORSE, Charles H.,                      482
  MOTE, Edward,                           216
  MOZART, Johan Wolfgang,       222, 244, 327
  MUHLENBERG, Henry M.,              158, 498
  MUHLENBERG, W.A.,                  157, 158
  MURILLO, Bartolomeo,                    162

  NAeGELI, Johan G.,                  161, 162
  NAPOLEON,                           97, 389
  NARES, James,                            95
  NEALE, John M.,      6, 7, 55, 57, 354, 512
  NERO, (Emperor),                        322
  NEWELL, Harriet,                        175
  NEWMAN, John Henry,           223, 224, 524
  NEWTON, John,            130, 203, 204, 286,
                                386, 403, 493
  NICHOLSON, Ludovic,                     201
  NOVELLO, Vincent,                    73, 74
  NUTTER, Dr.,                            180

  OAKELEY, Frederick,                     459
  OAKELEY, Sir. Herbert S.,               252
  OAKEY, Emily,                      434, 435
  OCCUM, Samson,                 267-269, 279
  O'KANE, Tullius C.,                     437
  OLDCASTLE, John,                        379
  OLIVER, Henry K.,                  104, 105
  OLIVERS, Thomas,            19, 20, 22, 504
  OSBORNE, John,                          146

  PAINE, John K.,                         462
  PAINE, Robert T.,                       335
  PALESTRINA,                         xiv-xvi
  PALMER, Horatio R.,      261, 311, 417, 450
  PALMER, Ray,                             59
  PARKER, Theodore,                        ix
  PARRY; Joseph,                     395, 398
  PATRICK, St.,                           328
  PAYNE John Howard,                      135
  PELOUBET, F.N.,                         188
  PENRY, ----,                            381
  PERRONET, Edward,            25, 27, 31, 59
  PHELPS, A.S.,                           vii
  PHELPS, S.D.,                           147
  PHELPS, W.L.,                          vii
  PHILIP, "King",                         265
  PHILLIPS, Philip,             149, 150, 239,
                           256, 267, 309, 333,
                           421, 531, 532, 534
  PHIPPS, George,                    188, 189
  PIERPONT, John,                    335, 336
  PINSUTI,                                415
  PLEYEL, Ignace,                    126, 208
  PLINY,                                  293
  POPE, Alexander,         238, 326, 515, 516
  POWELL, John,                           381
  PRESBRY, Otis F.,                  451, 452
  PRICE, Dr.,                              41
  PRICE, E.M.,                            395
  PRITCHARD, Rhys M.,                379, 396
  PROCH, Heinrich,                        357
  PURCELL, Henry,                         338

  RALEIGH, Sir Walter,                     76
  RANKIN, James,                          362
  RANKIN, Jeremiah E.,                    496
  RAVENSCROFT, Thomas,                    338
  READ, Daniel,                      407, 466
  READING, John,                          205
  REDHEAD, Richard,                        50
  REDNER, Louis H.,                       469
  REES, William,                          402
  REINAGLE, Alexander R.,                  87
  REXFORD, Eben E.,                  439, 440
  RHYE, Morgan,                           404
  RICHARDSON, John,                        76
  RIDLEY, Bp.,                              4
  RILEY, Mary Louise,                     317
  RIMBAULT, Edward F.,                    282
  RINGWALDT, Bartholomew,              71, 73
  RIPPON, John,                  27, 204, 281
  RITTER, Peter,                          160
  ROBERT II, (King),               57, 58, 60
  ROBERTS, Evan,                377, 393, 394
  ROBERTS, W.M.,                          404
  ROBINSON, Charles,                 171, 179
  ROBINSON, Robert,                  283, 284
  ROMAINE, William,                        31
  ROOSEVELT, Theodore,                    151
  ROOT, George F.,               155, 156,254,
                           315, 317, 439, 444
  ROUSSEAU, J.J.,                    112, 113
  ROWE, Elizabeth,                         45
  ROWLANDS, Daniel,                  381, 387
  RUTHERFORD, Samuel,              78, 79, 81

  SALMON, Thomas,                         432
  SANDERSON, Mrs.,                        335
  SANKEY, Ira D.,           184, 258, 308-311,
                       374, 375, 417, 421-423,
                           434, 438, 447, 537
  SCHMOLKE, Benjamin,                     499
  SCHUMANN, Robert,                        87
  SCOTT, Thomas,                     226, 411
  SCOTT, Sir Walter,                      240
  SCRIVEN, Joseph,                        425
  SEAGRAVE, Robert,                        94
  SEARS, Edmund H.,                       466
  SENECA,                            320, 322
  SERVOSS, Mary Elizabeth,           442, 443
  SEWARD, William H.,                     257
  SHEPHERD, Thomas,                       411
  SHERIDAN, Mrs. Richard Brinsley,        244
  SHIPLEY, Dean,                          178
  SHIRLEY, Sir Walter,          127, 128, 202
  SIMAO, Portugalis,                      206
  SIMPSON, Robert,                        298
  SINGER, Elizabeth,                       45
  SMART, Henry,       4, 5, 10, 137, 465, 525
  SMITH, Mrs. Albert,                     317
  SMITH, Alexander,                       368
  SMITH, Goldwin,                           x
  SMITH, Isaac,                           324
  SMITH, John Stafford,                   335
  SMITH, Samuel Francis,    180-182, 337, 339
  SPAFFORD, Horatio G.,              440, 441
  SPOHR, L.,     126, 207, 227, 228, 244, 488
  STAINER, John,             65, 66, 352, 474
  STANLEY, (Dean), Arthur P.,     65, 66, 148
  STEAD, William,                    150, 151
  STEBBINS, George C.,          254, 308, 375,
                                     415, 528
  STEELE, Anna,                           197
  STEFFE, John W.,                        342
  ST. FULBERT,                          59-61
  STENNETT, Joseph,                   23, 488
  STENNETT, Samuel,                    23, 24
  STEPHENS, ----,                         395
  STEPHEN, (St.), the Sabaite,             57
  STERNHOLD, Thomas,                   15, 16
  STEVENSON, ----,                        317
  STOKES, Walter,                          84
  STORES, Richard S.,                 35, 474
  STORRS, Mrs. R.S.,                      474
  STOWE, Harriet Beecher,                 481
  STOWELL, Hugh,                     222, 223
  STUART, Charles M.,                      34
  SUMNER, Janaziah,                       330
  SWAIN, Joseph,                      28, 281
  SWAN, Jabez,                            286
  SWAN, Timothy,           194, 195, 327, 506

