PALM SUNDAY.

It came upon the midnight clear,That glorious song of old,527 /467From angels bending near the earthTo touch their harps of gold.“Peace to the earth, good will to menFrom Heaven's all-gracious King.”The world in solemn stillness lay,To hear the angels sing.Still through the cloven skies they comeWith peaceful wings unfurledAnd still their heavenly music floatsO'er all the weary world.Above its sad and lonely plainsThey bend on hovering wing,And ever o'er its Babel soundsThe blessed angels sing.THE TUNE.No more sympathetic music has been written to these lines than “Carol,” the tune composed by Richard Storrs Willis, a brother of Nathaniel Parker Willis the poet, and son of Deacon Nathaniel Willis, the founder of theYouth's Companion. He was born Feb, 10, 1819, graduated at Yale in 1841, and followed literature as a profession. He was also a musician and composer. For many years he edited theN.Y. Musical World, and, besides contributing frequently to current literature, publishedChurch Chorals and Choir Studies,Our Church Musicand several other volumes on musical subjects. Died in Detroit, May 7, 1900.The much-loved and constantly used advent psalm of Mr. Sears,—528 /468Calm on the listening ear of nightCome heaven's melodious strainsWhere wild Judea stretches farHer silver-mantled plains,—was set to music by John Edgar Gould, and the smooth choral with its sweet chords is a remarkable example of blended voice and verse.“O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM!”Phillips Brooks, the eloquent bishop of Massachusetts, loved to write simple and tender poems for the children of his church and diocese. They all reveal his loving heart and the beauty of his consecrated imagination. This one, the best of hisChristmas Songs, was slow in coming to public notice, but finally found its place in hymn-tune collections.O little town of Bethlehem,How still we see thee lie!Above thy deep and dreamless sleepThe silent stars go by;Yet in thy dark streets shinethThe everlasting light;The hopes and fears of all the yearsAre met in thee tonight.For Christ is born of Mary,And gathered all above,While mortals sleep, the angels keepTheir watch of wondering love.O morning stars, togetherProclaim the holy birth!And praises sing to God the KingAnd peace to men on earth.529 /469How silently, how silently,The wondrous gift is given!So God imparts to human heartsThe blessings of His heaven.No ear may hear His coming,But in this world of sin,Where meek souls will receive Him stillThe dear Christ enters in.Phillips Brooks, late bishop of the diocese of Massachusetts, was born in Boston, Dec. 13, 1835; died Jan. 23, 1893. He was graduated at Harvard in 1855, and at the Episcopal Divinity School of Alexandria, Va., 1859. The first ten years of his ministry were spent in Pennsylvania, after which he became rector of Trinity Church, Boston, and was elected bishop in 1891. He was an inspiring teacher and preacher, an eloquent pulpit orator, and a man of deep and rich religious life.The hymn was written in 1868, and it was, no doubt, the ripened thought of his never-forgotten visit to the “little town of Bethlehem” two years before.THE TUNE.“Bethlehem” is the appropriate name of a tune written by J. Barnby, and adapted to the words, but it is the hymn's first melody (named “St. Louis” by the compiler who first printed it in theChurch Porchfrom original leaflets) that has the credit of carrying it to popularity.The composer was Mr. Redner, organist of the Church of the Holy Trinity, Philadelphia, of which530 /470Rector Brooks was then in charge. Lewis Henry Redner, born 1831, was not only near the age of his friend and pastor but as much devoted to the interests of the Sunday-school, for whose use the hymn was written, and he had promised to write a score to which it could be sung on the coming Sabbath. Waking in the middle of the night, after a busy Saturday that sent him to bed with his brain “in a whirl,” he heard “an angel strain,” and immediately rose and pricked the notes of the melody. The tune had come to him just in time to be sung. A much admired tune has also been written to this hymn by Hubert P. Main.PALM SUNDAY.FAURE'S “PALM BRANCHES.”Sur nos chemins les rameaux et les fleursSont repandos—O'er all the way green palms and blossoms gayAre strewn to-day in festive preparation,Where Jesus comes to wipe our tears away.E'en now the throng to welcome Him prepare;Join all and sing.—Jean Baptiste Faure, author of the words and music, was born at Moulins, France, Jan. 15, 1830. As a boy he was gifted with a beautiful voice, and crowds used to gather wherever he sang in the531 /471streets of Paris. Little is known of his parentage, and apparently the sweet voice of the wandering lad was his only fortune. He found wealthy friends who sent him to theConservatoire, but when his voice matured it ceased to serve him as a singer. He went on with his study of instrumental music, but mourned for his lost vocal triumphs, and his longing became a subject of prayer. He promised God that if his power to sing were given back to him he would use it for charity and the good of mankind. By degrees he recovered his voice, and became known as a great baritone. As professional singer and composer at the ParisGrand Opera, he had been employed largely in dramatic work, but his “Ode to Charity” is one of his enduring and celebrated pieces, and his songs written for benevolent and religious services have found their way into all Christian lands.His “Palm-Branches” has come to be asine qua nonon its calendar Sunday wherever church worship is planned with any regard to the Feasts of the Christian year.EASTER.Perhaps the most notable feature in the early hymnology of the Oriental Church was its Resurrection songs. Being hymns of joy, they called forth all the ceremony and spectacle of ecclesiastical532 /472pomp. Among them—and the most ancient one of those preserved—is the hymn of John of Damascus, quoted in the second chapter (p. 54). This was the proclamation-song in the watch-assemblies, when exactly on the midnight moment at the shout of “Christos egerthe!” (Χριστὸς ἠγέρθη.) “Christ is risen!” thousands of torches were lit, bells and trumpets pealed, and (in the later centuries) salvos of cannon shook the air.Another favorite hymn of the Eastern Church was the “Salve, Beate Mane,” “Welcome, Happy Morning,” of Fortunatus. (Chap. 10,p. 357.) This poem furnished cantos for Easter hymns of the Middle Ages. Jerome of Prague sang stanzas of it on his way to the stake.An anonymous hymn, “Poneluctum, Magdelena,” in medieval Latin rhyme, is addressed to Mary Magdelene weeping at the empty sepulchre. The following are the 3d and 4th stanzas, with a translation by Prof. C.S. Harrington ofWesleyanUniversity:Gaude, plaude, Magdalena!Tumba Christus exiit!Tristis est peracta scena,Victor mortis rediit;Quem deflebas morientem,Nunc arride resurgentem!Alleluia!Tolle vultum, Magdalena!Redivivum aspice;Vide frons quam sit amœna,Quinque plagas inspice;Fulgent, sic ut margaritæ,533 /473Ornamenta novæ vitæ.Alleluia!* * * * * *Magdalena, shout for gladness!Christ has left the gloomy grave;Finished is the scene of sadness;Death destroyed, He comes to save;Whom with grief thou sawest dying,Greet with smiles, the tomb defying.Hallelujah!Lift thine eyes, O Magdalena!Lo! thy Lord before thee stands;See! how fair the thorn-crowned forehead;Mark His feet, His side, His hands;Glow His wounds with pearly whiteness!Hallowing life with heavenly brightness!Hallelujah!The hymnaries of the Christian Church for seventeen hundred years are so rich in Easter hallelujahs and hosannas that to introduce them all would swell a chapter to the size of an encyclopedia—and even to make a selection is a responsible task.Simple mention must suffice of Luther's—In the bonds of death He lay;—of Watts'—He dies, the Friend of sinners dies;—of John Wesley's—Our Lord has gone up on high;—of C.F. Gellert's—Christ is risen! Christ is risen!He hath burst His bonds in twain;534 /474—omitting hundreds which have been helpful in psalmody, and are, perhaps, still in choir or congregational use.“CHRIST THE LORD IS RISEN TODAY”Begins a hymn of Charles Wesley's and is also the first line of a hymn prepared for Sunday-school use by Mrs. Storrs, wife of the late Dr. Richard Salter Storrs of Brooklyn, N.Y.Wesley's hymn is sung—with or without the hallelujah interludes—to “Telemann's Chant,” (Zeuner), to an air of Mendelssohn, and to JohnStainer's“Paschale Gaudium.” Like the old New England “Easter Anthem” it appears to have been suggested by an anonymous translation of some more ancient (Latin) antiphony.Jesus Christ is risen to day,Hallelujah!Our triumphant holy day,Hallelujah!* * * * * *Who endured the cross and grave.Hallelujah!Sinners to redeem and save,Hallelujah!AN ANTHEM FOR EASTER.This work of an amateur genius, with its rustic harmonies, suited the taste of colonial times, and no doubt the devout church-goers of that day535 /475found sincere worship and thanksgiving in its flamboyant music. “An Anthem for Easter,” in A major by William Billings (1785) occupied several pages in the early collections of psalmody and “the sounding joy” was in it. Organs were scarce, but beyond the viols of the village choirs it needed no instrumental accessories. The language is borrowed from the New Testament andYoung's Night Thoughts.The Lord is risen indeed!Hallelujah!The Lord is risen indeed!Hallelujah!Following this triumphant overture, a recitative bass solo repeats I Cor. 15:20, and the chorus takes it up with crowning hallelujahs. Different parts,per fugam, inquire from clef to clef—And did He rise?And did He rise?