PART IV ENGLISH HYMNODY (continued 2)

John Keble, 1827.

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HOW HYMNS HELPED BUILD A CHURCH

Many of the classic hymns of the Christian Church have been derived from devotional poems that were never intended as hymns by their writers. This is true of the beautiful morning hymn, “New every morning is the love,” and the equally beautiful evening hymn, “Sun of my soul, Thou Saviour dear.” Both of these gems in the treasury of hymnody have been taken from one of the most famous devotional books ever written—John Keble’s “The Christian Year.”

Keble was born at Fairford, England, April 25, 1792, the son of a country vicar. The only elementary training he received was at the hands of his gifted father, but at the age of fifteen years he was ready to enter Oxford University. Here he distinguished himself as a brilliant scholar, and at the age of twenty-three he was ordained as a clergyman of the Church of England. He remained as a tutor at Oxford for a number of years, but when his mother died he returned to Fairford to assist his father. Although he received a number of tempting offers at this time, he preferred to labor in this obscure parish, where he might be of help and comfort to his father and his two sisters.

It was not until 1835, when his father died and the home was broken up, that Keble accepted the vicarage of Hursley, another humble and scattered parish, with a population of 1,500 people. He married in the same year, and here he and his devoted wife labored until 1866, when they passed away within six weeks of each other.

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It was in 1827, when Keble was only twenty-seven, that he yielded to the strong entreaties of his father and many of his friends and consented to publish the volume of poems known as “The Christian Year.” The verses follow the church calendar, and it was the author’s desire that the book should be a devotional companion to the Book of Common Prayer. For this reason it has been called “The Prayer Book in Poetry.”

Keble was so modest concerning his work that he refused to permit the volume to bear his name, and so it was given to the world anonymously. The work was a marvelous success. From 1827 to 1867, a year after the author’s death, the book had passed through one hundred and nine editions. Keble used a large part of the proceeds derived from the sales of his book in helping to rebuild the church at Hursley. He also was instrumental in having churches built at Otterbourne and Ampfield, hamlets that belonged to his parish.

Religious leaders, as well as literary critics, have been unanimous in rendering tribute to this remarkable volume. Dr. Arnold, the great schoolmaster of Rugby, speaking of Keble’s poems, says: “Nothing equal to them exists in our language. The knowledge of Scripture, the purity of heart, and the richness of poetry, I never saw equaled.” “It is a book,” says Canon Barry, “which leads the soul up to God, not through one, but through all of the various faculties which He has implanted in it.” And Dr. Pusey adds: “It taught, because his own soul was moved so deeply; the stream burst forth, because the heart that poured it out was full; it was fresh, deep, tender, loving, because he himself was such; he was true, and thought aloud, and conscience everywhere responded to the voice of conscience.”

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The publication of “The Christian Year” brought Keble such fame that, in 1831, he was elected professor of poetry at Oxford. He did not remove thither, but in 1833 he preached at Oxford his famous sermon on “National Apostasy” which is credited with having started the so-called “Oxford Movement.”

This movement had its inception in the earnest desire on the part of many prominent leaders of the Church of England, including John Newman, to bring about a spiritual awakening in the Church. They looked askance at the evangelistic methods of the Wesleyan leaders and turned to the other extreme of high church ritualism. All England was profoundly stirred by a series of “Tracts for the Times,” written by Newman and his friends, among them Keble. A disastrous result of the movement was the desertion of Newman and a large number of others to the Church of Rome; but Keble shrank from this final step and remained a high church Episcopalian.

Although a great part of his later life was occupied with religious controversy, we would like to remember Keble as a consecrated Christian poet and an humble parish pastor. For more than thirty years he labored faithfully among his people, visiting from house to house. If it was impossible for a candidate to attend confirmation instruction during the day, Keble would go to his house at night, armed with cloak and lantern. He gave each candidate a Bible, in which he had marked the passages that were to be learned. These Bibles were highly prized, and some of them are to be found in Hursley to this day. It was noticed that, whenever the Vicar prepared to read and explain a passage of Scripture, he would first bow his head and close his eyes while he asked for the guidance of the Holy Spirit.

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Keble’s famous morning hymn, “New every morning is the love,” is taken from a poem of sixteen verses. The first line reads, “O timely happy, timely wise.” It contains the two oft quoted stanzas that ought to be treasured in the heart of every Christian:

The evening hymn is also taken from a longer poem, in which the author first describes in graphic words the setting of the sun:

Then comes the beautiful and reassuring thought:

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The peculiar tenderness in Keble’s poetry is beautifully illustrated in the second stanza:

Other familiar hymns by Keble are “The Voice that breathed o’er Eden,” “Blest are the pure in heart,” and “When God of old came down from heaven.”

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The Hymn of a Perplexed Soul

John Henry Newman, 1833.

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A FAMOUS HYMN BY A PROSELYTE OF ROME

When the children of Israel were about to resume the march from Mount Sinai and Moses had received the command to lead the people into the unknown wilderness, we are told in Exodus that Moses hesitated.

“See,” said the great leader, “Thou sayest unto me, ‘Bring up this people’: and Thou hast not let me know whom Thou wilt send with me.” And God answered, “My presence shall go with thee, and I will give thee rest.”

It was this sublime thought of the guiding presence of God that gave to John Henry Newman the inspiration for “Lead, kindly Light.”

There was much of tragedy in the strange life of Newman. He was born in London, the son of a banker, February 21, 1801. It is said that he was extremely superstitious as a boy, and that he would cross himself, after the custom of Roman Catholics, whenever he entered a dark place. He also came to the conclusion that it was the will of God that he should never marry.

He graduated from Trinity College, Oxford, at the age of nineteen, and four years later was ordained as a minister of the Church of England. He soon began to be attracted by Roman Catholic teachings and to associate with leaders of that communion. In 1833 he was in poor health, and determined to go to Italy. This was the year of the famous “Oxford Movement,” which was destined to carry so many high Anglicans into the Roman communion. While in Rome he came still further under the influence of the Romanists, [286] who lost no opportunity to take advantage of his perplexed state of mind. Leaving Rome, he went down to Sicily, where he was stricken with fever and was near death. After his recovery, his one thought was to return to his native shores. He writes:

“I was aching to get home; yet for want of a vessel was kept at Palermo for three weeks. At last I got an orange-boat bound for Marseilles. We were becalmed a whole week on the Mediterranean Sea. Then it was (June 16, 1833) that I wrote the lines: ‘Lead, kindly Light.’”

The hymn, therefore, may be said to be the work of a man who found himself in deep mental, physical, and spiritual distress. Newman was greatly dissatisfied with conditions within his own Church. In his perplexity he scarcely knew where to turn, but he had no intention at this time, as he himself states, to forsake the Church of England for the Roman Catholic communion. This step was not taken by him until twelve years later.

“Lead, kindly Light” was published for the first time in “The British Magazine,” in the month of March, 1834. It bore the title, “Faith—Heavenly Leadings.” Two years later he printed it with the title, “Light in the Darkness,” and the motto, “Unto the godly there ariseth up light in the darkness.” At a later date he published it under the title, “The Pillar of the Cloud.”