  TADOLINI, Giovanni,                     357
  TAIT, Abp.,                             252
  TALLIS, Thomas,                  xv, 17, 18
  TANSUR, William,                   282, 283
  TARBUTTON, W.A.,                        528
  TATE, Nahum,               12, 14, 193, 283
  TAYLOR, Benjamin F.,                    533
  TAYLOR, James,                           61
  TAYLOR, Thomas R.,                 300, 301
  TAYLOR, V.C.,                       52, 244
  TENNYSON, Alfred,              259, 538-540
  TERSTEEGEN, Gerhard,                    102
  TESCHNER, Melchior,                       8
  THEODULPH, Bp.,                     5, 6, 7
  THOMAS a KEMPIS,                         67
  THOMAS DI CELANO,                    62, 63
  THRING, Godfrey,                        371
  THRUPP, Dorothy A.,                     310
  TOMER, William G.,                      497
  TOPLADY, A.M.,            137, 138, 517, 18
  TOURJEE, Eben,                149, 150, 235
  TOURJEE, Lizzie S.,                     235
  TOURS, Berthold,                        415
  TRAJAN, (Emperor),                      293
  TYLER, Mrs. Fanny,                       28

  UFFORD, E.S.,                 374, 376, 377
  UPHAM, Thomas,                          192
  URHAN, Christian,                        82

  VAIL, Silas J.,                 8, 234, 235
  VAN ALSTYNE, Mrs.,  156, 184, 312, 425, 438
  VERNON, (Admiral),                      339
  VICTORIA, (Queen),            139, 248, 252
  VOKES, Mrs.,                       171, 173
  VOLTAIRE,                                43
  VON GLUCK,                              490
  VON WEBER, C.M.,         121, 338, 490, 500

  WADE, ----,                             102
  WALFORD, William W.,                    432
  WALTHER, Johan,                         xvi
  WARNER, Anna,                           418
  WASHBURN, Henry S.,                245, 247
  WATERS, Horace,                         303
  WATKIN, Jack E.,                        390
  WATSON, Bp.,                            151
  WATSON, Richard,                        120
  WATTS, Isaac,            14, 29, 33, 35, 37,
              40, 41-45, 47, 60, 105, 107-109,
                      133, 134, 165, 166, 167,
                 243, 396, 403, 463, 506, 513
  WAYLAND, Francis,                        42
  WEBB, George J.,                   182, 444
  WEBBE, Samuel,                     116, 505
  WEBSTER, Joseph P.,                 535-537
  WELLS, G.C.,                            111
  WENTWORTH, (Gov.),                      269
  WESLEY, Charles,         14, 26, 45, 47, 94,
             111, 118, 204, 274, 359-361, 388,
            396, 403, 420, 463, 474, 493, 520
  WESLEY, John,        14, 209, 211, 273, 520
  WESLEY, Samuel,                     45, 178
  WESLEY, Samuel Sebastian,      45, 177, 178,
                                     304, 485
  WHEELOCK, Eleazer,                 267, 269
  WHITE, Henry Kirke,            297, 364-366
  WHITEFIELD, George,              19, 31, 88,
                                124, 132, 201
  WHITING, William,                  369, 370
  WHITTIER, John G.,                 250, 251
  WHITTLE, D.W.,                          444
  WILLIAM, (King),                     12, 13
  WILLIAMS, Aaron,                   130, 134
  WILLIAMS, David,                        405
  WILLIAMS, Helen M.,           125, 126, 206
  WILLIAMS, Peter,         199, 201, 387, 389
  WILLIAMS, Thomas,             393, 401, 403
  WILLIAMS, William,    166-168, 199, 381-386,
                           388, 396, 399, 405
  WILLIS, Richard Storrs,            415, 467
  WILLIS, Nathaniel,                      467
  WILLIS, N.P.,                           467
  WILSON, Hugh,                           353
  WINKS, W.E.,                            406
  WINKWORTH, Catherine,                    84
  WOODBRIDGE, William C.,            338, 339
  WOODBURY, Isaac B.,           111, 183, 244,
                                     319, 407
  WOODMAN, J.C.,                     410, 415
  WOOD, Sir Evelyn,                       368
  WROTH, William,                         379
  WYETH, John,                       283, 284

  XAVIER, Francis,                         74

  YOUNG, Andrew,                          304

  ZERRAHN, Carl,                          444
  ZEUNER, Heinrich,                  172, 241
  ZINZENDORF, (Count),                 91, 92
  ZUNDEL, John,                      363, 485




                INDEX OF TUNES.

  ABENDS,                                 252
  ABERYSTWYTH,                            395
  ABIDE WITH ME,                          219
  AELRED,                                 372
  AIN,                                 38, 39
  ALMOST PERSUADED,                       454
  ALSACE,                                 193
  ALL SAINTS, NEW,                        513
  AMALAND,                                465
  AMERICA,                            336-339
  AMES,                                    34
  AMSTERDAM,                           95, 96
  ANACREON IN HEAVEN,                     334
  ANNAPOLIS,                         507, 515
  ANTHEM FOR EASTER,                      474
  ANTIOCH,                           166, 464
  ANTIPHONALS,                           xiii
  ANVERN,                                 520
  ARABIA,                                 388
  ARIEL,                                  137
  ARLINGTON,                    107, 118, 515
  ATHENS,                            227, 307
  AUDIENTES,                              303
  AULD LANG SYNE,                         515
  AURELIA,                                177
  AUTUMN, (Sardius),                      222
  AZMON,                               47, 48

  BABEL,                                  388
  BALERMA,                           297, 298
  BATTLE HYMN ETC.,                   341-343
  BELMONT,                                116
  BENEVENTO,                              494
  BERLIN,                                 491
  BETHANY,                           153, 465
  BEYOND THE SMILING AND THE WEEPING,     528
  BIRMINGHAM,                             132
  BONNY DOON,                             367
  BOSWORTH,                               105
  BOWER OF PRAYER, THE,                   147
  BOWRING,                                170
  BOYLSTON,                     133, 169, 523
  BRADEN,                                 276
  BRATTLE STREET,                    126, 207
  BREST,                                  505
  BRIGHT CANAAN,                     273, 274
  BRIGHTON,                               245
  BROKEN PINION, THE,                     254
  BROOKLYN,                               485
  BROWN,                                  232
  BRUCE'S ADDRESS,                   335, 336
  BRYMGFRYD,                              388
  BUCKFIELD,                              283
  BURIAL OF MRS. JUDSON,                  247