—Hear [the answer], O ye nations!Hear it, O ye dead!Then duet, trio and chorus sing it, successively—He rose! He rose! He rose!He burst the bars of death,And triumphed o'er the grave!The succeeding thirty-four bars—duet and chorus—take home the sacred gladness to the heart of humanity—Then, thenIrose,* * * * * *536 /476And seized eternal youth,Man all immortal, hail!Heaven's all the glory, man's the boundless bliss.505 /opp 446Philip DoddridgePhilip Doddridge, D.D.Hymnal“YES, THE REDEEMER ROSE.”In the six-eight syllable verse once known as “hallelujah metre”—written by Dr. Doddridge to be sung after a sermon on the text in 1st Corinthians noted in the above anthem—Yes, the Redeemer rose,The Saviour left the dead,And o'er our hellish foesHigh raised His conquering head.In wild dismay the guards aroundFall to the ground and sink away.Lewis Edson's “Lenox” (1782) is an old favorite among its musical interpreters.“O SHORT WAS HIS SLUMBER.”This hymn for the song-service of the Ruggles St. Church, Boston, was written by Rev. Theron Brown.O short was His slumber; He woke from the dust;The Saviour death's chain could not hold;And short, since He rose, is the sleep of the just;They shall wake, and His glory behold.* * * * * *Dear grave in the garden; hope smiled at its doorWhere love's brightest triumph was told;Christ lives! and His life will His people restore!They shall wake, and His glory behold.537 /477The music is Bliss' tune to Spafford's “When Peace Like a River.”Another by the same writer, sung by the same church chorus, is—He rose! O morn of wonder!They saw His light go downWhose hate had crushed Him under,A King without a crown.No plume, no garland wore He,Despised death's Victor lay,And wrapped in night His glory,That claimed a grander day.* * * * * *He rose! He burst immortalFrom death's dark realm alone,And left its heavenward portalSwung wide for all his own.Nor need one terror seize usTo face earth's final pain,For they who follow Jesus,But die to live again.The composer's name is lost, the tune being left nameless when printed. The impression is that it was a secular melody. A very suitable tune for the hymn is Geo. J. Webb's “Millennial Dawn” (“the Morning Light is breaking.”)538 /478THANKSGIVING.“DIE FELDER WIR PFLÜGEN UND STREUEN.”We plow the fields and scatterThe good seed on the land,But it is fed and wateredBy God's Almighty hand,He sends the snow in winter,The warmth to swell the grain,The breezes, and the sunshineAnd soft, refreshing rain,All, all good gifts around usAre sent from heaven aboveThen thank the Lord, O thank the LordFor all His love!Matthias Claudius, who wrote the German original of this little poem, was a native of Reinfeld, Holstein, born 1770 and died 1815. He wrote lyrics, humorous, pathetic and religious, some of which are still current in Germany.The translator of the verses is Miss Jane Montgomery Campbell, whose identity has not been traced. Hers is evidently one of the retiring names brought to light by one unpretending achievement. English readers owe to her the above modest and devout hymn, which was first published here in Rev. C.S. Bere'sGarland of Songs with Tunes, 1861.Little is known of Arthur Cottman, composer to Miss Campbell's words. He was born in 1842, and died in 1879.541 /479“WITH SONGS AND HONORS SOUNDING LOUD.”Stanzas of this enduring hymn of Watts' have been as often recited as sung.He sends His showers of blessing downTo cheer the plains below;He makes the grass the mountains crown,And corn in valleys grow.THE TUNE,One of the chorals—if not the best—to claim partnership with this sacred classic, is John Cole's “Geneva,” distinguished among the few fugue tunes which the singing world refuses to dismiss. There is a growing grandeur in the opening solo and its following duet as they climb the first tetra-chord, when the full harmony suddenly reveals the majesty of the music. The little parenthetic duo at the eighth bar breaks the roll of the song for one breath, and the concord of voices closes in again like a diapason. One thinks of a bird-note making a waterfall listen.“HARVEST HOME.”Let us sing of the sheaves, when the summer is done,And the garners are stored with the gifts of the sun.Shouting home from the fields like the voice of the sea,Let us join with the reapers in glad jubilee,—Refrain.Harvest home! (double rep.)Let us chant His praise who has crowned our daysWith bounty of the harvest home.542 /480Who hath ripened the fruits into golden and red?Who hath grown in the valleys our treasures of bread,That the owner might heap, and the stranger might gleanFor the days when the cold of the winter is keen?Harvest home!Let us chant, etc.For the smile of the sunshine, again and again,For the dew on the garden, the showers on the plain,For the year, with its hope and its promise that end,Crowned with plenty and peace, let thanksgiving ascend,Harvest home!Let us chant, etc.We shall gather a harvest of glory, we know,From the furrows of life where in patience we sow.Buried love in the field of the heart never dies,And its seed scattered here will be sheaves in the skies,Harvest home!Let us chant, etc.Thanksgiving Hymn. Boston, 1890. Theron Brown.Tune “To the Work, To the Work.” W.H. Doane.“THE GOD OF HARVEST PRAISE.”Written by James Montgomery in 1840, and published in theEvangelical Magazineas the Harvest Hymn for that year.The God of harvest praise;In loud thanksgiving raiseHeart, hand and voice.The valleys smile and sing,Forests and mountains sing,The plains their tribute bring,The streams rejoice.543 /481* * * * * *The God of harvest praise;Hearts, hands and voices raiseWith sweet accord;From field to garner throng,Bearing your sheaves along,And in your harvest songBless ye the Lord.Tune, “Dort”—Lowell Mason.539 /opp 478Lowell MasonLowell MasonHymnalMORNING.“STILL, STILL WITH THEE.”These stanzas of Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe, with their poetic beauty and grateful religious spirit, have furnished an orison worthy of a place in all the hymn books. In feeling and in faith the hymn is a matin song for the world, supplying words and thoughts to any and every heart that worships.Still, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh,When the bird waketh and the shadows flee;Fairer than morning, lovelier than daylight,Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with Thee.Alone with Thee, amid the mystic shadowsThe solemn hush of nature newly born;Alone with Thee, in breathless adoration,In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.* * * * * *544 /482When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber,Its closing eyes look up to Thee in prayer,Sweet the repose beneath Thy wings o'ershadowing,But sweeter still to wake and find Thee there.THE TUNES.Barnby's “Windsor,” and “Stowe” by Charles H. Morse (1893)—both written to the words.Mendelssohn's “Consolation” is a classic interpretation of the hymn, and finely impressive when skillfully sung, but simpler—and sweeter to the popular ear—is Mason's “Henley,” written to Mrs. Eslings'—“Come unto me when shadows darkly gather.”EVENING HYMNS.John Keble's beautiful meditation—Sun of my soul, Thou Saviour dear;John Leland's—The day is past and gone;and Phebe Brown's—I love to steal awhile away;—have already been noticed. Bishop Doane's gentle and spiritual lines express nearly everything that a worshipping soul would include in a moment of evening thought. The first and last stanzas are the ones most commonly sung.545 /483Softly now the light of dayFades upon my sight away:Free from care, from labor free,Lord I would commune with Thee.* * * * * *Soon for me the light of dayShall forever pass away;Then, from sin and sorrow free,Take me, Lord, to dwell with Thee.THE TUNE.Both Kozeluck and J.E. Gould, besides Louis M. Gottschalk and Dr. Henry John Gauntlett, have tried their skill in fitting music to this hymn, but only Gottschalk and Kozeluck approach the mood into which its quiet words charm a pious and reflective mind. Possibly its frequent association with “Holley,” composed by George Hews, may influence a hearer's judgement of other melodies but there is something in that tune that makes it cling to the hymn as if by instinctive kinship.Others may have as much or more artistic music but “Holley” in its soft modulations seems to breathe the spirit of every word.It was this tune to which a stranger recently heard a group of mill-girls singing Bishop Doane's verses. The lady, a well-known Christian worker, visited a certain factory, and the superintendent, after showing her through the building, opened a door into a long work-room, where the singing of the546 /484girls delighted and surprised her. It was sunset, and their hymn was—Softly now the light of day.Several of the girls were Sunday-school teachers, who had encouraged others to sing at that hour, and it had become a habit.“Has it made a difference?” the lady inquired.“There is seldom any quarrelling or coarse joking among them now,” said the superintendent with a smile.Dr. S.F. Smith's hymn of much the same tone and tenor—Softly fades the twilight rayOf the holy Sabbath day,—is commonly sung to the tune of “Holley.”George Hews, an American composer and piano-maker, was born in Massachusetts 1800, and died July 6, 1873. No intelligence of him or his work or former locality is at hand, beyond this brief note in Baptie, “He is believed to have followed his trade in Boston, and written music for some of Mason's earlier books.”DEDICATION.