Chapter XIV · EASTER WITH THE HYMNAL
Reading edition
A portion of Abney Park Cemetery, Stoke Newington, is indicated as being the favorite resting-place of Dr. Isaac Watts. A writer paid an early morning visit to this location on a beautiful summer day. Fastened to a tree there was found a piece of paper on which there was written the following verse:
“There is a land of pure delight Where saints immortal dwell, Infinite day excludes the night, And pleasures banish pain.”
Underneath were the words:
“Dr. Watts now enjoys what he then wrote.”
—The British Weekly.
A touching incident in connection with the death of Woodrow Wilson concerns the manner in which the news of his passing came to his friend and admirer Roland Hayes, the great American Negro singer, at the time he was giving a series of concerts in Boston. In the midst of his program Hayes raised his hand for silence and said, “I have just learned of the passing of a great soul and I’m going to sing something for a memorial to him.” And then he sang “I Am Goin’ Home” with a theme from the “New World Symphony,” in an arrangement by William A. Fisher:
“Goin’ home, goin’ home, I’m jes’ goin’ home; It’s not far, jes’ close by, through an open door. Work all done, care laid by, Gwine to fear no more.”
—Home Quarterly.
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Easter Song of a Centenarian
Living in two centuries and in two countries, the Rev. Timothy Edwards enjoyed some unusual experiences. He loved both to preach and to sing. Born in England, he reached the United States before 1870, and was assigned to a circuit in Michigan, as a minister of the Methodist Episcopal Church. But because of throat trouble, he was compelled to leave his ministerial work in 1876.
He then became editor of a small paper, and likewise a student of law. Later he was admitted to the bar. After a few years, however, he was able to re-enter the ministry, and served churches in northern Michigan until, in 1895, he was superannuated.
When he observed his ninetieth birthday, he preached in the Methodist Church at Washington, Michigan, and said: “I will not speak in this church again until I am one hundred years old”—and he did not. But on April 1, 1934, celebrating his 100th birthday he once more preached in the same church.
Midway in the sermon his congregation was delighted when the aged Christian, one of God’s singing saints, voiced his experience in sacred song. It was one he long had loved:
“My Jesus, I love Thee, I know Thou art mine, For Thee all the follies of sin I resign; My gracious Redeemer, my Saviour art Thou, If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.”
It was Easter Sunday, and the centenarian could look forward to an ageless life beyond the present. Hence he could sing:
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“In mansions of glory and endless delight, I’ll ever adore Thee in heaven so bright; I’ll sing with the glittering crown on my brow, If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus, ’tis now.”
The veteran preacher made that Easter Sunday memorable to his congregation, and led them to see how happy a Christian can be when he reaches the age of one hundred.
Easter in New Guinea
Sunrise in New Guinea in 1943 made Easter morning memorable for Lt. John McDaniel Slocum, whose home was in Oswego, Oregon. Earlier he had dropped out of the freshman class at Oregon State College to enlist in the service of his country. By Easter, 1943, he was a second lieutenant in the infantry, and was in charge of a reconnaissance party of twelve men in New Guinea. These men had been away from their base for many weeks, and were living on powdered milk and canned stew. The letter which he wrote to his mother at Eastertide was a significant one. Said he:
“All my men and myself were having a big gabfest last night, and the fact that Easter was today was mentioned. Not too much was said and the subject was dropped.... But for some reason I woke up at 5:30 and I just had an impulse to go out to our hill which overlooks the ocean, and hold myself a little sunrise service.... Every man in camp was there!... We sang several hymns. Some natives (Christians) joined us, and we sang some more.
“As the sky turned pink we all were quiet. As the sun came up someone started to sing ‘The Star-Spangled Banner,’ and as the sun rose over the mighty blue Pacific our 130 voices, with a background of natives humming, reached out across that sea to tell all of you at home that all was well....
“Then one of the boys took out a Bible and asked me to read something from it.... As I glanced at the opened page there was the Lord’s Prayer. I read it through very quietly once, and then we all said it in unison.
“Then, with a glance at the rising sun, we all returned to camp.”
What an unforgettable Easter for those young Americans! Fighting for their native land on far-distant shores, yet “at the dawn’s early light” on Easter morning they could sing their song of patriotic hope:
“And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.”
