CHAPTER VIII.

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.* * * * * *316 /270But 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.317 /271Sometimes 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*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.* Mr. Hubert P. Main believes he once saw “The Hebrew Children” in print in one of Horace Waters' editions of theSabbath Bell.A strange, wild pæan of exultant song was one often heard from Peter Cartwright, the muscular circuit-preacher. A remembered fragment shows its quality:Then my soul mounted higherIn 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 ungodly318 /272defiance 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 meIn 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 inLeavitt'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 hisMinstrel of Zion(1845). J.W. Dadmun'sMelodian(1860) copied it, retaining, apparently,319 /273the 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;320 /274O 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, andTHE 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 Baptist321 /275denomination, 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 prizedRise, 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*tune—The day is past and gone,The evening shades appear,O may we all remember wellThe night of death draws near;322 /276—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.* 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 JesusAnd reign with Him above,And from that flowing fountainDrink everlasting love?“AWAKE, MY SOUL, TO JOYFUL LAYS.”This glad hymn of Samuel Medley is his thanksgiving song, written soon after his conversion. In323 /277the 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 inLeavitt's Christian Lyreas 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*“Garden Hymn, as old, at324 /278least, as 1800,” has nearly passed out of reach, except by the long arm of the antiquary; but it served its generation.* 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 divineFrom 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 needThy heavenly succor give,When our heads are bowed with woe,325 /279—which last may have been written soon after he laid three of his children in one grave, in the north aisle ofWestminsterAbbey. 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 fireWhen 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 tryFor a little seasonEvery burden to lay by,Come and let us reason.326 /280What 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 hereFight 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 cadence327 /281of 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.328 /282These 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,329 /283making 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 topThe sparrow makes her moan,Far from the tents of joy and hopeI sit and grieve alone.** 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, andThe 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 more330 /284wavy 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.331 /285“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 griefHath often crossed me on my way,Who sued so humbly for reliefThat 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 eyeThat 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 viewThe stranger started from disguiseThe 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.** Montgomery's poem, “The Stranger,” has seven stanzas. The full dramatic effect of their connection could only be produced by a set piece.333 /opp 286James MontgomeryJames MontgomeryHymnal332 /286“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 exploreEach 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.335 /287The 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 hisSacred 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.* * * * * *336 /288There 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 heavenWhen 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—WhenI am calledto 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,337 /289and 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 was338 /290somewhat 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 theAmerican 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;339 /291When my Lord calls I trust you willBe 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 trustI 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,340 /292—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 theRevivalist, 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.341 /293CHAPTER VIII.SUNDAY-SCHOOL HYMNS.SHEPHERD OF TENDER YOUTH.Στόμιον πώλων ἀδάωνWe 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, and342 /294it 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 theTutor, 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 truthThrough devious ways;Christ, our triumphant King,We come Thy name to sing,Hither our children bringTo 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 dieSound we Thy praises high,And joyful sing;Infants, and the glad throngWho to Thy church belongUnite to swell the songTo Christ our King.343 /295While 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 childrenTo praise holily,To hymn guilelesslyWith innocent mouthsChrist, 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.”344 /296More 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 BridleThese wayward wills to stay;Be Thine the Wing unwand'ring,To speed their upward way.* * * * * *Let them with songs adoringTheir artless homage bringTo Christ the Lord, and crown HimThe children's Guide and King.The Dexter version is set to Monk's slow harmony of “St. Ambrose” in thePlymouth Hymnal(Ed. Dr. Lyman Abbott, 1894) without the writer's name—which is curious, inasmuch as the hymn was published in theCongregationalistin 1849, inHedge and Huntington's(Unitarian)Hymn-bookin 1853, in theHymnal of the Presbyterian Churchin 1866, and in Dr. Schaff'sChrist in Songin 1869.Clement died about A.D. 220.Rev. Henry Martyn Dexter, D.D., for twenty-three years the editor of theCongregationalist, 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, 1890.345 /297“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,”*still a classic in English literature,—bore the name of Logan for more than a hundred years. InJulian's Dictionary of Hymnologyis 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.

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.”

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.

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.

* * * * * *

316 /270But 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!

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.

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.

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;

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.

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*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.

* Mr. Hubert P. Main believes he once saw “The Hebrew Children” in print in one of Horace Waters' editions of theSabbath Bell.

A strange, wild pæan of exultant song was one often heard from Peter Cartwright, the muscular circuit-preacher. A remembered fragment shows its quality:

Then my soul mounted higherIn a chariot of fire,And the moon it was under my feet.

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 ungodly318 /272defiance 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.

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 meIn 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.

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 inLeavitt'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 hisMinstrel of Zion(1845). J.W. Dadmun'sMelodian(1860) copied it, retaining, apparently,319 /273the 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?

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.

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!