“CHRIST IS OUR CORNER-STONE.”This reproduces in Chandler's translation a song-service in an ancient Latin liturgy (angulare fundamentum).547 /485Christ is our Corner-Stone;On Him alone we build,With His true saints aloneThe courts of heaven are filled,On His great loveOur hopes we placeOf present graceAnd joys above.O then with hymns of praiseThese hallowed courts shall ring;Our voices we will raiseThe Three-in-One to sing.And thus proclaimIn joyful songBut loud and longThat glorious Name.The Rev. John Chandler was born at Witley, Surrey, Eng. June 16, 1806. He took his A.M. degree at Oxford, and entered the ministry of the Church of England, was Vicar of Witley many years, and became well-known for his translations of hymns of the primitive church. Died at Putney, July 1, 1876.THE TUNE.Sebastian Wesley's “Harewood” is plainer and of less compass, but Zundel's “Brooklyn” is more than its rival, both in melody and vivacity.“OH LORD OF HOSTS WHOSE GLORY FILLS THE BOUNDS OF THE ETERNAL HILLS.”A hymn of Dr. John Mason Neale—548 /486Endue the creatures with Thy graceThat shall adorn Thy dwelling-placeThe beauty of the oak and pine,The gold and silver, make them Thine.The heads that guide endue with skill,The hands that work preserve from ill,That we who these foundations layMay raise the top-stone in its day.THE TUNE.“Welton,” by Rev. Caesar Malan—author of “Hendon,” once familiar to American singers.Henri Abraham Cæsar Malan was born at Geneva, Switzerland, 1787, and educated at Geneva College. Ordained to the ministry of the State church, (Reformed,) he was dismissed for preaching against its formalism and spiritual apathy; but he built a chapel of his own, and became a leader with D'Aubigne, Monod, and others in reviving the purity of the Evangelical faith and laboring for the conversion of souls.Malan wrote many hymns, and published a large collection, the “Chants de Sion,” for the Evangelical Society and the French Reformed Church. He composed the music of his own hymns. Died at Vandosurre, 1864.“DAUGHTER OF ZION, FROM THE DUST.”Cases may occur where anexhortationhymn earns a place with dedication hymns.549 /487The charred fragment of a hymn-book leaf hangs in a frame on the auditorium wall of the “New England Church,” Chicago. The former edifice of that church, all the homes of its resident members, and all their business offices except one, were destroyed in the great fire. In the ruins of their sanctuary the only scrap of paper found on which there was a legible word was this bit of a hymn-book leaf with the two first stanzas of Montgomery's hymn,Daughter of Zion, from the dust,Exalt thy fallen head;Again in thy Redeemer trust,He calls thee from the dead.Awake, awake! put on thy strength,Thy beautiful array;The day of freedom dawns at length,The Lord's appointed day.The third verse was not long in coming to every mind—Rebuild thy walls! thy bounds enlarge!—and even without that added word the impoverished congregation evidently enough had received a message from heaven. They took heart of grace, overcame all difficulties, and in good time replaced their ruined Sabbath-home with the noble house in which they worship today.** The story is told by Rev. William E. Barton D.D. of Oak Park, Ill.If the “New England Church” of Chicago did not sing this hymn at the dedication of their new550 /488temple it was for some other reason than lack of gratitude—not to say reverence.THE SABBATH.The very essence of all song-worship pitched on this key-note is the ringing hymn of Watts—Sweet is the day of sacred rest,No mortal cares disturb my breast, etc.—but it has vanished from the hymnals with its tune. Is it because profane people or thoughtless youth made a travesty of the two next lines—O may my heart in tune be foundLike David's harp of solemn sound?THE TUNE.Old “Portland” by Abraham Maxim, a fugue tune in F major of the canon style, expressed all the joy that a choir could put into music, though with more sound than skill. The choral is a relic among relics now, but it is a favorite one.“Sweet is the Light of Sabbath Eve” by Edmeston; Stennett's “Another Six Days' Work is Done,” sung to “Spohr,” the joint tune of Louis Spohr and J.E. Gould; and Doddridge's “Thine Earthly Sabbath, Lord, We Love” retain a feeble hold among some congregations. And Hayward's “Welcome Delightful Morn,” to the impossible tune of551 /489“Lischer,” survived unaccountably long in spite of its handicap. But special Sabbath hymns are out of fashion, those classed under that title taking an incidental place under the general head of “Worship.”COMMUNION.“BREAD OF HEAVEN, ON THEE WE FEED.”This hymn of Josiah Conder, copying the physical metaphors of the 6th of John, is still occasionally used at the Lord's Supper.Vine of Heaven, Thy blood suppliesThis blest cup of sacrifice,Lord, Thy wounds our healing give,To Thy Cross we look and live.The hymn is notable for the felicity with which it combines imagery and reality. Figure and fact are always in sight of each other.Josiah Conder was born in London, September 17, 1789. He edited theEclectic Review, and was the author of numerous prose works on historic and religious subjects. Rev. Garrett Horder says that more of his hymns are in common use now than those of any other except Watts and Doddridge. Morein proportion to the relative numbermay be nearer the truth. In his lifetime Conder wrote about sixty hymns. He died Dec. 27, 1855.552 /490THE TUNE.The tune “Corsica” sometimes sung to the words, though written by the famous Von Gluck, shows no sign of the genius of its author. Born at Weissenwang, near New Markt, Prussia, July 2, 1714, he spent his life in the service of operatic art, and is called “the father of the lyric drama,” but he paid little attention to sacred music. Queen Marie Antoinette was for a while his pupil. Died Nov. 25, 1787.“Wilmot,” (from Von Weber) one of Mason's popular hymn-tune arrangements, is a melody with which the hymn is well acquainted. It has a fireside rhythm which old and young of the same circles take up naturally in song.557 /opp 494Carl von WeberCarl von WeberHymnal“HERE, O MY LORD, I SEE THEE FACE TO FACE.”Written in October, 1855, by Dr. Horatius Bonar. James Bonar, brother of the poet-preacher, just after the communion for that month, asked him to furnish a hymn for the communion record. It was the church custom to print a memorandum of each service at the Lord's table, with an appropriate hymn attached, and an original one would be thrice welcome. Horatius in a day or two sent this hymn:Here, O my Lord, I see Thee face to face,Here would I touch and handle things unseenHere grasp with firmer hand th' eternal graceAnd all my weariness upon Thee lean.553 /491* * * * * *Too soon we rise; the symbols disappear;The feast, though not the love, is past and gone;The bread and wine remove, but Thou art hereNearer than ever—still my Shield and Sun.THE TUNE.“Morecambe” is an anonymous composition printed with the words by thePlymouth Hymnaleditors. “Berlin” by Mendelssohn is better. The metre of Bonar's hymn is unusual, and melodies to fit it are not numerous, but for a meditative service it is worth a tune of its own.“O THOU MY SOUL, FORGET NO MORE.”The author of this hymn found in the Baptist hymnals, and often sung at the sacramental seasons of that denomination, was the first Hindoo convert to Christianity.Krishna Pal, a native carpenter, in consequence of an accident, came under the care of Mr. Thomas, a missionary who had been a surgeon in the East Indies and was now an associate worker with William Carey. Mr. Thomas set the man's broken arm, and talked of Jesus to him and the surrounding crowd with so much tact and loving kindness that Krishna Pal was touched. He became a pupil of the missionaries; embraced Christ, and influenced his wife and daughter and his brother to accept his new faith.554 /492He alone, however, dared the bitter persecution of his caste, and presented himself for church-membership. He and Carey's son were baptized in the Ganges by Dr. Carey, Dec. 28, 1800, in the presence of the English Governor and an immense concourse of people representing four or five different religions.Krishna Pal wrote several hymns. The one here noted was translated from the Bengalee by Dr. Marshman.O thou, my soul, forget no moreThe Friend who all thy sorrows bore;Let every idol be forgot;But, O my soul, forget him not.Renounce thy works and ways, with grief,And fly to this divine relief;Nor Him forget, who left His throne,And for thy life gave up His own.Eternal truth and mercy shineIn Him, and He Himself is thine:And canst thou then, with sin beset,Such charms, such matchless charms forget?Oh, no; till life itself depart,His name shall cheer and warm my heart;And lisping this, from earth I'll rise,And join the chorus of the skies.THE TUNE.There is no scarcity of good long-metre tunes to suit the sentiment of this hymn. More commonly in the Baptist manuals its vocal mate is Bradbury's555 /493“Rolland” or the sweet and serious Scotch melody of “Ward,” arranged by Mason. Best of all is “Hursley,” the beautiful Ritter-Monk choral set to “Sun of My Soul.”NEW YEAR.Two representative hymns of this class are John Newton's—