Newman ascribed its popularity as a hymn to the appealing tune written for it in 1865 by Dr. John B. Dykes. As to its poetic qualities there has been the widest divergence of opinion. While one critic has called it “one of the outstanding lyrics of the nineteenth century,” William T. Stead observes, caustically, that “It is somewhat hard for the staunch Protestant to wax enthusiastic over the invocation [287] of a ‘Kindly Light’ which led the author straight into the arms of the Scarlet Woman of the Seven Hills.”

The hymn has often been attacked on the ground that it is not definitely Christian in character. In this respect it is similar to Mrs. Adams’ famous hymn, “Nearer, my God, to Thee.” When the Parliament of Religions convened in Chicago a few years ago, Newman’s hymn was the only one sung by representatives of all creeds from every part of the world. Bishop Bickersteth of England, feeling the need of the Christian note in the hymn, added the following stanza:

This was done, said Bishop Bickersteth, “from a deep conviction that the heart of the belated pilgrim can only find rest in the Light of Light.” The additional stanza, however, has not come into general use.

Many interpretations have been given to the closing lines,

Some have believed that Newman by “angel faces” had in mind loved ones lost through death. Yet others are convinced that the author had reference to the actual visions of angels which are said to have come to him in youth, and the loss of which greatly grieved him in later life. Newman himself, in a letter written January 18, 1879, refused to throw further light on the lines, pleading that he had forgotten the meaning that he had in mind when the hymn was written forty-six years before.

Rome honored its distinguished proselyte by making him [288] a cardinal. It is said, however, that Newman was never again a happy man after having surrendered the faith of his fathers. He died at Birmingham, England, August 11, 1890, at the age of eighty-nine years.

A disciple of Newman’s, Frederick William Faber, may be mentioned in this connection, for the lives of the two men were strangely intertwined. Faber, who was the son of an English clergyman, was born at Yorkshire, June 28, 1814. He was graduated from Oxford in 1836, and became a minister of the English Church at Elton in 1843.

While at Oxford he came under the influence of the “Oxford Movement” and formed a deep attachment for Newman. It was inevitable, therefore, that he too should be carried into the Roman Church, which communion he joined in 1846. For some years he labored with Newman in the Catholic church of St. Philip Neri in London. He died in 1863 at the age of forty-nine years.

Faber wrote a large number of hymns, many of them before his desertion to the Church of Rome. Others, written after his defection, containing eulogies of Mary and petitions addressed to the saints, have been changed in order to make them suitable for Protestant hymn-books. His inordinate use of the word “sweet”, and his familiar manner of addressing Christ as “sweet Saviour” has called down harsh criticism on his hymns as sentimental and effeminate. However, such hymns as “There’s a wideness in God’s mercy,” “Hark, hark, my soul! angelic songs are swelling,” “O Saviour, bless us ere we go,” “O Paradise, O Paradise,” and “Faith of our fathers, living still” have probably found a permanent place in the hymn-books of the Church Universal, and will be loved and cherished both for their devotional spirit and their poetic beauty.

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Faber wrote “Faith of our fathers” after his defection to the Church of Rome. In its original form the author expressed the hope that England would be brought back to the papal fold. The opening lines, as Faber wrote them, were:

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A Hymn Written in the Shadows

Henry Francis Lyte, 1847.

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HENRY FRANCIS LYTE AND HIS SWAN SONG

Many a man who has labored in obscure places, practically unnoticed and unpraised by his own generation, has achieved a fame after his death that grows in magnitude with the passing years.

When Henry Francis Lyte died in 1847, he was little known beyond his humble seashore parish at Lower Brixham, England; but today, wherever his beautiful hymns are sung throughout the Christian world, he is gratefully remembered as the man who wrote “Abide with me.”

In response to a questionnaire sent to American readers recently by “The Etude,” a musical magazine, 7,500 out of nearly 32,000 persons who replied named “Abide with me” as their favorite hymn. It easily took first rank, displacing such older favorites as “Rock of Ages” and “Jesus, Lover of my soul.”

How often we have sung this hymn at the close of an evening service, and a settled peace has come into our hearts as we have realized the nearness of Him who said, “And lo! I am with you always.” Yet, this is not in reality an evening hymn. Its theme is the evening of life, and it was written when Lyte felt the shadows of death gathering about his own head. We catch his meaning in the second stanza:

Lyte was always frail in health. He was born in Scotland, [292] June 1, 1793, and was early left an orphan. Nevertheless, despite the handicap of poverty, he struggled through college, and on three occasions won prizes with poems.

His first ambition was to become a physician, but during his college days he determined to enter the ministry. The death of a young friend, a brother clergyman, brought about a profound change in the spiritual life of Lyte. Called to the bedside of his friend to give him consolation, he discovered to his sorrow that both he and the dying man were blind guides who were still groping for light. Through a prayerful search of the Scriptures, however, they both came to a firm faith in Christ. Lyte wrote of his friend:

“He died happy under the belief that though he had deeply erred, there was One whose death and sufferings would atone for his delinquencies, and that he was forgiven and accepted for His sake.”

Concerning the change that came into his own life, he added: “I was greatly affected by the whole matter, and brought to look at life and its issue with a different eye than before; and I began to study my Bible and preach in another manner than I had previously done.”

For nearly twenty-five years after this incident Lyte labored among humble fisherfolk and sailors of the parish at Lower Brixham, and his deep spiritual zeal and fervor led him to overtax his physical powers. From time to time he was obliged to spend the winters in more friendly climes.

In the autumn of 1847 he wrote to a friend that the swallows were flying southward, and he observed, “They are inviting me to accompany them; and yet alas; while I am talking of flying, I am just able to crawl.”

The Sunday for his farewell service came. His family and friends admonished him not to preach a sermon, but the [293] conscientious minister insisted. “It is better,” he said, “to wear out than to rust out.”

He did preach, and the hearts of his hearers were full that day, for they seemed to realize that it would probably be the last time they would hear him. The faithful pastor, too, seemed to have a premonition that it would be his last sermon. The service closed with the Lord’s Supper, administered by Lyte to his sorrowing flock.

“Though necessarily much exhausted by the exertion and excitement of this effort,” his daughter afterward wrote, “yet his friends had no reason to believe that it had been hurtful to him.”

This was September 4, 1847. That afternoon he walked out along the shore to watch the sun as it was setting in a glory of crimson and gold. It was a peaceful, beautiful Sabbath evening. Returning to his home, he shut himself up in his study for the brief space of an hour, and when he came out, he handed a near relative the manuscript containing the famous hymn, “Abide with me.” He also had composed a tune of his own for the words, but this never came into general use.

During the following week Lyte left his beloved England for Italy. However, he got no farther than Nice, in France, where he was obliged to discontinue his journey. Here he passed away November 20 of the same year. His last words were, “Joy! Peace!” and then he fell asleep.

A little cross marks his grave in the English cemetery at Nice, for he was buried there. Every year hundreds of pilgrims visit his grave and tell touching stories of how Lyte’s hymn brought them to faith in Christ Jesus.