  CALM ON THE LISTENING EAR, (EPIPHANY),  468
  CANAAN,                                 514
  CANONS,                                  11
  CAPEL Y DDOL,                           405
  CAROL,                                  467
  CATHARINE,                              404
  CHESTER,                           331, 332
  CHINA,                                  194
  CHRISTMAS,                         414, 466
  CLWYD,                                  393
  COLEBROOK,                              137
  COLUMBIA,                               332
  COME,                                   453
  COME, MY BRETHREN,                      280
  COME, YE DISCONSOLATE,                  221
  COME, YE FAITHFUL,                       55
  CONSOLATION,                            482
  CONVENTION HYMN,                        187
  CORONATION,                          27, 59
  CORSICA,                                490
  COUNTERPOINT,                            xv
  CREATION,                                40
  CRIMEA,                                 366
  CROSSING THE BAR,                       539
  CRUCIFIXION,                            514
  CWYFAN,                                 388
  CWYNFAN PRYDIAN,                        402

  DARBY,                                  403
  DEAD MARCH IN "SAUL",                   498
  DEDHAM,                             48, 130
  DENMARK,                                 41
  DENNIS,                            133, 161
  DEVONSHIRE,                             105
  DEVOTION,                               514
  DIES IRAE,                               65
  DORT,                         187, 348, 481
  DUNBAR,                                 531
  DUNDEE,                                 194
  DUKE STREET,                        37, 166

  EASTER ANTHEM,                          474
  EBENEZER,                               406
  EDEN OF LOVE,                      272, 273
  EDINA,                                  252
  EDOM,                                   401
  EIN FESTE BURG,                          71
  EIRINWG,                                403
  ELLACOMBE,                              177
  ELLIOTT,                                215
  ELVY,                                   388
  EMMONS,                                 125
  EPIPHANY (CALM ON THE LISTENING),       468
  ERNAN,                                  407
  ETERNITY,                               449
  EUCHARIST,                              111
  EVAN,                                   227
  EVENING SONG TO THE VIRGIN,             359
  EXCELSIUS,                               96

  FAIR HARVARD,                           307
  FALMOUTH,                               514
  FEDERAL STREET,                    104, 105
  FITZWILLIAM,                              4
  FOREVER WITH THE LORD,                  498
  FREDERICK,                         158, 498
  FROM GREENLAND'S ICY,                   179

  GANGES,                       119, 269, 270
  GARDEN HYMN, THE,                  277, 278
  GENEVA,                                 115
  GOLDEN HILL,                       108, 274
  GOD BE WITH YOU,                        497
  GOOD MORNING IN GLORY,                  164
  GOTT IST LICHT,                         463
  GREENVILLE,                        112, 121
  GRIGGS,                                 102

  HABAKKUK,                               212
  HAIL COLUMBIA,                          331
  HALLELUJAH! 'TIS DONE!                  422
  HALLOWELL,                              283
  HAMBURG,                                111
  HANOVER,                                204
  HAPPY DAY,                              282
  HAPPY LAND,                             304
  HAREWOOD,                               485
  HARMONY,                                514
  HARMONY GROVE,                          105
  HARVEST HOME,                           479
  HAYDN,                                   31
  HEBER,                             102, 318
  HE LEADETH ME,                          236
  HELMSLEY,                               505
  HENDON,                                 486
  HE WILL HIDE ME,                        444
  HOLD THE FORT,                     424, 432
  HOLLEY,                       407, 483, 484
  HOLY CROSS,                             102
  HOLY, HOLY, HOLY,                        51
  HOLY TRINITY,                           102
  HOME OF THE SOUL, THE,             532, 533
  HOME, SWEET HOME,                       135
  HORBURY,                                152
  HOSANNA,                                512
  HUDSON,                                 105
  HURSLEY,                           160, 493
  HYFRYDOL,                               375

  I'M GLAD I'M IN THIS ARMY,              299
  IMMANUEL'S BANNER,                      188
  INDEPENDENCE,                           332
  INNSBRUCK,                               91
  IT IS WELL,                             440
              (See Index of Hymns)

  JAZER,                                  118
  JEWETT,                                 500
  JOYFULLY, JOYFULLY,                289, 290
              (See Index of Hymns)

  KEBLE,                                   52
  KELLER'S AMERICAN HYMN,             433-445
  KENT,                                   105
  KENTUCKY,                               274

  LABAN,                                  143
  LAMENT OVER BOSTON,                     332
  LAND AHEAD,                             369
  LANESBORO,                          36, 503
  LA SPEZIA,                               61
  LENOX,                             395, 476
  LEONI,                                   20
  LET THE LOWER LIGHTS,                   434
  LISBON,                                 466
  LISCHER,                                488
  LLANIETYN,                              404
  LOUVAN,                             52, 244
  LOVING-KINDNESS,                        277
  LOWELL,                                 407
  LUCAS,                                  494
  LUTHER'S HYMN,                           73
  LUX BENIGNA,                            224

  MAGDALEN,                               351
  MAGNIFICAT,                     xi, xii, 10
  MAITLAND,                               412
  MAJESTY,                                 16
  MALVERN,                                 93
  MANOAH,                                 116
  MARSEILLAISE,                 174, 329, 352
  MASSACHUSETTS,                          514
  MATTHIAS,                               245
  MEAR,                                   130
  MELANCTHON,                             496
  MELITA,                                 370
  MILTON,                                 243
  MENDELSSOHN,                            463
  MERIBAH,                   90, 91, 119, 395
  MERTON,                            105, 519
  MESSIAH,                                281
  MIDNIGHT MASS,                          460
  MIGDOL,                                 173
  MILLENNIAL DAWN,              177, 182, 477
  MISSIONARY CHANT,                  172, 291
  MONSON,                                 232
  MONTGOMERY,                              35
  MORECAMBE,                              491
  MORLAIX,                                372
  MORNING,                                105
  MORNING GLORY,                          504
  MORNINGTON,                             523
  MOZART,                                 244
  MT. AUBURN,                             519
  MT. VERNON,                             498
  MY AIN COUNTREE,                        456
  MY BROTHER I WISH YOU WELL,              91
  MY JESUS, I LOVE THEE,             162, 163

  NANCY JIG,                              385
  NAOMI,                                  198
  NEALE,                                  355
  NEARER HOME,                       407, 531
  NESTA,                                  404
  NETTLETON,                    112, 283, 284
  NEW DURHAM,                             283
  NEW JERUSALEM,                     506, 507
  NICAEA,                                   51
  NORTHFIELD,                         506-508
  NORWICH,                           207, 462
  NOT HALF HAS EVER BEEN TOLD,            451
  NOTTINGHAM,                              16
  NO WAR NOR BATTLE SOUND,                461

  OAK,                                    302
  ODE ON SCIENCE,                         330
  O DO NOT BE DISCOURAGED,                299
  OLD HUNDRED,          xvi, 15, 41, 166, 339
  OLMUTZ,                                 518
  OLD SHIP OF ZION,                       290
  ONE MORE DAY'S WORK, ETC.,              418
  ONLY REMEMBERED,                        309
  ONWARD, CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS,         56, 186
  O, PERFECT LOVE,                        504
  ORTONVILLE,                              25
  OVER THERE,                             436