It came upon the midnight clear,That glorious song of old,527 /467From angels bending near the earthTo touch their harps of gold.

It came upon the midnight clear,

That glorious song of old,

From angels bending near the earth

To touch their harps of gold.

“Peace to the earth, good will to menFrom Heaven's all-gracious King.”The world in solemn stillness lay,To hear the angels sing.

“Peace to the earth, good will to men

From Heaven's all-gracious King.”

The world in solemn stillness lay,

To hear the angels sing.

Still through the cloven skies they comeWith peaceful wings unfurledAnd still their heavenly music floatsO'er all the weary world.

Still through the cloven skies they come

With peaceful wings unfurled

And still their heavenly music floats

O'er all the weary world.

Above its sad and lonely plainsThey bend on hovering wing,And ever o'er its Babel soundsThe blessed angels sing.

Above its sad and lonely plains

They bend on hovering wing,

And ever o'er its Babel sounds

The blessed angels sing.

No more sympathetic music has been written to these lines than “Carol,” the tune composed by Richard Storrs Willis, a brother of Nathaniel Parker Willis the poet, and son of Deacon Nathaniel Willis, the founder of theYouth's Companion. He was born Feb, 10, 1819, graduated at Yale in 1841, and followed literature as a profession. He was also a musician and composer. For many years he edited theN.Y. Musical World, and, besides contributing frequently to current literature, publishedChurch Chorals and Choir Studies,Our Church Musicand several other volumes on musical subjects. Died in Detroit, May 7, 1900.

The much-loved and constantly used advent psalm of Mr. Sears,—

Calm on the listening ear of nightCome heaven's melodious strainsWhere wild Judea stretches farHer silver-mantled plains,

Calm on the listening ear of night

Come heaven's melodious strains

Where wild Judea stretches far

Her silver-mantled plains,

—was set to music by John Edgar Gould, and the smooth choral with its sweet chords is a remarkable example of blended voice and verse.

Phillips Brooks, the eloquent bishop of Massachusetts, loved to write simple and tender poems for the children of his church and diocese. They all reveal his loving heart and the beauty of his consecrated imagination. This one, the best of hisChristmas Songs, was slow in coming to public notice, but finally found its place in hymn-tune collections.