It was Lyte’s life-long wish that he might leave behind [294] him such a hymn as this. In an earlier poem he had voiced the longing that he might write

Lyte’s prayer was fulfilled. As long as men shall worship the crucified and risen Lord, so long will they continue to sing the sad and beautiful words of Lyte’s swan song.

In Lyte we have a hymn-writer of the first rank. Indeed, he is comparable to any of England’s greatest hymnists, not excepting Watts or Wesley. His hymns are real lyrics, Scriptural in language, rich in imagery, and exalted in poetic conception. “In no other author,” says an eminent authority, “is poetry and religion more exquisitely united.”

Aside from the sublime hymn we have mentioned, Lyte has given to the Church such noble lyrics as “Jesus, I my cross have taken,” “Pleasant are Thy courts above,” “Praise, my soul, the King of heaven,” “God of mercy, God of grace,” “My spirit on Thy care,” “As pants the hart for cooling streams,” and “O that the Lord’s salvation.” The latter hymn is one of the few ever written that voice a prayer for the salvation of Israel.

The poetic rapture to which Lyte’s poetry sometimes rises is most beautifully reflected in his hymn of adoration:

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A Woman’s Gift to the Church

Sarah Adams, 1840.

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SARAH ADAMS AND THE RISE OF WOMEN HYMN-WRITERS

Nineteenth century hymnody was characterized by an extraordinary number of women hymn-writers. It is significant that this development came, as we have noted in a previous chapter, with the great spiritual revivals which aroused evangelical Europe and America from 1800 to 1875. It was also coincident with the general movement resulting in the enlargement of women’s influence and activity in all spheres of human endeavor. In the realm of hymnody women have become the chief exponents of church song.

Dr. Breed has pointed out that the large increase of women hymnists, as well as the preponderance of hymn translations, is indicative of a period of decadence in sacred song. While this is probably true of the latter half of the nineteenth century, which saw the rise of the so-called “Gospel song,” we must cheerfully recognize the fact that such women as Charlotte Elliott, Sarah Adams, Cecil Alexander and Frances Havergal in England and Mary Lathbury, Anna Warner, Catherine Esling, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Phoebe Gary, Elizabeth Prentiss and Fanny Crosby in America have contributed some of the most precious gems to the treasure-store of Christian hymns. Indeed, the hymnody of the Church would have been immeasurably poorer had these consecrated women failed to make use of their heaven-born talent.

And, although we must deplore the apparent fact that “original utterance in sacred song is departing from the [298] Church,” we must be forever grateful to such gifted women as Catherine Winkworth and the Borthwick sisters, who, through their excellent translations, gave to the English-speaking world some of the choicest pearls of German hymnody.

Charlotte Elliott was the forerunner of the long line of women hymnists. Then came Sarah Flower Adams, the writer of “Nearer, my God, to Thee,” one of the greatest sacred lyrics ever given to the world, and probably the finest ever written by a woman.

Sarah Flower was born at Harlow, England, February 22, 1805, the daughter of Benjamin Flower, editor of the Cambridge “Intelligencer.” The mother died when Sarah was only five years old. A sister, Eliza, was a gifted musician, while Sarah early showed talent along literary lines. In later years Eliza wrote music for the hymns of her sister.

Sarah was fond of the stage. She believed that it could be made to teach great moral truths as well as the pulpit. Her dreams of becoming an actress, however, failed to materialize because of poor health. In 1834 she became the wife of John Bridges Adams, a civil engineer, after which she made her home in London. Her health was seriously impaired through caring for her sister, who died a consumptive in 1846, and she survived her less than two years.

Her great hymn was written in 1840. It was published the following year in a volume of hymns and anthems edited by her pastor, Rev. William Johnson Fox. This man was a Unitarian, and for this reason Mrs. Adams has also been classified with that sect. It is said, however, that she became a Baptist near the close of her life. Other hymns written by her indicate that she had arrived at a living faith in Christ. Perhaps the many trials she suffered proved in the [299] end to be the means of bringing her to the Saviour. And thus was fulfilled in her own life the beautiful lines:

“Nearer, my God, to Thee” has probably aroused more discussion than any other hymn. Because it is based entirely on the story of Jacob at Bethel and omits reference to Christ, it has been called more Unitarian than Christian. Many efforts have been made, but without much success, to write a substitute hymn with a definite Christian note. In 1864 Bishop How of London wrote a hymn, the first stanza of which reads:

Prof. Henry Eyster Jacobs of Philadelphia, in 1887, also wrote a version:

The hymn was a favorite with William McKinley, the martyred president. When he was dying, his attending physician heard him murmur, “‘Nearer, my God, to Thee, E’en though it be a cross,’ has been my constant prayer.”

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That Sweet Story of Old

Jemima Luke, 1841.

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A HYMN WRITTEN IN A STAGE-COACH

Some one has said, “Let me write the songs of a nation, and I care not who may write its laws.”

It is a wise saying; for who can estimate the influence of the songs we sing, especially the songs of children? There is no better way to teach Christian truths to children than to have them sing those truths into their hearts and souls.

When Jemima Luke sat in an English stage-coach in 1841 composing the lines of a little poem that had been ringing in her mind, she could scarcely have known she was writing a hymn that would gladden the hearts of thousands of children in many years to come. But that is how she wrote “I think when I read that sweet story of old,” and that is the happy fate that was in store for her labor of love.

Her maiden name was Jemima Thompson. Her father was a missionary enthusiast, and she herself was filled with zeal for mission enterprises. Even as a child, at the age of thirteen, she was an anonymous contributor to “The Juvenile Magazine.” When she was twenty-eight years old she visited a school where the children had been singing a fine old melody as a marching song.

“What a lovely children’s hymn it would make,” she thought, “if only there were suitable religious words for it.”

She hunted through many books for the words she desired, but could find none that satisfied her. Some time later, as [302] she was riding in a stage coach with nothing to occupy her, she thought of the tune again. Taking an old envelope from her pocket, she recorded on the back of it the words that have come to be loved on both sides of the Atlantic, and some day probably will be sung by the children of all the world.

When she returned home, she taught the words and the melody to her Sunday school class. Her father, who was superintendent of the school, chanced to hear them one day.

“Where did that hymn come from?” he asked.

“Jemima made it!” was the proud answer of the youngsters.

Without telling his daughter about it, the father sent a copy of the words to the “Sunday School Teachers’ Magazine,” and in a few weeks it appeared for the first time in print. Since that time it has continued to find a place year after year in almost every juvenile hymnal published in the English language.

The last stanza of the hymn, which begins with the words, “But thousands and thousands who wander and fall,” was added subsequently by the author, who desired to make it suitable for missionary gatherings. Her interest in foreign missions continued unabated throughout her life. At one time she was accepted as a missionary to the women of India, but poor health prevented her from carrying out her purpose. However, she edited “The Missionary Repository,” the first missionary magazine for children, and numbered among her contributors such famous missionaries as David Livingstone, Robert Moffatt and James Montgomery.

In 1843 she married a minister, Rev. Samuel Luke. After his death in 1868 she devoted much of her time to promoting the erection of parsonages in parishes that were too poor to provide them for their pastors.