  PALESTINE,                              202
  PALM BRANCHES,                          470
  PARADISE,                               526
  PART-SONG,                               xv
  PASCHALE GAUDIUM,                       474
  PENTECOST,                              513
  PETERBOROUGH,                            48
  PILGRIM,                                 25
  PISGAH,                                 118
  PLAIN-SONG,                         xii, 10
  PLEYEL'S HYMN,                     280, 411
  POLYPHONIC,                              xv
  PORTLAND,                          283, 488
  PORTUGUESE HYMN,              205, 206, 460
  PRECIOUS JEWELS,                   315, 316
  PRESIDENT'S MARCH,                      331

  RANZ DE VACHES,                         352
  RATHBUN,                            99, 249
  RAVENDALE,                               84
  RAYNHAM,                                514
  REFUGE,                                 363
  REJOICE AND BE GLAD,                    415
  RESCUE THE PERISHING,                   425
  REST,                              499, 513
  RESTORATION,                            514
  RETREAT,                                223
  RETROSPECT,                             332
  REVIVE THY WORK,                        445
  RHINE,                                  125
  RIVAULX,                                104
  ROLLAND,                           106, 493
  ROCKINGHAM,                             131
  ROTTERDAM,                               55
  RUSSIA,                                 466
  RUTHERFORD,                              82

  SAFE IN THE ARMS OF JESUS,              541
  SALEM,                                  123
  SALISBURY PLAIN,                        105
  SAMSON,                                 166
  SARDIUS, (AUTUMN),                      201
  SAVANNAH,                               238
  SAVIOUR, LIKE A SHEPHERD,          310, 311
  SAVIOUR, PILOT ME,                      374
  SCALE, THE,                       xiii, xiv
  SCATTER SEEDS OF KINDNESS,              318
  SCHUMANN,                                87
  SCOTS WHA HAE,                          336
  SEQUENCES, (FOOT NOTE [7]),               8
  SHAWMUT,                                407
  SHERBURNE,                              466
  SICILY,                            129, 283
  SILOAM,                       244, 318, 319
  SILVER STREET,                          324
  SIMPSON,                                126
  SOMETHING FOR JESUS,                    148
  SONGS OF THE BEAUTIFUL,                 483
  SONNET,                                 287
  SOUND THE LOUD TIMBREL,                 327
  SPEED AWAY,                             184
  SPOHR,                                  244
  STAFFORD,                               466
  STAR-SPANGLED BANNER, THE,      49, 333-335
  STATE STREET,                      410, 515
  ST. AMBROSE,                            296
  ST. ANSELM, (we plow the fields),       478
  ST. ATHANASIUS,                          59
  ST. BERNARD,                             75
  ST. BOTOLPH,                            244
  ST. CHAD,                                50
  ST. EDMUND,                             152
  ST. GARMON,                             395
  ST. KEVIN,                              307
  ST. LOUIS,                              469
  ST. MAGNUS,                              16
  ST. PETERSBURG,                         213
  ST. PHILIP,                              30
  ST. THOMAS,                    38, 134, 523
  STEPHENS,                               282
  STOWE,                                  482
  SUSSEX,                                 500
  SWEET BY AND BY,                    534-537
  SWEET GALILEE,                     261, 319
  SWEET HOUR OF PRAYER,                   432
  SWITZER'S SONG OF HOME,                 352

  TALLIS' EVENING HYMN,            xvi, 16,17
  TE DEUM,                                1-4
  TELEMANN'S CHANT,                       474
  THACHER,                                109
  THE BOWER OF PRAYER,                    147
  THE BROKEN PINION,                      254
  THE CHARIOT,                            279
  THE DYING CHRISTIAN,               516, 517
  THE EDEN OF LOVE,                  272, 273
  THE GARDEN HYMN,                   277, 278
  THE HARP THAT ONCE,                     328
  THE HEBREW CHILDREN,                    271
  THE HOME OF THE SOUL,              532, 533
  THE LAND OF THE BLEST,                  308
  THE MORNING LIGHT IS BREAKING,          177,
                                     182, 477
  THE NINETY AND NINE,                    422
  THE OLD, OLD STORY,                     429
  THE PRODIGAL CHILD,                     430
  THE SOLID ROCK,                         317
  THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER,               333
  THERE IS A GREEN HILL,                  414
  THROW OUT THE LIFE-LINE,                374
  THYDIAN,                                388
  TO THE WORK,                       438, 480
  TOPLADY,                            59, 142
  TRENCYNON,                              395
  TRIUMPH BY AND BY,                      450
  TRURO,                             241, 407
  TURNER,                                 282

  UXBRIDGE,                                93

  VOX ANGELICA,                           525
  VOX DILECTI,                            238
  VOX JESU,                               227

  WAITING AND WATCHING,                   443
  WALNUT GROVE,                           105
  WARD,                              196, 493
  WARE,                                    34
  WATCHMAN,                               170
  WEBB,                              177, 182
  WEIMAR,                                   9
  WELLS,                                  409
  WELLESLEY,                              235
  WELTON,                                 486
  WE SHALL MEET,                          529
  WHAT A FRIEND WE HAVE                   425
  WHAT SHALL THE HARVEST BE,         435, 436
  WHEN JESUS COMES,                       437
  WHEN PEACE LIKE A,                      477
  WHEN SHALL WE ALL MEET,                 266
  WHEN THE SWALLOWS HOMEWARD FLY,         364
  WHERE ARE THE REAPERS,                  429
  WHERE IS MY WANDERING BOY,              446
  WHILE THE DAYS ARE GOING,               312
  WHITMAN,                           146, 364
  WILMOT,                            121, 490
  WINDHAM,                           407, 466
  WINDSOR,                                482
  WOODSTOCK,                              232
  WOODWORTH,                              215

  Y DELYN AUR,                            405
  YORK,                                   462
  YOUR MISSION,                           259

  ZEPHYR,                                 513
  ZION, (T. Hastings),               168, 174
  ZION, (A. Hall),                        514




                    INDEX OF HYMNS.