O little town of Bethlehem,How still we see thee lie!Above thy deep and dreamless sleepThe silent stars go by;Yet in thy dark streets shinethThe everlasting light;The hopes and fears of all the yearsAre met in thee tonight.For Christ is born of Mary,And gathered all above,While mortals sleep, the angels keepTheir watch of wondering love.O morning stars, togetherProclaim the holy birth!And praises sing to God the KingAnd peace to men on earth.529 /469How silently, how silently,The wondrous gift is given!So God imparts to human heartsThe blessings of His heaven.No ear may hear His coming,But in this world of sin,Where meek souls will receive Him stillThe dear Christ enters in.

O little town of Bethlehem,

How still we see thee lie!

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep

The silent stars go by;

Yet in thy dark streets shineth

The everlasting light;

The hopes and fears of all the years

Are met in thee tonight.

For Christ is born of Mary,And gathered all above,While mortals sleep, the angels keepTheir watch of wondering love.O morning stars, togetherProclaim the holy birth!And praises sing to God the KingAnd peace to men on earth.

For Christ is born of Mary,

And gathered all above,

While mortals sleep, the angels keep

Their watch of wondering love.

O morning stars, together

Proclaim the holy birth!

And praises sing to God the King

And peace to men on earth.

How silently, how silently,The wondrous gift is given!So God imparts to human heartsThe blessings of His heaven.No ear may hear His coming,But in this world of sin,Where meek souls will receive Him stillThe dear Christ enters in.

How silently, how silently,

The wondrous gift is given!

So God imparts to human hearts

The blessings of His heaven.

No ear may hear His coming,

But in this world of sin,

Where meek souls will receive Him still

The dear Christ enters in.

Phillips Brooks, late bishop of the diocese of Massachusetts, was born in Boston, Dec. 13, 1835; died Jan. 23, 1893. He was graduated at Harvard in 1855, and at the Episcopal Divinity School of Alexandria, Va., 1859. The first ten years of his ministry were spent in Pennsylvania, after which he became rector of Trinity Church, Boston, and was elected bishop in 1891. He was an inspiring teacher and preacher, an eloquent pulpit orator, and a man of deep and rich religious life.

The hymn was written in 1868, and it was, no doubt, the ripened thought of his never-forgotten visit to the “little town of Bethlehem” two years before.

“Bethlehem” is the appropriate name of a tune written by J. Barnby, and adapted to the words, but it is the hymn's first melody (named “St. Louis” by the compiler who first printed it in theChurch Porchfrom original leaflets) that has the credit of carrying it to popularity.

The composer was Mr. Redner, organist of the Church of the Holy Trinity, Philadelphia, of which530 /470Rector Brooks was then in charge. Lewis Henry Redner, born 1831, was not only near the age of his friend and pastor but as much devoted to the interests of the Sunday-school, for whose use the hymn was written, and he had promised to write a score to which it could be sung on the coming Sabbath. Waking in the middle of the night, after a busy Saturday that sent him to bed with his brain “in a whirl,” he heard “an angel strain,” and immediately rose and pricked the notes of the melody. The tune had come to him just in time to be sung. A much admired tune has also been written to this hymn by Hubert P. Main.

Sur nos chemins les rameaux et les fleursSont repandos—

O'er all the way green palms and blossoms gayAre strewn to-day in festive preparation,Where Jesus comes to wipe our tears away.E'en now the throng to welcome Him prepare;Join all and sing.—

O'er all the way green palms and blossoms gay

Are strewn to-day in festive preparation,

Where Jesus comes to wipe our tears away.

E'en now the throng to welcome Him prepare;

Join all and sing.—

Jean Baptiste Faure, author of the words and music, was born at Moulins, France, Jan. 15, 1830. As a boy he was gifted with a beautiful voice, and crowds used to gather wherever he sang in the531 /471streets of Paris. Little is known of his parentage, and apparently the sweet voice of the wandering lad was his only fortune. He found wealthy friends who sent him to theConservatoire, but when his voice matured it ceased to serve him as a singer. He went on with his study of instrumental music, but mourned for his lost vocal triumphs, and his longing became a subject of prayer. He promised God that if his power to sing were given back to him he would use it for charity and the good of mankind. By degrees he recovered his voice, and became known as a great baritone. As professional singer and composer at the ParisGrand Opera, he had been employed largely in dramatic work, but his “Ode to Charity” is one of his enduring and celebrated pieces, and his songs written for benevolent and religious services have found their way into all Christian lands.

His “Palm-Branches” has come to be asine qua nonon its calendar Sunday wherever church worship is planned with any regard to the Feasts of the Christian year.

Perhaps the most notable feature in the early hymnology of the Oriental Church was its Resurrection songs. Being hymns of joy, they called forth all the ceremony and spectacle of ecclesiastical532 /472pomp. Among them—and the most ancient one of those preserved—is the hymn of John of Damascus, quoted in the second chapter (p. 54). This was the proclamation-song in the watch-assemblies, when exactly on the midnight moment at the shout of “Christos egerthe!” (Χριστὸς ἠγέρθη.) “Christ is risen!” thousands of torches were lit, bells and trumpets pealed, and (in the later centuries) salvos of cannon shook the air.

Another favorite hymn of the Eastern Church was the “Salve, Beate Mane,” “Welcome, Happy Morning,” of Fortunatus. (Chap. 10,p. 357.) This poem furnished cantos for Easter hymns of the Middle Ages. Jerome of Prague sang stanzas of it on his way to the stake.

An anonymous hymn, “Poneluctum, Magdelena,” in medieval Latin rhyme, is addressed to Mary Magdelene weeping at the empty sepulchre. The following are the 3d and 4th stanzas, with a translation by Prof. C.S. Harrington ofWesleyanUniversity:

Gaude, plaude, Magdalena!Tumba Christus exiit!Tristis est peracta scena,Victor mortis rediit;Quem deflebas morientem,Nunc arride resurgentem!Alleluia!Tolle vultum, Magdalena!Redivivum aspice;Vide frons quam sit amœna,Quinque plagas inspice;Fulgent, sic ut margaritæ,533 /473Ornamenta novæ vitæ.Alleluia!* * * * * *Magdalena, shout for gladness!Christ has left the gloomy grave;Finished is the scene of sadness;Death destroyed, He comes to save;Whom with grief thou sawest dying,Greet with smiles, the tomb defying.Hallelujah!Lift thine eyes, O Magdalena!Lo! thy Lord before thee stands;See! how fair the thorn-crowned forehead;Mark His feet, His side, His hands;Glow His wounds with pearly whiteness!Hallowing life with heavenly brightness!Hallelujah!

Gaude, plaude, Magdalena!Tumba Christus exiit!Tristis est peracta scena,Victor mortis rediit;Quem deflebas morientem,Nunc arride resurgentem!Alleluia!

Gaude, plaude, Magdalena!

Tumba Christus exiit!

Tristis est peracta scena,

Victor mortis rediit;

Quem deflebas morientem,

Nunc arride resurgentem!

Alleluia!

Tolle vultum, Magdalena!Redivivum aspice;Vide frons quam sit amœna,Quinque plagas inspice;Fulgent, sic ut margaritæ,533 /473Ornamenta novæ vitæ.Alleluia!

Tolle vultum, Magdalena!

Redivivum aspice;

Vide frons quam sit amœna,

Quinque plagas inspice;

Fulgent, sic ut margaritæ,

Ornamenta novæ vitæ.

Alleluia!