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When an international convention of the Christian Endeavor society was held in Baltimore in 1904, Mrs. Luke sent the following message to the young people:

“Dear children, you will be men and women soon, and it is for you and the children of England to carry the message of a Saviour’s love to every nation of this sin-stricken world. It is a blessed message to carry, and it is a happy work to do. The Lord make you ever faithful to Him, and unspeakably happy in His service! I came to Him at ten years of age, and at ninety-one can testify to His care and faithfulness.”

She died in 1906 at the age of ninety-three years. Although she wrote a great deal of inspiring Christian literature, it is only her beautiful “Sweet Story of Old” that has come down to us.

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Redemption’s Story in a Hymn

Cecil Frances Alexander, 1848.

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AN ARCHBISHOP’S WIFE WHO WROTE HYMNS

Shortly before the death in 1911 of Archbishop William Alexander, primate of the Anglican Church in Ireland, he remarked that he would be remembered as the husband of the woman who wrote “The roseate hues of early dawn” and “There is a green hill far away.”

The humble prelate was right. Although he occupied an exalted position in the Church less than two decades ago, few people today recall his name. But who has not heard the name of Cecil Frances Humphreys Alexander, who, in spite of multitudinous duties as wife and mother, found time to be a parish worker among the poor and to write hymns that shall never die?

When Cecil Frances was only a little girl, she began to reveal poetic talent. Because her father was an officer in the Royal Marines and rather a stern man, she was not sure that he would be pleased with her efforts and therefore she hid her poems under a carpet! When he finally discovered what his nine-year-old daughter was busying herself with, he set aside a certain hour every Saturday evening, at which time he read aloud to the family the poems she had written.

The family numbered among its friends none other than John Keble, writer of the famous collection of devotional poems known as “The Christian Year,” and he, too, gave encouragement to the youthful poet.

In 1848, at the age of twenty-five, she published a volume of hymns for little children that probably has never been excelled [306] by a similar collection. Two years later she became the bride of Rev. William Alexander, afterwards Bishop of Derry and Raphoe, and later Archbishop of Armaugh. He was rector of a country parish in the county of Tyrone at the time, and there was much poverty among his people. Among these needy folk the young minister’s wife moved about like a ministering angel. A beautiful tribute to her memory from the pen of her husband reads: “From one poor home to another, from one bed of sickness to another, from one sorrow to another, she went. Christ was ever with her, and in her, and all felt her influence.”

But the poetic spark within her was not permitted to languish. Even when children began to bless this unusual household and the cares of the mother increased, her harp was tuned anew and sweeter songs than ever began to well up from her joyous, thankful heart.

Practically all of the four hundred hymns and poems written by Mrs. Alexander were intended for children, and for this reason their language is very simple. At the same time she succeeds in teaching some of the most profound truths of the Christian faith. Witness, for example, the simple language of “There is a green hill far away.” A child has no difficulty in comprehending it, and yet this precious hymn sets forth in a most touching way the whole story of the Atonement.

Again, the infinite value of the sacrifice which Christ made when He, the Sinless One, died for sinners is expressed in these simple, appealing words:

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Archbishop Alexander mentioned two hymns by which his wife’s name, and incidentally his own, would be remembered. He might have added several others, such as the challenging hymn, “Jesus calls us; o’er the tumult,” or the two beautiful children’s hymns, “Once in royal David’s city” and “All things bright and beautiful.” And among her splendid poems he might have mentioned the sublime verses entitled “The Burial of Moses.” Her own spirit of confiding trust in God is reflected in the lines:

Mrs. Alexander died in 1895 at the age of seventy-two years. She was buried in Londonderry, Ireland. At Archbishop Alexander’s funeral sixteen years later “The roseate hues of early dawn” was sung in Londonderry cathedral, and when the body was lowered into the grave the mourners sang, “There is a green hill far away.”

During the years when Mrs. Alexander was penning her beautiful lyrics, three other women were giving hymns to the English people in another way. They were Catherine Winkworth and the sisters Jane Borthwick and Sarah [308] Borthwick Findlater, all three of whom had conceived a deep love for the wonderful hymns of Germany and were translating them into their native tongue.

Miss Winkworth, who is the foremost translator of German hymns, was born in London, September 13, 1829. Her “Lyra Germanica,” published in 1855, met with such favorable reception that a second series was issued in 1858. Her “Christian Singers of Germany” was published in 1869.

Miss Winkworth possessed a marvelous ability of preserving the spirit of the great German hymns while she clothed them in another language. It was she who gave us in English dress such magnificent hymns as Rinkart’s “Now thank we all our God,” Luther’s “Out of the depths I cry to Thee,” Decius’ “All glory be to God on high,” Neander’s “Praise to the Lord, the Almighty, the King of creation,” Schmolck’s “Open now thy gates of beauty,” and Gerhardt’s “All my heart this night rejoices.” Miss Winkworth, more than any other one person, is responsible for having aroused in England and America an appreciation of the treasure store of German hymnody. She died in 1869.

The two Borthwick sisters, Jane Laurie and Sarah, were born in Edinburgh, Scotland, the former in 1813 and the latter in 1823. They came from an old Scotch family. Sarah married a Rev. Eric Findlater and lived for a time in Perthshire.

The Borthwick sisters collaborated in the preparation of the translations entitled “Hymns from the Land of Luther.” These appeared first in 1854 and continued in four series until 1862. Although it is difficult to distinguish the individual work of the sisters, Jane is generally credited with the translation of such noble hymns as Zinzendorf’s “Jesus, still lead on,” and Schmolck’s “My Jesus, as Thou [309] wilt,” while Sarah is believed to be the translator of Tersteegen’s “God calling yet,” Spitta’s “O happy home, where Thou art loved the dearest,” Schmolck’s “My God, I know that I must die,” and a large number of other famous German hymns.

Jane Borthwick died in 1897, and her younger sister followed her ten years later.

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The Voice of Jesus

Horatius Bonar, 1846.

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BONAR, THE SWEET SINGER OF SCOTLAND

One of Scotland’s most earnest soul-winners was also its greatest hymnist. He was Horatius Bonar, a name that will be forever cherished by all who are filled with a fervent love for the Saviour and who find that love so beautifully expressed in the spiritual songs of the noble Scotchman.

Like the hymns of Mrs. Alexander, Dr. Bonar wrote his songs for children; but they are so profound and intensely spiritual in their very simplicity they will always satisfy the most mature Christian mind. No matter how old we become, our hearts will ever be stirred as we sing the tender words:

The subjective, emotional element is strongly present in the hymns of Bonar. In this respect there is a striking resemblance to the hymns of the great German writer, Benjamin Schmolck. Both use the name “Jesus” freely, and both become daringly intimate, yet the hymns of neither are weak or sentimental.

In Bonar we behold the strange anomaly of a man with [312] a strong physique and powerful intellect combined with the gentle, sympathetic nature of a woman and the simple, confiding faith of a child. The warmth and sincerity of his personal faith in Christ may be seen reflected in all his hymns. “I try to fill my hymns with the love and light of Christ,” he once said, and certainly he has drawn many souls to the Saviour by the tenderness of their appeal.