  A CHARGE TO KEEP I HAVE,                        274
  ABIDE WITH ME, FAST FALLS,                      217
  ADAMS AND LIBERTY,                              335
  ADESTE, FIDELES,                                458
  ALAS, WHAT HOURLY DANGERS RISE,                 198
  ALL GLORY, LAUD AND HONOR,                        5
  ALL HAIL THE POWER OF JESUS' NAME,            25-27
  ALL PRAISE TO THEE, ETERNAL LORD,                 8
  ALMOST PERSUADED,                               454
  ALONG THE BANKS WHERE BABEL'S CURRENT,     242, 243
  A MIGHTY FORTRESS IS OUR GOD,                    69
  AND IS THIS LIFE PROLONGED TO YOU,               43
  AND WILL THE JUDGE DESCEND,                     410
  ANGEL OF PEACE, THOU HAS WAITED,                344
  ANGELS ROLL THE ROCK AWAY,                      411
  ANOTHER SIX DAYS' WORK IS DONE              23, 488
  A POOR WAYFARING MAN OF GRIEF,                  285
  ARISE, MY SOUL, ARISE,                          395
  ART THOU WEARY, ART THOU LANGUID,                57
  AS DOWN IN THE SUNLESS RETREATS,                243
  ASLEEP IN JESUS, BLESSED SLEEP,                 499
  AT ANCHOR LAID REMOTE FROM HOME,                138
  AVE, MARIS STELLA,                              356
  AVE, SANCTISSIMA,                               357
  AWAKE AND SING THE SONG,                         29
  AWAKE MY SOUL, STRETCH EVERY NERVE,             413
  AWAKE, MY SOUL, TO JOYFUL LAYS,            276, 277
  AWAKED BY SINAI'S AWFUL SOUND,                  267

  BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC,               340, 343
  BEFORE JEHOVAH'S AWFUL THRONE,               40, 41
  BEGONE UNBELIEF, MY SAVIOUR IS NEAR,            203
  BEHOLD THE GLORIES OF THE LAMB,                  42
  BEHOLD, THE STONE IS ROLLED AWAY,               451
  BE THOU EXALTED, O MY GOD,                       40
  BE THOU, O GOD, EXALTED HIGH,                   111
  BEYOND THE SMILING AND THE WEEPING,             527
  BLEST BE THE TIE THAT BINDS,                    132
  BLOW YE THE TRUMPET, BLOW,                      395
  BREAD OF HEAVEN, ON THEE WE FEED,               489
  BRETHREN, WHILE WE SOJOURN HERE,                280
  BRIGHTLY BEAMS THE FATHER'S MERCY,              431
  BUILD THEE MORE STATELY MANSIONS,               249
  BY COOL SILOAM'S SHADY RILL,                    318
  BY THE RUDE BRIDGE THAT ARCHED THE FLOOD,       339
  CALVARY'S BLOOD THE WEAK EXALTETH,              385
  CHILD OF SIN AND SORROW,                        223
  CHRISTIANS, IF YOUR HEARTS ARE WARM,       274, 275
  CHRIST IS OUR CORNER STONE,                     485
  CHRIST IS RISEN! CHRIST IS RISEN!               473
  CHRIST THE LORD IS RISEN TODAY,                 474
  COME HITHER, ALL YE WEARY SOULS,                409
  COME HITHER, YE FAITHFUL,                       459
  COME, HOLY GHOST, IN LOVE,                       59
  COME, HOLY SPIRIT, HEAVENLY DOVE,               282
  COME HOME, COME HOME,                           430
  COME, LET US ANEW,                              494
  COME, MY BRETHREN, LET US TRY,                  279
  COME, SINNER, COME,                             417
  COME, THOU FOUNT OF EVERY BLESSING,        283, 284
  COME, THOU HOLY SPIRIT, COME,                    58
  COME TO JESUS JUST NOW,                         291
  COME UNTO ME WHEN SHADOWS,                 208, 209
  COME, WE THAT LOVE THE LORD,                 37, 38
  COME, YE DISCONSOLATE,                219, 220, 326
  COME, YE FAITHFUL, RAISE THE STRAIN,             54
  COME, YE SINNERS, POOR AND NEEDY,               119
  COMMIT THOU ALL THY GRIEFS,                   84-85
  CROWN HIS HEAD WITH ENDLESS BLESSING,            30

  DAUGHTER OF ZION, FROM THE DUST,           486, 489
  DAY OF WRATH: THAT DAY OF BURNING,            62-64
  DEAR JESUS, EVER AT MY SIDE,                    302
  DEAR REFUGE OF MY WEARY SOUL,                   196
  DID CHRIST O'ER SINNERS WEEP,              160, 161
  DIE FELDER WIR PFLUeGEN,                         478
  DIES IRAE, DIES ILLA,                         62-64

  EARLY, MY GOD, WITHOUT DELAY,                    35
  EARLY TO BEAR THE YOKE EXCELS,                  401
  EIN FESTE BURG IST UNSER GOTT,                   69
  ETERNAL FATHER, STRONG TO SAVE,                 369

  FADING AWAY LIKE THE STARS,                     309
  FATHER, WHATEVER OF EARTHLY BLISS,              196
  FEAR NOT, O LITTLE FLOCK, THE FOE,               82
  FIERCE RAGED THE TEMPEST,                       372
  FIERCE WAS THE WILD BILLOW,                     354
  FOREVER WITH THE LORD,                          521
  FROM EVERY STORMY WIND,                         222
  FROM GREENLAND'S ICY MOUNTAINS,            178, 179
  FROM WHENCE DOTH THIS UNION ARISE,              263
  FULLY PERSUADED,                                451

  GAUDE, PLAUDE, MAGDALENA,                       472
  GIVE ME MY SCALLOP-SHELL OF QUIET,               76
  GIVE TO THE WINDS THY FEARS,                     88
  GLORIA,                                         xii
  GLORY TO THEE, MY GOD, THIS NIGHT,          xvi, 16
  GOD BE WITH YOU TILL WE MEET,                   496
  GOD BLESS OUR NATIVE LAND,                 347, 348
  GOD CALLING YET?                           102, 103
  GOD IS THE REFUGE OF HIS SAINTS,                196
  GOD OF OUR FATHERS, KNOWN OF OLD,          349, 350
  GOD'S FURNACE DOTH IN ZION STAND,                89
  GREAT AUTHOR OF SALVATION,                      398
  GREAT GOD, WE SING THAT MIGHTY HAND,            496
  GREAT GOD, WHAT DO I SEE AND HEAR!               71
  GUIDE ME, O THOU GREAT JEHOVAH,            198, 399