* * * * * *

Magdalena, shout for gladness!Christ has left the gloomy grave;Finished is the scene of sadness;Death destroyed, He comes to save;Whom with grief thou sawest dying,Greet with smiles, the tomb defying.Hallelujah!

Magdalena, shout for gladness!

Christ has left the gloomy grave;

Finished is the scene of sadness;

Death destroyed, He comes to save;

Whom with grief thou sawest dying,

Greet with smiles, the tomb defying.

Hallelujah!

Lift thine eyes, O Magdalena!Lo! thy Lord before thee stands;See! how fair the thorn-crowned forehead;Mark His feet, His side, His hands;Glow His wounds with pearly whiteness!Hallowing life with heavenly brightness!Hallelujah!

Lift thine eyes, O Magdalena!

Lo! thy Lord before thee stands;

See! how fair the thorn-crowned forehead;

Mark His feet, His side, His hands;

Glow His wounds with pearly whiteness!

Hallowing life with heavenly brightness!

Hallelujah!

The hymnaries of the Christian Church for seventeen hundred years are so rich in Easter hallelujahs and hosannas that to introduce them all would swell a chapter to the size of an encyclopedia—and even to make a selection is a responsible task.

Simple mention must suffice of Luther's—

In the bonds of death He lay;

—of Watts'—

He dies, the Friend of sinners dies;

—of John Wesley's—

Our Lord has gone up on high;

—of C.F. Gellert's—

Christ is risen! Christ is risen!He hath burst His bonds in twain;

Christ is risen! Christ is risen!

He hath burst His bonds in twain;

—omitting hundreds which have been helpful in psalmody, and are, perhaps, still in choir or congregational use.

Begins a hymn of Charles Wesley's and is also the first line of a hymn prepared for Sunday-school use by Mrs. Storrs, wife of the late Dr. Richard Salter Storrs of Brooklyn, N.Y.

Wesley's hymn is sung—with or without the hallelujah interludes—to “Telemann's Chant,” (Zeuner), to an air of Mendelssohn, and to JohnStainer's“Paschale Gaudium.” Like the old New England “Easter Anthem” it appears to have been suggested by an anonymous translation of some more ancient (Latin) antiphony.

Jesus Christ is risen to day,Hallelujah!Our triumphant holy day,Hallelujah!* * * * * *Who endured the cross and grave.Hallelujah!Sinners to redeem and save,Hallelujah!

Jesus Christ is risen to day,Hallelujah!Our triumphant holy day,Hallelujah!

Jesus Christ is risen to day,

Hallelujah!

Our triumphant holy day,

Hallelujah!

* * * * * *

Who endured the cross and grave.Hallelujah!Sinners to redeem and save,Hallelujah!

Who endured the cross and grave.

Hallelujah!

Sinners to redeem and save,

Hallelujah!

This work of an amateur genius, with its rustic harmonies, suited the taste of colonial times, and no doubt the devout church-goers of that day535 /475found sincere worship and thanksgiving in its flamboyant music. “An Anthem for Easter,” in A major by William Billings (1785) occupied several pages in the early collections of psalmody and “the sounding joy” was in it. Organs were scarce, but beyond the viols of the village choirs it needed no instrumental accessories. The language is borrowed from the New Testament andYoung's Night Thoughts.

The Lord is risen indeed!Hallelujah!The Lord is risen indeed!Hallelujah!

The Lord is risen indeed!

Hallelujah!

The Lord is risen indeed!

Hallelujah!

Following this triumphant overture, a recitative bass solo repeats I Cor. 15:20, and the chorus takes it up with crowning hallelujahs. Different parts,per fugam, inquire from clef to clef—

And did He rise?And did He rise?—Hear [the answer], O ye nations!Hear it, O ye dead!

And did He rise?

And did He rise?—

Hear [the answer], O ye nations!

Hear it, O ye dead!

Then duet, trio and chorus sing it, successively—

He rose! He rose! He rose!He burst the bars of death,And triumphed o'er the grave!

He rose! He rose! He rose!

He burst the bars of death,

And triumphed o'er the grave!

The succeeding thirty-four bars—duet and chorus—take home the sacred gladness to the heart of humanity—

Then, thenIrose,* * * * * *536 /476And seized eternal youth,Man all immortal, hail!Heaven's all the glory, man's the boundless bliss.

Then, thenIrose,

* * * * * *

And seized eternal youth,Man all immortal, hail!Heaven's all the glory, man's the boundless bliss.

And seized eternal youth,

Man all immortal, hail!

Heaven's all the glory, man's the boundless bliss.

Philip DoddridgePhilip Doddridge, D.D.Hymnal

In the six-eight syllable verse once known as “hallelujah metre”—written by Dr. Doddridge to be sung after a sermon on the text in 1st Corinthians noted in the above anthem—

Yes, the Redeemer rose,The Saviour left the dead,And o'er our hellish foesHigh raised His conquering head.In wild dismay the guards aroundFall to the ground and sink away.

Yes, the Redeemer rose,

The Saviour left the dead,

And o'er our hellish foes

High raised His conquering head.

In wild dismay the guards around

Fall to the ground and sink away.

Lewis Edson's “Lenox” (1782) is an old favorite among its musical interpreters.

This hymn for the song-service of the Ruggles St. Church, Boston, was written by Rev. Theron Brown.

O short was His slumber; He woke from the dust;The Saviour death's chain could not hold;And short, since He rose, is the sleep of the just;They shall wake, and His glory behold.* * * * * *Dear grave in the garden; hope smiled at its doorWhere love's brightest triumph was told;Christ lives! and His life will His people restore!They shall wake, and His glory behold.

O short was His slumber; He woke from the dust;The Saviour death's chain could not hold;And short, since He rose, is the sleep of the just;They shall wake, and His glory behold.

O short was His slumber; He woke from the dust;

The Saviour death's chain could not hold;

And short, since He rose, is the sleep of the just;

They shall wake, and His glory behold.

* * * * * *

Dear grave in the garden; hope smiled at its doorWhere love's brightest triumph was told;Christ lives! and His life will His people restore!They shall wake, and His glory behold.

Dear grave in the garden; hope smiled at its door

Where love's brightest triumph was told;

Christ lives! and His life will His people restore!

They shall wake, and His glory behold.

The music is Bliss' tune to Spafford's “When Peace Like a River.”

Another by the same writer, sung by the same church chorus, is—

He rose! O morn of wonder!They saw His light go downWhose hate had crushed Him under,A King without a crown.No plume, no garland wore He,Despised death's Victor lay,And wrapped in night His glory,That claimed a grander day.* * * * * *He rose! He burst immortalFrom death's dark realm alone,And left its heavenward portalSwung wide for all his own.Nor need one terror seize usTo face earth's final pain,For they who follow Jesus,But die to live again.

He rose! O morn of wonder!

They saw His light go down

Whose hate had crushed Him under,

A King without a crown.

No plume, no garland wore He,

Despised death's Victor lay,

And wrapped in night His glory,

That claimed a grander day.

* * * * * *

He rose! He burst immortalFrom death's dark realm alone,And left its heavenward portalSwung wide for all his own.Nor need one terror seize usTo face earth's final pain,For they who follow Jesus,But die to live again.

He rose! He burst immortal

From death's dark realm alone,

And left its heavenward portal

Swung wide for all his own.