Bonar is ever pointing in his hymns to Christ as an all-sufficient Saviour, dwelling in simple language on the blessings of the Atonement and the willingness of God to accept all who come to Him through Christ. In these days of modernistic teachings when practically all stress is placed on “living the Christ-life” while the meritorious work of Christ on behalf of the sinner is largely ignored and forgotten, it would be salutary for the Church to listen anew to such words as these:

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Bonar was born in Edinburgh, December 19, 1808. His father was a lawyer, but he came from a long line of eminent Scottish ministers. His mother was a gentle, pious woman, and it was largely through her influence that her three sons, John, Horatius and Andrew, entered the ministry of the Church of Scotland. Andrew became a noted Bible commentator.

After completing his course at the University of Edinburgh, Horatius began mission work in Leith, under Rev. James Lewis. In one of the most squalid parts of the city he conducted services and Sunday school in a hall. The children did not seem to enjoy singing the Psalm paraphrases, which were still exclusively used by the Church of Scotland at that late date, and therefore Bonar decided to write songs of his own. Like Luther, he chose happy tunes familiar to the children, and wrote words to fit them. His first two hymns were “I lay my sins on Jesus” and “The morning, the bright and beautiful morning.” Still others were “I was a wandering sheep” and “A few more years shall roll.” Needless to say, the children sang and enjoyed them.

At this time, also, he wrote his first hymn for adults, “Go, labor on! Spend and be spent!” It was intended to encourage those who were working with him among the poor of his district.

After four years Bonar was ordained as a minister of the Church of Scotland, assuming charge of a new church at Kelso. He was a man of prayer, and his first sermon to his people was an exhortation to prayer. It is said that a young servant in his home was converted by his prayers. Hearing his earnest supplications from his locked study, she thought: “If he needs to pray so much, what will become of me, if I do not pray!”

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Many stories are related of his methods of dealing with seeking souls. A young man who was troubled by a grievous sin came to Bonar for help. The latter told him that God was willing to forgive and that the blood of Jesus His Son cleanseth from all sin. The despairing young man seemed unable to believe the gospel message, however, and continually reminded Bonar of the greatness of his transgression. Finally an inspiration came to the pastor. “Tell me,” he demanded, “which is of greater weight in the eyes of God—your sin, black as it is, or the blood of Jesus, shed for sinners?” Light dawned on the soul of the troubled young man, and he cried joyfully, “Oh, I am sure the blood of Jesus weighs more heavily than even my sin!” And so he found peace.

Bonar was a man of boundless energy. When he was not preaching, he was writing hymns or tracts or books. One of his tracts, “Believe and Live,” was printed in more than a million copies, and the late Queen Victoria of England was much blessed by it. His hymns number about 600, and the fact that at least 100 are in common use today is a testimonial to their worth. Dr. Bonar never used his hymns in his own church worship, but when, on a certain occasion near the close of his life, he broke the rule, two of his elders showed their emphatic disapproval by walking out of church.

Perhaps the finest hymn we have received from his pen, if we except “I lay my sins on Jesus,” is “I heard the voice of Jesus say.” Other familiar hymns are “Thy works, not mine, O Christ,” “Not what my hands have done,” “Blessing, and honor, and glory, and power,” “All that I was, my sin, my guilt,” “Thy way, not mine, O Lord,” and “A few more years shall roll.”

In 1843 Dr. Bonar married Miss Jane Lundie, and for [315] forty years they shared joy and sorrow. She, too, was a gifted writer, and it is she who has given us the beautiful gem, “Fade, fade, each earthly joy.”

Sorrow was one of the means used by the Lord to enrich and mellow the life of Bonar. Five of his children died in early years. It required much of divine grace in such experiences to write lines like these:

Bonar himself was sorely afflicted during the last two years of his life. He died in 1889, deeply mourned by all Scotland as well as by Christians throughout the world who had come to know him through his tracts and hymns. At his funeral one of his own hymns was sung. It was written on the theme of his family motto, “Heaven at Last.”

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The Dayspring from on High

John Mason Neale, 1846.

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TWO FAMOUS TRANSLATORS OF ANCIENT HYMNS

Little more than a century ago—in the year 1818, to be exact—there was born in the great city of London a child who was destined to become an unusual scholar. He was christened John Mason Neale, a name that may be found today throughout the pages of the world’s best hymn-books.

When he was only five years old, his father died, and, like so many other men who have achieved fame, he received the greater part of his elementary training from a gifted mother.

At Cambridge University, which he entered at an early age, he became a brilliant student, leading his classes and winning numerous prizes. After his graduation he was ordained as a minister in the Church of England.

His interest in the ancient hymns of the Christian Church led him to spend much time in the morning lands of history, particularly in Greece. To him, more than any one else, we owe some of the most successful translations from the classical languages. By his sojourn in eastern lands, he seems to have been enabled to catch the spirit of the Greek hymns to such a degree that his translations read almost like original poems. For instance, in order to do justice to the famous Easter hymn of John of Damascus, written some time during the eighth century, Neale celebrated Easter in Athens and heard the “glorious old hymn of victory,” as he called it, sung by a great throng of worshipers at midnight. The result is his sublime translation:

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Another very famous translation from the Greek by Neale is the hymn:

This hymn is often regarded as an original by Neale, but the author was St. Stephen the Sabaite, a monk who received his name from the monastery in which he spent his life, that of St. Sabas, near Bethlehem, overlooking the Dead Sea. St. Stephen, who was born in 725 A.D., had been placed in the monastery at the age of ten years by his uncle. He lived there more than half a century until his death in 794 A.D.

Neale was equally successful in the translation of ancient Latin hymns. Perhaps the most notable is his rendering of Bernard of Cluny’s immortal hymn:

So facile was Neale in the art of writing either English or Latin verse, that he often astounded his friends. It is [319] said that on one occasion John Keble, author of “The Christian Year,” was visiting him. Absenting himself from the room for a few minutes, Neale returned shortly and exclaimed: “I thought, Keble, that all your poems in ‘The Christian Year’ were original; but one of them, at least, seems to be a translation.” Thereupon he handed Keble, to the latter’s amazement, a very fine Latin rendering of one of Keble’s own poems. He had made the translation during his absence from the room.

But Neale did not confine himself to translations. He also wrote a large number of splendid original hymns. He was fond of writing hymns for holy days and festivals of the church year. The hymn printed in connection with this sketch is for Advent. “Oh Thou, who by a star didst guide,” for Epiphany, and “Blessed Saviour, who hast taught me,” for confirmation, are among his other original hymns.

Because of his “high church” tendencies, accentuated no doubt by the influence of the “Oxford Movement,” Neale incurred the suspicion of some that he leaned toward the Church of Rome. However, there is nothing of Roman error to be found in his hymns. The evangelical note rings pure and clear, and for this reason they will no doubt continue to be loved and sung through centuries yet to come.