  HAIL COLUMBIA, HAPPY LAND,                      331
  HAIL TO THE LORD'S ANOINTED,                    175
  HALLELUJAH! 'TIS DONE!                          422
  HARK! HARK, MY SOUL!                            524
  HARK! THE HERALD ANGELS SING,                   463
  HARK! WHAT MEAN THOSE HOLY VOICES,              464
  HASTEN, LORD, THE GLORIOUS TIME,                168
  HASTEN, SINNER, TO BE WISE,                     410
  HE DIES! THE FRIEND OF SINNERS,                 473
  HE LEADETH ME,                             235, 236
  HERE AT THY TABLE, LORD, WE MEET,                24
  HERE BEHOLD THE TENT OF MEETING,                396
  HERE, O MY GOD, I SEE THEE,                     490
  HE ROSE! O MORN OF WONDER!                      477
  HIGH THE ANGEL CHOIRS ARE RAISING,               68
  HOLY, HOLY, HOLY, LORD GOD,                  50, 51
  HO, MY COMRADES, SEE THE SIGNAL,                424
  HORA NOVISSIMA,                                 510
  HOW FIRM A FOUNDATION,                     204, 206
  HOW HAPPY IS THE CHILD WHO HEARS,               297
  HOW HAPPY IS THE PILGRIM'S LOT,                 207
  HOW SWEETLY FLOWED THE GOSPEL SOUND,             98
  HOW SWEET, HOW HEAVENLY IS THE SIGHT,           281
  HOW SWEET THE COVENANT TO REMEMBER,             396
  HOW, UNAPPROACHED! SHALL MIND OF MAN,            56
  HOW VAIN ARE ALL THINGS HERE BELOW,              45
  HOW VAST A TREASURE WE POSSESS,                  43

  I AM FAR FRAE MY HAME,                          445
  I AM SO GLAD THAT OUR FATHER,                   319
  I CANNOT ALWAYS TRACE THE WAY,                  502
  IF I WERE A VOICE,                              181
  IF THOU WOULDST END THE WORLD,                  389
  IF YOU CANNOT ON THE OCEAN,                 256-258
  I GAVE MY LIFE FOR THEE,                        154
  I HAVE A FATHER,                                305
  I HAVE READ OF A BEAUTIFUL CITY,                451
  I HEAR THE SAVIOUR SAY,                         426
  I HEARD THE VOICE OF JESUS SAY,             225-227
  I'LL CAST MY HEAVY BURDEN DOWN,                 384
  I LOVE THY KINGDOM, LORD,                       133
  I LOVE TO STEAL AWHILE AWAY,               229, 231
  I LOVE TO TELL THE STORY,                       429
  I'M A PILGRIM,                             278, 288
  I'M BUT A STRANGER HERE,                   300, 301
  I'M GOING HOME,                                 291
  I'M NOT ASHAMED,                                107
  IN DE DARK WOOD,                                264
  IN EDEN, O THE MEMORY!,                         383
  I NEED THEE EVERY HOUR,                         153
  IN SOME WAY OR OTHER,                      148, 149
  IN THE BONDS OF DEATH HE LAY,                   473
  IN THE CROSS OF CHRIST I GLORY,                  97
  IN THE DEEP AND MIGHTY WATERS,                  406
  IN THE WAVES AND MIGHTY WATERS,                 405
  I OPEN MY EYES TO THIS VISION,                  404
  IS THIS THE KIND RETURN?                        108
  IT CAME UPON THE MIDNIGHT CLEAR,                466
  I THINK WHEN I READ THAT SWEET,                 305
  IT MAY NOT BE OUR LOT TO YIELD,                 250
  IT WAS THE WINTER WILD,                         460
  I WALKED IN THE WOODLAND MEADOWS,          251, 252
  I WILL SING YOU A SONG OF THAT,                 532

  JERUSALEM THE GOLDEN,                      509, 511
  JESU, DULCIS MEMORIA,                           100
  JESUS' BLOOD CAN RAISE THE FEEBLE,              385
  JESUS, I LOVE THY CHARMING NAME,                116
  JESUS, I MY CROSS HAVE TAKEN,                   221
  JESUS, KEEP ME NEAR THE CROSS,             156, 157
  JESUS, LOVER OF MY SOUL,                   359, 364
  JESUS MY ALL TO HEAVEN IS GONE,                 126
  JESUS, SAVIOUR, PILOT ME,                       373
  JESUS SHALL REIGN WHERE'ER THE SUN,             165
  JESUS, THE VERY THOUGHT OF THEE,                100
  JESUS THE WATER OF LIFE WILL GIVE,              312
  JESUS, THY BLOOD AND RIGHTEOUSNESS,              91
  JOHN WESLEY'S HYMN,                             209
  JOYFULLY, JOYFULLY ONWARD,                  288-290
  JOY TO THE WORLD! THE LORD IS COME,        166, 463

  KEEP ME VERY NEAR TO JESUS,                     400
  KELLER'S AMERICAN HYMN,                    343, 345

  LAND AHEAD! THE FRUITS ARE WAVING,              367
  LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT,                             223
  LET PARTY NAMES NO MORE,                        169
  LET TYRANTS SHAKE THEIR IRON ROD,               331
  LET US GATHER UP THE SUNBEAMS,                  317
  LET US SING OF THE SHEAVES,                     479
  LIFE IS THE TIME TO SERVE THE LORD,             409
  LITTLE TRAVELLERS ZIONWARD,                     299
  LO! A SAVIOUR FOR THE FALLEN,                   404
  LO! HE COMES, WITH CLOUDS DESCENDING,           504
  LO! ON A NARROW NECK OF LAND,                   118
  LO! WHAT A GLORIOUS SIGHT APPEARS,              505
  LORD, HOW MYSTERIOUS ARE THY WAYS,              198
  LORD OF ALL BEING, THRONED AFAR,                 52
  LORD, WITH GLOWING HEART I'D PRAISE,         49, 50
  LOVE DIVINE, ALL LOVES EXCELLING,           47, 111
  LOVE UNFATHOMED AS THE OCEAN,                   401

  MAGDALENA, SHOUT FOR GLADNESS,                  473
  MAGNIFICAT ANIMA MEA,                       xii, 10
  MAJESTIC SWEETNESS SITS ENTHRONED,               23
  MARSEILLAISE HYMN,                    174, 329, 352
  MEIN JESU, WIE DU WILLST,                       499
  MID SCENES OF CONFUSION,                        134
  MINE EYES HAVE SEEN THE GLORY OF THE,           341
  MOURNFULLY, TENDERLY BEAR ON THE DEAD,     245, 246
  MUST JESUS BEAR THE CROSS ALONE,                411
  MY BROTHER, I WISH YOU WELL,                    290
  MY COUNTRY 'TIS OF THEE,                    336-338
  MY GOD, HOW ENDLESS IS THY LOVE,           105, 106
  MY GOD, I LOVE THEE, NOT BECAUSE,                75
  MY GOD, IS ANY HOUR SO SWEET,                   214
  MY GOD, MY FATHER, WHILE I STRAY,               214
  MY GOD, MY PORTION AND MY LOVE,                 382
  MY GRACIOUS REDEEMER, I LOVE,                   132
  MY HOPE IS BUILT ON NOTHING LESS,          216, 217
  MY JESUS, AS THOU WILT,                    499, 500
  MY JESUS, I LOVE THEE,                     162, 163
  MY LORD AND MY GOD, I HAVE TRUSTED,              77
  MY LORD, HOW FULL OF SWEET CONTENT,        190, 192
  MY SAVIOUR KEEPS ME COMPANY,                    189
  MY SOUL, BEHOLD THE FITNESS,                    397