Nor need one terror seize us

To face earth's final pain,

For they who follow Jesus,

But die to live again.

The composer's name is lost, the tune being left nameless when printed. The impression is that it was a secular melody. A very suitable tune for the hymn is Geo. J. Webb's “Millennial Dawn” (“the Morning Light is breaking.”)

We plow the fields and scatterThe good seed on the land,But it is fed and wateredBy God's Almighty hand,He sends the snow in winter,The warmth to swell the grain,The breezes, and the sunshineAnd soft, refreshing rain,All, all good gifts around usAre sent from heaven aboveThen thank the Lord, O thank the LordFor all His love!

We plow the fields and scatter

The good seed on the land,

But it is fed and watered

By God's Almighty hand,

He sends the snow in winter,

The warmth to swell the grain,

The breezes, and the sunshine

And soft, refreshing rain,

All, all good gifts around us

Are sent from heaven above

Then thank the Lord, O thank the Lord

For all His love!

Matthias Claudius, who wrote the German original of this little poem, was a native of Reinfeld, Holstein, born 1770 and died 1815. He wrote lyrics, humorous, pathetic and religious, some of which are still current in Germany.

The translator of the verses is Miss Jane Montgomery Campbell, whose identity has not been traced. Hers is evidently one of the retiring names brought to light by one unpretending achievement. English readers owe to her the above modest and devout hymn, which was first published here in Rev. C.S. Bere'sGarland of Songs with Tunes, 1861.

Little is known of Arthur Cottman, composer to Miss Campbell's words. He was born in 1842, and died in 1879.

Stanzas of this enduring hymn of Watts' have been as often recited as sung.

He sends His showers of blessing downTo cheer the plains below;He makes the grass the mountains crown,And corn in valleys grow.

He sends His showers of blessing down

To cheer the plains below;

He makes the grass the mountains crown,

And corn in valleys grow.

One of the chorals—if not the best—to claim partnership with this sacred classic, is John Cole's “Geneva,” distinguished among the few fugue tunes which the singing world refuses to dismiss. There is a growing grandeur in the opening solo and its following duet as they climb the first tetra-chord, when the full harmony suddenly reveals the majesty of the music. The little parenthetic duo at the eighth bar breaks the roll of the song for one breath, and the concord of voices closes in again like a diapason. One thinks of a bird-note making a waterfall listen.

Let us sing of the sheaves, when the summer is done,And the garners are stored with the gifts of the sun.Shouting home from the fields like the voice of the sea,Let us join with the reapers in glad jubilee,—Refrain.Harvest home! (double rep.)Let us chant His praise who has crowned our daysWith bounty of the harvest home.542 /480Who hath ripened the fruits into golden and red?Who hath grown in the valleys our treasures of bread,That the owner might heap, and the stranger might gleanFor the days when the cold of the winter is keen?Harvest home!Let us chant, etc.For the smile of the sunshine, again and again,For the dew on the garden, the showers on the plain,For the year, with its hope and its promise that end,Crowned with plenty and peace, let thanksgiving ascend,Harvest home!Let us chant, etc.We shall gather a harvest of glory, we know,From the furrows of life where in patience we sow.Buried love in the field of the heart never dies,And its seed scattered here will be sheaves in the skies,Harvest home!Let us chant, etc.

Let us sing of the sheaves, when the summer is done,

And the garners are stored with the gifts of the sun.

Shouting home from the fields like the voice of the sea,

Let us join with the reapers in glad jubilee,—

Refrain.Harvest home! (double rep.)Let us chant His praise who has crowned our daysWith bounty of the harvest home.

Refrain.

Harvest home! (double rep.)

Let us chant His praise who has crowned our days

With bounty of the harvest home.

Who hath ripened the fruits into golden and red?Who hath grown in the valleys our treasures of bread,That the owner might heap, and the stranger might gleanFor the days when the cold of the winter is keen?Harvest home!

Who hath ripened the fruits into golden and red?

Who hath grown in the valleys our treasures of bread,

That the owner might heap, and the stranger might glean

For the days when the cold of the winter is keen?

Harvest home!

Let us chant, etc.

For the smile of the sunshine, again and again,For the dew on the garden, the showers on the plain,For the year, with its hope and its promise that end,Crowned with plenty and peace, let thanksgiving ascend,Harvest home!

For the smile of the sunshine, again and again,

For the dew on the garden, the showers on the plain,

For the year, with its hope and its promise that end,

Crowned with plenty and peace, let thanksgiving ascend,

Harvest home!

Let us chant, etc.

We shall gather a harvest of glory, we know,From the furrows of life where in patience we sow.Buried love in the field of the heart never dies,And its seed scattered here will be sheaves in the skies,Harvest home!

We shall gather a harvest of glory, we know,

From the furrows of life where in patience we sow.

Buried love in the field of the heart never dies,

And its seed scattered here will be sheaves in the skies,

Harvest home!

Let us chant, etc.

Thanksgiving Hymn. Boston, 1890. Theron Brown.

Tune “To the Work, To the Work.” W.H. Doane.

Written by James Montgomery in 1840, and published in theEvangelical Magazineas the Harvest Hymn for that year.

The God of harvest praise;In loud thanksgiving raiseHeart, hand and voice.The valleys smile and sing,Forests and mountains sing,The plains their tribute bring,The streams rejoice.543 /481* * * * * *The God of harvest praise;Hearts, hands and voices raiseWith sweet accord;From field to garner throng,Bearing your sheaves along,And in your harvest songBless ye the Lord.

The God of harvest praise;In loud thanksgiving raiseHeart, hand and voice.The valleys smile and sing,Forests and mountains sing,The plains their tribute bring,The streams rejoice.

The God of harvest praise;

In loud thanksgiving raise

Heart, hand and voice.

The valleys smile and sing,

Forests and mountains sing,

The plains their tribute bring,

The streams rejoice.

543 /481* * * * * *

* * * * * *

The God of harvest praise;Hearts, hands and voices raiseWith sweet accord;From field to garner throng,Bearing your sheaves along,And in your harvest songBless ye the Lord.

The God of harvest praise;

Hearts, hands and voices raise

With sweet accord;

From field to garner throng,

Bearing your sheaves along,

And in your harvest song

Bless ye the Lord.

Tune, “Dort”—Lowell Mason.

Lowell MasonLowell MasonHymnal

These stanzas of Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe, with their poetic beauty and grateful religious spirit, have furnished an orison worthy of a place in all the hymn books. In feeling and in faith the hymn is a matin song for the world, supplying words and thoughts to any and every heart that worships.

Still, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh,When the bird waketh and the shadows flee;Fairer than morning, lovelier than daylight,Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with Thee.Alone with Thee, amid the mystic shadowsThe solemn hush of nature newly born;Alone with Thee, in breathless adoration,In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.* * * * * *544 /482When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber,Its closing eyes look up to Thee in prayer,Sweet the repose beneath Thy wings o'ershadowing,But sweeter still to wake and find Thee there.

Still, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh,When the bird waketh and the shadows flee;Fairer than morning, lovelier than daylight,Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with Thee.

Still, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh,

When the bird waketh and the shadows flee;

Fairer than morning, lovelier than daylight,

Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with Thee.

Alone with Thee, amid the mystic shadowsThe solemn hush of nature newly born;Alone with Thee, in breathless adoration,In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.