Eastertide Hymn at an Easter Funeral
They sang, they all sang, at the funeral of Mrs. Grace Beaven in Rochester, N. Y., on Easter Monday, in 1938. She would have liked that, for she was a lover of music. In her girlhood days she journeyed from her far-away home in Tacoma, Washington, to New York City that she might pursue a course in music. Completing her course, she returned to her home community, and became choir director in the First Baptist Church. Soon she became the bride of a young Baptist minister, served with him in the pastorate, and then shared his responsible life when he, the Rev. Dr. Albert W. Beaven, became the president of the Colgate-Rochester Divinity School.
“She lived radiantly and gallantly to the end,” testified her husband, who confessed that he had asked for himself the privilege of conducting her funeral service. Clear and 131 strong was his voice as, entering the Lake Avenue Baptist, Rochester, he read the great words of affirmation from the Scripture, “I am the resurrection and the life.” The standing congregation then sang the triumphant Easter song of Charles Wesley:
“Christ the Lord is risen today, Alleluia!”
The bereaved family sang with the congregation. The song on the lips came from their hearts, whatever tears may have been in their eyes. A thousand voices united with theirs in singing:
“Soar we now where Christ has led, Alleluia! Following our exalted Head, Alleluia! Made like Him, like Him we rise, Alleluia! Ours the cross, the grave, the skies, Alleluia.”
“This hymn by Charles Wesley ... has long been accepted as the best English Easter Hymn” was the positive statement made by W. T. Stead. Unquestionably it is also sung more frequently than any other selection in our American churches on Easter Sunday. The author once went through the published Easter Sunday morning programs of twenty-nine churches of various denominations of a city near his home at that time. This hymn appeared in all but three of the programs, and mostly it was the opening selection. Poetic language asks the question:
“Where’s thy victory, boasting grave?”
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Then it gives the assuring reply:
“Love’s redeeming work is done Alleluia! Fought the fight, the battle won, Alleluia!”
Friday, July 23, 1742, John Wesley was with his beloved mother. “Her look was calm and serene,” said he, “and her eyes fixed upward, while we commended her soul to God. Soon the soul was set at liberty. There was no struggle. Those present then stood round the bed, and fulfilled her last request, uttered a little while before she lost her speech, ‘Children, as soon as I am released, sing a psalm of praise to God.’”
The passion-tide and an Easter message is summed up in the undying words of one of the singing sons of that honored mother which the family and friends of Grace Beaven sang on that Easter Monday soon after, being released from suffering, she joined the great multitude of the singing company in the celestial city.
What other hymn has such a triumphant climax?
“Made like Him, like Him we rise, Alleluia! Ours the cross, the grave, the skies, Alleluia!”
Mother’s Hymn at Eventide
A little girl would clutch her mother’s hand and the two would go through the tall grass of an English meadow to a stile. There they both loved to stand to watch the sunset. Just when the last crimson streak was dying in the west, the mother would sing, in her rich Welsh voice:
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“Forever with the Lord! Amen, so let it be; Life from the dead is in that word, ’Tis immortality.”
The manner in which the woman greeted the passing of the day left a memory with the young daughter which the latter carried with her through the years, and brought with her when she came to America. “Sing, kitten,” the mother would sometimes exclaim. Then, with faces still set westward, the daughter would chirp with her little voice, and the two would sing:
“Here in the body pent, Absent from Him I roam, Yet nightly pitch my moving tent A day’s march nearer home.”
The girl was still young when her mother reached
“The bright inheritance of saints, Jerusalem above;”
but she carried with her the memory of being led into a room where she saw her father kneeling by the bed, with his face hidden in his hands. The clergyman was there administering Holy Communion; also present was the family physician. An older sister was sobbing.
Rushing to the bedside, the child gazed at the bright, beloved face of her mother. She was smiling. Her lips began to move. Beatrice Plumb, who once told this story about her mother and herself, said that even before she put her ear close to her mother, she knew that the latter was singing their eventide hymn.
Opening her eyes, the mother faintly whispered, “Sing, 134 Kitten!” Once more, the last time together, mother and little daughter were singing their old sunset song:
“Forever with the Lord! Amen so let it be; Life from the dead is in that word, ’Tis immortality.”
Carved on the mother’s tombstone, and cherished in the daughter’s memory, were the words:
“Forever with the Lord!”
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