Neale died August 6, 1866, at the age of forty-eight years, trusting in the atoning blood of Christ, and with the glorious assurance expressed in his version of St. Stephen’s hymn:

Another Englishman who gained renown by translations of the old classical hymns of the Church was Edward Caswall. He was a contemporary of Neale, and, like the latter, came under the influence of the “Oxford Movement,” which cost the Church of England some of its ablest men. While Neale, however, remained faithful to his own communion, Caswall resigned as a minister of the English Church and became a Romanist. He was made a priest in the Congregation of the Oratory, which Cardinal Newman had established in Birmingham, a position he continued to fill until his death in 1878.

Two of the most beautiful hymns in the English language—“Jesus, the very thought of Thee” and “O Jesus, King most wonderful”—were derived by Caswall from the famous Latin poem, De Nomine Jesu, by Bernard of Clairvaux. Of the former hymn Dr. Robinson has said: “One might call this poem the finest in the world and still be within the limits of all extravagance.”

Among other fine translations from the Latin by Caswall are “Hark! a thrilling voice is sounding” and “Glory be to Jesus.” He also has given us some hymns from the German, including the exquisite morning hymn, “When morning gilds the skies.” This is such a free rendering, however, that it may rather be regarded as an original hymn by Caswall. Three of its stanzas read:

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A Great Marching Song

Sabine Baring-Gould, 1865.

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BARING-GOULD AND HIS NOTED HYMN

When Rev. Sabine Baring-Gould, on Whitsunday, 1865, sat up a greater portion of the night to compose a hymn, he did not realize he was writing words that would be sung through the centuries; but that no doubt will be the result of his zeal. The hymn he wrote was “Onward, Christian soldiers.”

The story is an interesting one. At that time Baring-Gould was minister of the Established Church at Lew-Trenchard, England. On Whitmonday the children of his village were to march to an adjoining village for a Sunday school rally.

“If only there was something they could sing as they marched,” the pastor thought, “the way would not seem so long.” He searched diligently for something suitable but failed to find what he wanted. Finally he decided to write a marching song. It took the greater part of the night to do it, but the next morning the children’s pilgrimage was made the lighter and happier by “Onward, Christian soldiers.”

Commenting on the hymn some thirty years later, the author said: “It was written in great haste, and I am afraid some of the rhymes are faulty. Certainly, nothing has surprised me more than its popularity.”

In this instance, as in many others that might be mentioned, the tune to which it is inseparably wedded, has no doubt contributed much to make it popular. Sir Arthur Seymour Sullivan, the great English organist who wrote [324] “The Lost Chord,” in 1872 composed the stirring music now used for Baring-Gould’s hymn.

Objection has sometimes been voiced against the hymn because of its martial spirit. However, it should be noted that this hymn gives not the slightest hint of warfare with carnal weapons. The allusion is to spiritual warfare, and the warrior is the Christian soldier.

We are reminded throughout this hymn of Paul’s martial imagery in the sixth chapter of Ephesians, where he tells us that “our wrestling is not against flesh and blood, but against the principalities, against the powers, against the world-rulers of this darkness, against the spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places,” and admonishes us to put on “the whole armor of God.” We also recall the same apostle’s exhortation to Timothy to “war the good warfare,” and to “fight the good fight of faith.”

It is salutary to be reminded by such a hymn as this of the heroic character of the Christian life. The follower of Jesus is not to sit with folded hands and sing his way into Paradise. A sickly, sentimental religion has no more place in the Christian Church today than it had in those early days when apostles and martyrs sealed their faith with their life-blood. Baring-Gould’s hymn seems almost an exultant answer to Isaac Watts’ challenging stanza:

We sometimes hear it said that the Church of Christ has fallen on evil days, and more than one faithful soul fears for the future. Baring-Gould has reminded us here of Christ’s [325] “own promise” that, though kingdoms may rise and fall, His kingdom shall ever remain, for the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.

During a desperate battle between the French and Austrians in the Napoleonic wars, a French officer rushed to his commander and exclaimed, “The battle is lost!” Quietly the general answered, “One battle is lost, but there is time to win another.” Inspired by the commander’s unconquerable optimism, the French army renewed the struggle and snatched victory out of the jaws of defeat. That has ever been the history of the Church of Christ.

Baring-Gould was one of England’s most versatile ministers. In addition to his hymn-writing, he was a novelist of considerable reputation. For many years he regularly produced a novel every year. His “Lives of the Saints” in fifteen volumes, his “Curious Myths of the Middle Ages” and his “Legends of the Old Testament” are all notable works. It is said that he did all his writing in long hand without the aid of a secretary. He once declared that he often did his best work when he felt least inclined to apply himself to his task. He never waited for an “inspiration,” but plunged into his work and then stuck to it until it was finished.

The beautiful evening hymn, “Now the day is over,” is also from Baring-Gould’s pen, and, to show his versatility, he also composed the tune for it. He was also the translator of Bernhardt Severin Ingemann’s famous Danish hymn, “Through the night of doubt and sorrow.”

Despite his arduous and unceasing labors, Baring-Gould lived to the ripe old age of ninety years. He died in 1924, but his hymn goes marching on.

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A Rapturous Hymn of Adoration

Frances Ridley Havergal, 1870.

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FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL, THE CONSECRATION POET

The beauty of a consecrated Christian life has probably never been more perfectly revealed than in the life of Frances Ridley Havergal. To read the story of her life is not only an inspiration, but it discloses at once the secret of her beautiful hymns. She lived her hymns before she wrote them.

This sweetest of all English singers was born at Astley, Worcestershire, December 14, 1836. She was such a bright, happy and vivacious child that her father, who was a minister of the Church of England and himself a hymn-writer of no mean ability, called her “Little Quicksilver.” Her father was also a gifted musician, and this quality too was inherited by the daughter, who became a brilliant pianist and passionately fond of singing. However, because she looked upon her talents as gifts from God to be used only in His service, she would sing nothing but sacred songs.

Her sunshiny nature became even more radiant following a deep religious experience at the age of fourteen. Of this she afterwards wrote:

“I committed my soul to the Saviour, and earth and heaven seemed brighter from that moment.”

At the age of eighteen she was confirmed. It is evident that she looked upon her confirmation as one of the most blessed experiences of her life, for when she returned home she wrote in her manuscript book of poems:

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“THINE FOR EVER”

She also wrote a hymn on Confirmation, “In full and glad surrender.” This hymn her sister declared was “the epitome of her life and the focus of its sunshine.”

Four years later, while pursuing studies in Düsseldorf, Germany, Miss Havergal chanced to see Sternberg’s celebrated painting, Ecce Homo, with the inscription beneath it:

This was the same painting that once made such a profound impression on the youthful mind of Count Zinzendorf. Miss Havergal was likewise deeply moved, and immediately she seized a piece of scrap paper and a pencil and wrote the famous hymn:

She thought the verses so poor after she had read them over that she tossed them into a stove. The piece of paper, however, fell out untouched by the flames. When she showed the words to her father a few months later, he was so touched by them he immediately composed a tune by which they could be sung.

This seems to have been one of the great turning points in the life of the young hymnist. Her hymns from this period reveal her as a fully surrendered soul, her one ambition [329] being to devote all her talents to Christ. She did not consider herself to be a poet of a high order, but so filled was she with the love of Christ that her heart overflowed with rapturous praise. Indeed, her hymns may be said to be the record of her own spiritual experiences. Always she was proclaiming the evangel of full and free salvation through Jesus’ merits to all who believe.