  NEARER, MY GOD, TO THEE,                    150-152
  NO CHANGE OF TIME SHALL EVER SHOCK,             193
  NOT ALL THE BLOOD OF BEASTS,                     44
  NOW TO THE LORD A NOBLE SONG,                    33

  O BLISS OF THE PURIFIED,                        433
  O CANAAN, BRIGHT CANAAN,                        273
  O CHURCH, ARISE AND SING,                       186
  O COME, ALL YE FAITHFUL,                        459
  O COULD I SPEAK THE MATCHLESS WORTH,            136
  O CROWN OF REJOICING,                           451
  ODE ON SCIENCE,                                 330
  O DEUS, EGO AMO TE,                              74
  O DO NOT BE DISCOURAGED,                        298
  O'ER ALL THE WAY GREEN PALMS,                   470
  O'ER THE GLOOMY HILLS OF DARKNESS,              166
  O FOR A CLOSER WALK WITH GOD,                   129
  O FOR A THOUSAND TONGUES TO SING,            45, 46
  OFT IN DANGER, OFT IN WOE,                      366
  O GALILEE SWEET GALILEE,                   260, 319
  O HAD I THE WINGS OF A DOVE,                    400
  O HAPPY DAY THAT FIXED MY CHOICE,               281
  O HAPPY SAINTS THAT DWELL IN LIGHT,             122
  O HELP US, LORD; EACH HOUR OF NEED,             278
  O HOW HAPPY ARE THEY,                           281
  O HOW I LOVE JESUS,                             291
  O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM,                     468
  O LORD OF HOSTS, WHOSE GLORY FILLS,             485
  ONE MORE DAY'S WORK FOR JESUS,                  418
  ONE SWEETLY SOLEMN THOUGHT,                     529
  ON JORDAN'S STORMY BANKS,                        24
  ONLY REMEMBERED,                                308
  ON THE MOUNTAIN TOP APPEARING,                  173
  ONWARD, CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS,                185, 186
  ONWARD RIDE IN TRIUMPH, JESUS,                  382
  O PARADISE! O PARADISE!                         525
  O PERFECT LOVE,                                 504
  O SACRED HEAD, NOW WOUNDED,                      86
  O SING TO ME OF HEAVEN,                         288
  O THE CLANGING BELLS OF TIME,                   449
  O THE LAMB, THE LOVING LAMB,                    271
  O THINK OF THE HOME OVER THERE,                 463
  O THOU IN WHOSE PRESENCE MY SOUL,               281
  O THOU, MY SOUL, FORGET NO MORE,                492
  O THOU WHO DIDST PREPARE,                       361
  O THOU WHO DRY'ST THE MOURNER'S TEAR,           244
  O THOU WHOSE TENDER MERCY HEARS,                198
  O TURN YE, O TURN YE, FOR WHY,                  291
  OUR LORD HAS GONE UP ON HIGH,                   473
  O WHEN SHALL I SEE JESUS,                       276
  O WHERE SHALL REST BE FOUND,                    145
  O WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MORTAL,              238
  O WORSHIP THE KING ALL GLORIOUS ABOVE,           22

  PARTED MANY A TOIL-SPENT YEAR,                  267
  PATIENTLY ENDURING,                             443
  PEACE, TROUBLED SOUL, WHOSE PLAINTIVE,          202
  PEOPLE OF THE LIVING GOD,                       144
  PILGRIMS WE ARE TO ZION BOUND,                  281
  PORTALS OF LIGHT,                               443
  PRAISE GOD FROM WHOM ALL BLESSINGS,              13
  PULL FOR THE SHORE,                             372

  REJOICE AND BE GLAD,                            415
  RESCUE THE PERISHING,                           425
  REVIVE THY WORK, O LORD,                        445
  RISE, CROWNED WITH LIGHT,                       238
  RISE, MY SOUL, AND STRETCH THY WINGS,            94
  ROCK OF AGES, CLEFT FOR ME,                     137

  SAFE IN THE ARMS OF JESUS,                      540
  SANCTIFY, O LORD, MY SPIRIT,                    405
  SAVIOUR, LIKE A SHEPHERD LEAD US,               310
  SAVIOUR, THY DYING LOVE,                        147
  SCATTER SEEDS OF KINDNESS,                      317
  SCOTS WHA HAE WI WALLACE BLED,             335, 352
  SEE GENTLE PATIENCE SMILE ON PAIN,              104
  SEND THY SPIRIT, I BESEECH THEE,                406
  SERVANT OF GOD, WELL DONE,                      498
  SHEPHERD OF TENDER YOUTH,                   293-296
  SHOW PITY, LORD, O LORD FORGIVE,                 44
  SHRINKING FROM THE COLD HAND OF DEATH,          520
  SINCE JESUS TRULY DID APPEAR,                   503
  SISTER, THOU WAST MILD AND LOVELY,              498
  SO FADES THE LOVELY, BLOOMING FLOWER, 104, 198, 498
  SOFTLY FADES THE TWILIGHT RAY,                  484
  SOFTLY NOW THE LIGHT OF DAY,                    483
  SOON MAY THE LAST GLAD SONG ARISE,              173
  SOUND THE LOUD TIMBREL,                    326, 327
  SPEAK, O SPEAK, THOU GENTLE JESUS,              386
  SPEED AWAY, SPEED AWAY,                         184
  SPIRIT OF GRACE AND LOVE DIVINE,                403
  STAND! THE GROUND'S YOUR OWN,                   335
  STAR-SPANGLED BANNER,                   49, 333-335
  STILL, STILL WITH THEE,                         481
  SUN OF MY SOUL, MY SAVIOUR DEAR,                159
  SUNSET AND EVENING STAR,                        535
  SUR NOS CHEMINS LES RAMEAUX,                    470
  SWEET HOUR OF PRAYER,                           432
  SWEET IS THE DAY OF SACRED REST,                488
  SWEET IS THE LIGHT OF SABBATH EVE,              488
  SWEET IS WORK, MY GOD, MY KING,                  37
  SWEET IS THE WORK, O LORD,                      168
  SWEET THE MOMENTS, RICH IN BLESSING,            127