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;320 /274O Cana-an it is my hap-py home,I am bound for the land of Cana-an

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.

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

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.

Elder John Leland, born in Grafton, Mass., 1754, was not only a strenuous personality in the Baptist321 /275denomination, 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 prizedRise, believe and be baptized.

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*tune—

The day is past and gone,The evening shades appear,O may we all remember wellThe night of death draws near;

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.

* 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 JesusAnd reign with Him above,And from that flowing fountainDrink everlasting love?

O when shall I see Jesus

And reign with Him above,

And from that flowing fountain

Drink everlasting love?

This glad hymn of Samuel Medley is his thanksgiving song, written soon after his conversion. In323 /277the 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!

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!

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 inLeavitt's Christian Lyreas early as 1830. The name “William Caldwell” is all that is known of its composer, though he is supposed to have lived in Tennessee.

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.

Amen, amen, my soul replies,

I'm bound to meet you in the skies,

And claim my mansion there, etc.

The anonymous*“Garden Hymn, as old, at324 /278least, as 1800,” has nearly passed out of reach, except by the long arm of the antiquary; but it served its generation.

* 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 divineFrom Jesus flow to every vine,Which makes the dead revive,Which makes the dead revive.

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.

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 needThy 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 ofWestminsterAbbey. 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 fireWhen 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 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 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.

Another of the “unstudied” revival hymns of invitation.

Come, my brethren, let us tryFor a little seasonEvery burden to lay by,Come and let us reason.326 /280What is this that casts you down.What is this that grieves you?Speak and let your wants be known;Speaking may relieve you.

Come, my brethren, let us tryFor a little seasonEvery burden to lay by,Come and let us reason.

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.

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.

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 hereFight 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.’”

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 cadence327 /281of 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.

O happy day that fixed my choice.—Doddridge.O how happy are they who the Saviour obey.—Charles Wesley.

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.

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,329 /283making 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 topThe sparrow makes her moan,Far from the tents of joy and hopeI sit and grieve alone.*

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.*

* 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, andThe 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.

This hymn of Rev. Robert Robinson was almost always heard in the tune of “Nettleton,” composed by John Wyeth, about 1812. The more330 /284wavy 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.

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 griefHath often crossed me on my way,Who sued so humbly for reliefThat 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 eyeThat won my love, I knew not why;

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 viewThe stranger started from disguiseThe token in His hand I knew;My Saviour stood before my eyes.

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.*

* Montgomery's poem, “The Stranger,” has seven stanzas. The full dramatic effect of their connection could only be produced by a set piece.

James MontgomeryJames MontgomeryHymnal

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 exploreEach 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!”

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 exploreEach 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!”

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.

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 hisSacred 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.

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.* * * * * *336 /288There 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.

I can tarry, I can tarry but a night,Do not detain me, for I am going.

I can tarry, I can tarry but a night,

Do not detain me, for I am going.

* * * * * *

336 /288There the sunbeams are ever shining,O my longing heart, my longing heart is there.

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.

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 heavenWhen I'm about to die,

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—

WhenI am calledto 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.

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,337 /289and 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.

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 was338 /290somewhat 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.

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.

This may be found, vocalized with full harmony, in theAmerican 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!

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;339 /291When my Lord calls I trust you willBe mentioned in the Promised Land.

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 trustI 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 theRevivalist, 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.

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, and342 /294it 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 theTutor, 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 truthThrough devious ways;Christ, our triumphant King,We come Thy name to sing,Hither our children bringTo shout Thy praise.

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 dieSound we Thy praises high,And joyful sing;Infants, and the glad throngWho to Thy church belongUnite to swell the songTo Christ our King.

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 childrenTo praise holily,To hymn guilelesslyWith innocent mouthsChrist, the Guide of children.

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.

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 BridleThese wayward wills to stay;Be Thine the Wing unwand'ring,To speed their upward way.* * * * * *Let them with songs adoringTheir artless homage bringTo Christ the Lord, and crown HimThe children's Guide and King.

Thyself, Lord, be the BridleThese wayward wills to stay;Be Thine the Wing unwand'ring,To speed their upward way.

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 adoringTheir artless homage bringTo Christ the Lord, and crown HimThe children's Guide and King.

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 thePlymouth Hymnal(Ed. Dr. Lyman Abbott, 1894) without the writer's name—which is curious, inasmuch as the hymn was published in theCongregationalistin 1849, inHedge and Huntington's(Unitarian)Hymn-bookin 1853, in theHymnal of the Presbyterian Churchin 1866, and in Dr. Schaff'sChrist in Songin 1869.

Clement died about A.D. 220.

Rev. Henry Martyn Dexter, D.D., for twenty-three years the editor of theCongregationalist, 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.

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,”*still a classic in English literature,—bore the name of Logan for more than a hundred years. InJulian's Dictionary of Hymnologyis 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.

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