She is often referred to as “the consecration poet.” This is an allusion to her famous consecration hymn, written in 1874:

The circumstances that led to the writing of this hymn are interesting. Miss Havergal was spending a few days in a home where there were ten persons, some of them unconverted, and the others rather half-hearted Christians who seemed to derive no joy from their religion. A great desire came upon her that she might be instrumental in bringing them all to true faith in Christ. Her prayer was wonderfully answered, and on the last night of her stay her heart was so filled with joy and gratitude she could not sleep. Instead, she spent the night writing the consecration hymn.

Her prayer, “Take my silver and my gold; not a mite would I withhold,” was not an idle petition with her. In August, 1878, she wrote to a friend: “The Lord has shown me another little step, and of course I have taken it, with extreme delight. ‘Take my silver and my gold,’ now means shipping off all my ornaments to the Church Missionary House (including a jewel cabinet that is really fit for a countess), where all will be accepted and disposed of for me. [330] I retain a brooch or two for daily wear, which are memorials of my dear parents, also a locket containing a portrait of my dear niece in heaven, my Evelyn, and her two rings; but these I redeem, so that the whole value goes to the Church Missionary Society. Nearly fifty articles are being packed up. I don’t think I ever packed a box with such pleasure.”

In addition to her other accomplishments, Miss Havergal was a brilliant linguist, having mastered a number of modern languages. She was also proficient in Greek and Hebrew. Her sister records that she always had her Hebrew Bible and Greek New Testament at hand when she read the Scriptures.

The study of the Bible was one of her chief joys. During summer she began her Bible reading at seven in the morning, and in winter at eight o’clock. When, on cold days, her sister would beg her to sit near the fire, she would answer: “But then, Marie, I can’t rule my lines neatly. Just see what a find I’ve got. If one only searches, there are such extraordinary things in the Bible!” Her Bible was freely underscored and filled with notations. She was able to repeat from memory the four Gospels, the Epistles, Revelation and all the Psalms, and in later years she added Isaiah and the Minor Prophets to the list.

Miss Havergal was only forty-two at the time of her death, on June 3, 1879. When her attending physician told her that her condition was serious, she replied, “If I am really going, it is too good to be true!” At the bottom of her bed she had her favorite text placed where she could see it: “The blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth us from all sin.” She also asked that these words be inscribed upon her coffin and on her tombstone. Once she exclaimed: “Splendid! To be so near the gates of heaven!” And again, [331] “So beautiful to go! So beautiful to go!” She died while singing:

Some of the more popular hymns by Miss Havergal, aside from those already mentioned, are: “O Saviour, precious Saviour,” “I am trusting Thee, Lord Jesus,” “Thou art coming, O my Saviour,” “Lord, speak to me, that I may speak,” and “Singing for Jesus, our Saviour and King.” While she was writing the hymns that were destined to make her famous, another remarkable young woman, “Fanny” Crosby, America’s blind hymn-writer, was also achieving renown by her hymns and songs. Miss Havergal and Miss Crosby never met, but each was an ardent admirer of the other, and on one occasion the English poet sent a very touching greeting to the American hymn-writer. It read:

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The Emblem That Survives

John Bowring, 1825.

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A UNITARIAN WHO GLORIED IN THE CROSS

Among the great hymns of the cross, Sir John Bowring’s classic, “In the cross of Christ I glory,” occupies a foremost place. This is all the more remarkable when we are reminded that Bowring was known as a Unitarian, a communion which not only denies the deity of Christ, but ignores the true significance of the cross. And yet he has given us a hymn that every evangelical Christian rejoices to sing, for it is a hymn that magnifies the cross and makes it the very center of the Christian religion.

In justice to Bowring it ought to be stated that he himself was “a devoted and evangelical believer,” and that his connection with the Unitarian Church was merely accidental and nominal. When he died, in 1872, the opening line of his famous hymn was inscribed in bold letters upon his tombstone:

In the Cross of Christ I Glory

Knowing these things, every true Christian will cherish an inner conviction that the man who wrote so beautiful a tribute to Christ and the cross did not really die but only fell asleep, trusting in the atoning death of a Saviour who is God.

Bowring was a learned man, especially famed as a linguist. He is said to have been able to speak twenty-two languages fluently, and was able to converse in at least one hundred different tongues. He found special delight in translating poems from other languages. His published works contain translations from Bohemian, Slavonic, Russian, Servian, [334] Polish, Slovakian, Illyrian, Teutonic, Esthonian, Dutch, Frisian, Lettish, Finnish, Hungarian, Biscayan, French, Provencal, Gascon, Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, Catalonian and Galician sources.

Sir John was particularly fond of the study of hymns. Even at the age of eighty years he was said to begin the day with some new song of thanksgiving.

In addition to all his other accomplishments, Bowring had a very distinguished career in English politics. He was twice a member of the British parliament. Later he became consul general for the English government at Hong Kong, China. During this period he chanced to sail down the Chinese coast to Macao, where nearly 400 years earlier the Portuguese explorer, Vasco da Gama, had built an imposing cathedral. The structure had been wrecked by a typhoon, but the tower still remained, and surmounting it a great bronze cross, sharply outlined against the sky. Far above the wreckage surrounding it, the cross seemed to Bowring to be a symbol of Christ’s Kingdom, glorious and eternal, living through the centuries while other kingdoms have come and gone. So inspired was he by the sight, the words of the hymn seemed to suggest themselves to him at once, and in a short while a famous poem had been written.

The plan of the hymn is interesting. The first stanza declares the cross of Christ to be the central fact in divine revelation and the one theme in which the Christian never ceases to glory. The second stanza pictures the cross as the Christian’s refuge and comfort in time of affliction, while the third tells how it also adds luster to the days of joy and sunshine. The final stanza summarizes these two ideas, and the hymn closes by telling of the eternal character of the peace and joy that flow from the cross.

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An interesting story is told of this hymn in connection with the Boxer uprising in China. All foreigners in Peking had been besieged by the infuriated Chinese for several weeks. When the allied troops finally reached the city and the terrible strain was ended, the Christian missionaries gathered in the Temple of Heaven, the remarkable pagan shrine where the Emperor of China was accustomed to worship, and, lifting up their voices in thanksgiving, the messengers of the cross sang:

Sir John Bowring eventually became governor of Hong Kong, and wielded great influence in the Orient. He did much to promote Christian benevolences and other enterprises for the good of the peoples in the Far East. When his health began to fail, his friends warned him to cease some of his activities, but in vain. His answer was, “I must do my work while life remains to me; I may not long be here.”

He was often gratified to hear his hymns sung at unexpected times and in unusual places. In 1825 he wrote a poem beginning with the words, “Watchman, tell us of the night.” He did not know it was being used as a hymn until ten years later, when he heard it sung by Christian missionaries in Turkey. Among other hymns of Bowring that have come into general use is the beautiful one beginning with the words:

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A Hymn That Opens Hearts

William Walsham How, 1867.