  TAKE ME AS I AM, O SAVIOUR,                     384
  TE DEUM LAUDAMUS,                                 1
  TELL ME NOT IN MOURNFUL NUMBERS,                248
  TELL ME THE OLD, OLD STORY,                     427
  THE BANNER OF IMMANUEL,                    188, 189
  THE BIRD LET LOOSE IN EASTERN SKIES,            244
  THE BREAKING WAVES DASHED HIGH,                 323
  THE CHARIOT! THE CHARIOT!                       278
  THE DAY IS PAST AND GONE,                       275
  THE DAY OF RESURRECTION,                     54, 55
  THE EDEN OF LOVE,                               272
  THE GLORY IS COMING, GOD SAID IT,               400
  THE GOD OF ABRAHAM PRAISE,                       18
  THE GOD OF HARVEST PRAISE,                      481
  THE HARP THAT ONCE THRO TARA'S HALL,       326, 328
  THE HEIGHTS OF FAIR SALEM ASCENDED,             403
  THE LORD DESCENDED FROM ABOVE,                   15
  THE LORD INTO HIS GARDEN COMES,                 277
  THE LORD IS RISEN INDEED,                       475
  THE LORD OUR GOD IS CLOTHED WITH MIGHT,         366
  THE MORNING LIGHT IS BREAKING,             179, 180
  THE OCEAN HATH NO DANGER,                       371
  THE PRIZE IS SET BEFORE US,                     449
  THE SANDS OF TIME ARE SINKING,                   78
  THE TURF SHALL BE MY FRAGRANT SHRINE,           244
  THE WORLD IS VERY EVIL,                         510
  THERE ARE LONELY HEARTS TO CHERISH,             312
  THERE IS A CALM FOR THOSE WHO WEEP,        499, 521
  THERE IS A GREEN HILL FAR AWAY,                 414
  THERE IS A HAPPY LAND,                          304
  THERE'S A LAND THAT IS FAIRER THAN DAY,         532
  THERE'S A WIDENESS IN GOD'S MERCY,         233, 234
  THERE WERE NINETY AND NINE,                     422
  THEY THAT DWELL UPON THE DEEP,                  353
  THINE EARTHLY SABBATHS, LORD, WE LOVE,          488
  THOU ART, O GOD, THE LIFE AND LIGHT,            244
  THOU DEAR REDEEMER, DYING LAMB,                 124
  THOU LOVELY SOURCE OF TRUE DELIGHT,             198
  THROW OUT THE LIFE-LINE,                    374-377
  'TIS FINISHED! SO THE SAVIOUR CRIED,             24
  'TIS RELIGION THAT CAN GIVE,                    303
  TO CHRIST THE LORD LET EVERY TONGUE,             25
  TO GOD THE FATHER, GOD THE SON,                  14
  TO LEAVE MY DEAR FRIENDS, AND FROM NEIGHBORS,   146
  TO THE WORK, TO THE WORK!                       438
  TOO LATE! TOO LATE!                             259
  TRIUMPHANT ZION, LIFT THY HEAD,                 510

  ULTIMA THULE,                                   320
  UNDER THE PALMS,                                254
  UNNUMBERED ARE THE MARVELS,                     402
  UNTO THY PRESENCE COMING,                       392
  UNVEIL THY BOSOM FAITHFUL TOMB,             44, 498
  UP AND AWAY LIKE THE DEW,                       308
  URBS SION AUREA,                           509, 511
  VENI, SANCTE SPIRITUS,                       57, 58
  VERZAGE NICHT, DU HAUFLEIN KLEIN,                82
  VITAL SPARK OF HEAVENLY FLAME,                  515

  WATCHMAN, TELL US OF THE NIGHT,                 170
  WE ARE ON OUR JOURNEY HOME,                     417
  WELCOME, DELIGHTFUL MORN,                       488
  WE PLOW THE FIELDS AND SCATTER,                 478
  WE PRAISE THEE, O GOD, FOR THE SON,             416
  WE SAT DOWN AND WEPT BY THE WATERS,             241
  WE SHALL MEET BEYOND THE RIVER,                 528
  WE SPEAK OF THE LAND OF THE BLEST,              307
  WESTWARD THE COURSE OF EMPIRE,                  324
  WHAT A FRIEND WE HAVE IN JESUS,                 425
  WHAT SHALL A DYING SINNER DO,                    43
  WHAT SHALL THE HARVEST BE,                      434
  WHAT VARIOUS HINDRANCES WE MEET,                131
  WHEN ALL THY MERCIES, O MY GOD,                 113
  WHEN FOR ETERNAL WORLDS I STEER,                286
  WHEN HE COMETH, WHEN HE COMETH,                 314
  WHEN I CAN READ MY TITLE CLEAR,             43, 514
  WHEN GATHERING CLOUDS AROUND I VIEW,            212
  WHEN ISRAEL OF THE LORD BELOVED,                240
  WHEN I SURVEY THE WONDROUS CROSS,           42, 109
  WHEN LANGUOR AND DISEASE INVADE,                137
  WHEN MARSHALLED ON THE NIGHTLY PLAIN,           364
  WHEN MY FINAL FAREWELL TO THE WORLD,       441, 442
  WHEN OUR HEADS ARE BOWED WITH WOE,              278
  WHEN PEACE LIKE A RIVER,                        440
  WHEN SHALL WE ALL MEET AGAIN,              265, 266
  WHEN TWO OR THREE WITH SWEET ACCORD,             24
  WHERE IS MY WANDERING BOY TO-NIGHT?             446
  WHERE NOW ARE THE HEBREW CHILDREN?              270
  WHILE JESUS WHISPERS TO YOU,                    418
  WHILE SHEPHERDS WATCHED THEIR FLOCKS,           465
  WHILE THEE I SEEK, PROTECTING POWER,       125, 207
  WHILE WITH CEASELESS COURSE THE SUN,            493
  WHY SHOULD WE START AND FEAR TO DIE,            512
  WIDE, YE HEAVENLY GATES UNFOLD,                 168
  WITH JOY WE HAIL THE SACRED DAY,                168
  WITH SONGS AND HONORS SOUNDING LOUD,            479
  WITH TEARFUL EYES I LOOK AROUND,                214

  YE CHOIRS OF NEW JERUSALEM,                  59, 60
  YE CHRISTIAN HERALDS, GO PROCLAIM,         171, 172
  YE CHRISTIAN HEROES, WAKE TO GLORY,             174
  YE GOLDEN LAMPS OF HEAVEN, FAREWELL,            519
  YE SERVANTS OF GOD, YOUR MASTER PROCLAIM,       204
  YES, MY NATIVE LAND, I LOVE THEE,               180
  YES, THE REDEEMER ROSE,                         476
  YOUR HARPS; YE TREMBLING SAINTS,                517



       *       *       *       *       *



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