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A MODEL HYMN BY A MODEL MINISTER

It is a significant fact that many of the greatest hymns of the Church have been written by pastors who have been noted for their zeal in winning souls. Their hymns have been a part of their spiritual stratagem to draw the wayward and erring into the gospel net. Bishop William Walsham How, one of the more recent hymnists of England, is a shining example of true devotion in a Christian shepherd.

Bishop How once gave a striking description of the characteristics which he believed should be found in an ideal minister of the gospel. “Such a minister,” he said, “should be a man pure, holy, and spotless in his life; a man of much prayer; in character meek, lowly, and infinitely compassionate; of tenderest love to all; full of sympathy for every pain and sorrow, and devoting his days and nights to lightening the burdens of humanity; utterly patient of insult and enmity; utterly fearless in speaking the truth and rebuking sin; ever ready to answer every call, to go wherever bidden, in order to do good; wholly without thought of self; making himself the servant of all; patient, gentle, and untiring in dealing with the souls he would save; bearing with ignorance, wilfulness, slowness, cowardice, in those of whom he expects most; sacrificing all, even life itself, if need be, to save some.”

Those who knew How best said it was almost a perfect description of his own life and character.

When Queen Victoria, in 1879, made him Bishop of Bedford, with East London as his diocese, he was tireless in his [338] efforts to alleviate conditions in that poverty-stricken district. When he first began his work in the slums, people would point to him and say, “There goes a bishop.” But as they came to know him better, they said, “There goes the bishop.” And finally, when they learned to love him, they exclaimed, “There goes our bishop.”

Bishop How’s most celebrated hymn is “O Jesus, Thou art standing.” It is based on the impressive words of the Saviour in the Book of Revelation, “Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: If any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me.”

Though the language of the hymn is commonplace, there are striking expressions here, as in How’s other hymns, that arrest the attention of the worshiper. In the first stanza we are reminded that there are many nominal Christians bearing “His Name and sign” who yet are keeping the waiting, patient Saviour outside a “fast-closed door.” In the succeeding verse we are told that it is sin that bars the gate. Then there is the concluding stanza with its gripping appeal, picturing the surrender of the human heart to the pleading Christ.

The imagery in the hymn was, no doubt, suggested by Holman Hunt’s celebrated painting, “The Light of the World.” This was executed by Hunt in 1855, while the hymn by How was written twelve years later. Those who are familiar with the Hunt masterpiece will remember how it pictures the Saviour standing patiently and knocking earnestly at a fast-closed door. The high weeds, the tangled growth of vines, as well as the unpicked fruit lying on the ground before the door, suggest that it has not been opened for a long time. A bat is hovering in the vines overhead.

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Ruskin tells us that the white robe worn by the heavenly Stranger shows us that He is a Prophet, the jeweled robe and breastplate indicate a Priest, and the crown of gold a King. The crown of thorns is now bearing leaves “for the healing of the nations.” In His scarred hand He carries a lighted lantern, signifying “the Light of the world.”

When Holman Hunt’s picture was first exhibited, it excited considerable comment. Some one, however, ventured the criticism that there was a fault in the painting inasmuch as Hunt had forgotten to indicate a latch on the door.

“There is no mistake,” said the great artist. “I did not put a latch on the outside of the door because it can only be opened from within. The Lord Jesus Christ Himself cannot enter an unwilling heart; it must be opened to Him. He must be invited to enter.”

Bishop How’s hymn pictures in language what Holman Hunt put into his celebrated canvass.

“O Jesus, Thou art standing” is not the only famous hymn written by Bishop How. His lovely New Year’s hymn, “Jesus, Name of wondrous love,” and his All Saints’ hymn, “For all the saints who from their labors rest,” have won a place forever in English hymnody. “O Word of God Incarnate,” “We give Thee but Thine own” and “Summer suns are glowing” also have found their way into a large number of the standard hymn-books.

The talented bishop died in the year 1897, mourned not only by those who had learned to love him because of his noble Christian character, but also by those who had come to know him through his beautiful hymns. With the passing of only three decades since his death, there is increasing evidence that Bishop How will be numbered among the great hymn-writers of the Christian Church.

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A Blind Man’s Hymn of Faith

George Matheson, 1882.

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MATHESON AND HIS SONG IN THE NIGHT

The most recent of English hymn-writers to gain recognition in the standard hymn-books of the Church is George Matheson. The fame of this man will probably rest on a single hymn, “O Love that wilt not let me go,” written on a summer evening in 1882.

A deeper appreciation and understanding will be felt for this hymn when we know that it is truly a “song in the night,” for Matheson was blind when he wrote it.

Born in Glasgow, Scotland, March 27, 1842, Matheson enjoyed partial vision as a boy. However, after he entered Glasgow University at the age of fifteen, his sight began to fail and he became totally blind. Nevertheless, in spite of this handicap, he was a brilliant scholar and graduated with honor in 1861. Having decided to enter the ministry, he remained four additional years for theological studies.

It was while he was parish minister at Innellan, a seaport summer resort in Scotland, that the famous hymn was written. He tells the story in his own words:

“It was written in the manse of my former parish (Innellan) one summer evening in 1882. It was composed with extreme rapidity; it seemed to me that its construction occupied only a few minutes, and I felt myself rather in the position of one who was being dictated to than an original artist. I was suffering from extreme mental distress, and the hymn was the fruit of pain.”

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Many conjectures have been made regarding the cause of the “mental distress” from which the author was suffering. Because of the opening line, “O Love that wilt not let me go,” it has been suggested that Matheson had been bitterly disappointed in his hopes of marrying a young woman to whom he had become deeply attached. It is said that her refusal to marry him was due to his blindness.

Although this story cannot be vouched for, there are many significant hints in the hymn to his sad affliction, such as the “flickering torch” and the “borrowed ray” in the second stanza, the beautiful thought of tracing “the rainbow through the rain” in the third stanza, and the “cross” referred to in the final stanza. The hymn is so artistically constructed and is so rich in poetic thought and symbolic meaning, it will well repay careful study.

Despite his handicap, Dr. Matheson was blessed with a fruitful ministry. A devoted sister who had learned Greek, Latin and Hebrew in order to aid him in his theological studies remained his co-worker and helper throughout life. In all of his pastoral calls she was his constant guide.

During the early part of his ministry, he wrote all his sermons in full. He possessed such a remarkable memory that after a sermon had been read to him twice, he was able to repeat it perfectly. After he had followed this practice for twelve years, he suffered a complete collapse of memory one Sunday in the midst of a sermon. Unable to proceed, he calmly announced a hymn and sat down. At the conclusion of the singing he told the congregation what had happened, and then preached a sermon of great appeal from another text.

After a ministry at Innellan lasting for eighteen years, he was called as pastor of St. Bernard’s church in Edinburgh. [343] Here he remained for thirteen years, attracting large multitudes by his preaching.

The later years of his life were spent in literary work. He was the author of several volumes in prose, among them a very fine devotional book called “Moments on the Mount.” He fell asleep August 28, 1906, to await the break of eternity’s dawn, confident in the assurance that

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