Alone with Thee, amid the mystic shadows

The solemn hush of nature newly born;

Alone with Thee, in breathless adoration,

In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.

* * * * * *

544 /482When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber,Its closing eyes look up to Thee in prayer,Sweet the repose beneath Thy wings o'ershadowing,But sweeter still to wake and find Thee there.

When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber,

Its closing eyes look up to Thee in prayer,

Sweet the repose beneath Thy wings o'ershadowing,

But sweeter still to wake and find Thee there.

Barnby's “Windsor,” and “Stowe” by Charles H. Morse (1893)—both written to the words.

Mendelssohn's “Consolation” is a classic interpretation of the hymn, and finely impressive when skillfully sung, but simpler—and sweeter to the popular ear—is Mason's “Henley,” written to Mrs. Eslings'—

“Come unto me when shadows darkly gather.”

John Keble's beautiful meditation—

Sun of my soul, Thou Saviour dear;

John Leland's—

The day is past and gone;

and Phebe Brown's—

I love to steal awhile away;

—have already been noticed. Bishop Doane's gentle and spiritual lines express nearly everything that a worshipping soul would include in a moment of evening thought. The first and last stanzas are the ones most commonly sung.

Softly now the light of dayFades upon my sight away:Free from care, from labor free,Lord I would commune with Thee.* * * * * *Soon for me the light of dayShall forever pass away;Then, from sin and sorrow free,Take me, Lord, to dwell with Thee.

Softly now the light of dayFades upon my sight away:Free from care, from labor free,Lord I would commune with Thee.

Softly now the light of day

Fades upon my sight away:

Free from care, from labor free,

Lord I would commune with Thee.

* * * * * *

Soon for me the light of dayShall forever pass away;Then, from sin and sorrow free,Take me, Lord, to dwell with Thee.

Soon for me the light of day

Shall forever pass away;

Then, from sin and sorrow free,

Take me, Lord, to dwell with Thee.

Both Kozeluck and J.E. Gould, besides Louis M. Gottschalk and Dr. Henry John Gauntlett, have tried their skill in fitting music to this hymn, but only Gottschalk and Kozeluck approach the mood into which its quiet words charm a pious and reflective mind. Possibly its frequent association with “Holley,” composed by George Hews, may influence a hearer's judgement of other melodies but there is something in that tune that makes it cling to the hymn as if by instinctive kinship.

Others may have as much or more artistic music but “Holley” in its soft modulations seems to breathe the spirit of every word.

It was this tune to which a stranger recently heard a group of mill-girls singing Bishop Doane's verses. The lady, a well-known Christian worker, visited a certain factory, and the superintendent, after showing her through the building, opened a door into a long work-room, where the singing of the546 /484girls delighted and surprised her. It was sunset, and their hymn was—

Softly now the light of day.

Several of the girls were Sunday-school teachers, who had encouraged others to sing at that hour, and it had become a habit.

“Has it made a difference?” the lady inquired.

“There is seldom any quarrelling or coarse joking among them now,” said the superintendent with a smile.

Dr. S.F. Smith's hymn of much the same tone and tenor—

Softly fades the twilight rayOf the holy Sabbath day,

Softly fades the twilight ray

Of the holy Sabbath day,

—is commonly sung to the tune of “Holley.”

George Hews, an American composer and piano-maker, was born in Massachusetts 1800, and died July 6, 1873. No intelligence of him or his work or former locality is at hand, beyond this brief note in Baptie, “He is believed to have followed his trade in Boston, and written music for some of Mason's earlier books.”

This reproduces in Chandler's translation a song-service in an ancient Latin liturgy (angulare fundamentum).

Christ is our Corner-Stone;On Him alone we build,With His true saints aloneThe courts of heaven are filled,On His great loveOur hopes we placeOf present graceAnd joys above.O then with hymns of praiseThese hallowed courts shall ring;Our voices we will raiseThe Three-in-One to sing.And thus proclaimIn joyful songBut loud and longThat glorious Name.

Christ is our Corner-Stone;On Him alone we build,With His true saints aloneThe courts of heaven are filled,On His great loveOur hopes we placeOf present graceAnd joys above.

Christ is our Corner-Stone;

On Him alone we build,

With His true saints alone

The courts of heaven are filled,

On His great love

Our hopes we place

Of present grace

And joys above.

O then with hymns of praiseThese hallowed courts shall ring;Our voices we will raiseThe Three-in-One to sing.And thus proclaimIn joyful songBut loud and longThat glorious Name.

O then with hymns of praise

These hallowed courts shall ring;

Our voices we will raise

The Three-in-One to sing.

And thus proclaim

In joyful song

But loud and long

That glorious Name.

The Rev. John Chandler was born at Witley, Surrey, Eng. June 16, 1806. He took his A.M. degree at Oxford, and entered the ministry of the Church of England, was Vicar of Witley many years, and became well-known for his translations of hymns of the primitive church. Died at Putney, July 1, 1876.

Sebastian Wesley's “Harewood” is plainer and of less compass, but Zundel's “Brooklyn” is more than its rival, both in melody and vivacity.

A hymn of Dr. John Mason Neale—

Endue the creatures with Thy graceThat shall adorn Thy dwelling-placeThe beauty of the oak and pine,The gold and silver, make them Thine.The heads that guide endue with skill,The hands that work preserve from ill,That we who these foundations layMay raise the top-stone in its day.

Endue the creatures with Thy graceThat shall adorn Thy dwelling-placeThe beauty of the oak and pine,The gold and silver, make them Thine.

Endue the creatures with Thy grace

That shall adorn Thy dwelling-place

The beauty of the oak and pine,

The gold and silver, make them Thine.

The heads that guide endue with skill,The hands that work preserve from ill,That we who these foundations layMay raise the top-stone in its day.

The heads that guide endue with skill,

The hands that work preserve from ill,

That we who these foundations lay

May raise the top-stone in its day.

“Welton,” by Rev. Caesar Malan—author of “Hendon,” once familiar to American singers.

Henri Abraham Cæsar Malan was born at Geneva, Switzerland, 1787, and educated at Geneva College. Ordained to the ministry of the State church, (Reformed,) he was dismissed for preaching against its formalism and spiritual apathy; but he built a chapel of his own, and became a leader with D'Aubigne, Monod, and others in reviving the purity of the Evangelical faith and laboring for the conversion of souls.

Malan wrote many hymns, and published a large collection, the “Chants de Sion,” for the Evangelical Society and the French Reformed Church. He composed the music of his own hymns. Died at Vandosurre, 1864.

Cases may occur where anexhortationhymn earns a place with dedication hymns.

The charred fragment of a hymn-book leaf hangs in a frame on the auditorium wall of the “New England Church,” Chicago. The former edifice of that church, all the homes of its resident members, and all their business offices except one, were destroyed in the great fire. In the ruins of their sanctuary the only scrap of paper found on which there was a legible word was this bit of a hymn-book leaf with the two first stanzas of Montgomery's hymn,

Daughter of Zion, from the dust,Exalt thy fallen head;Again in thy Redeemer trust,He calls thee from the dead.Awake, awake! put on thy strength,Thy beautiful array;The day of freedom dawns at length,The Lord's appointed day.

Daughter of Zion, from the dust,Exalt thy fallen head;Again in thy Redeemer trust,He calls thee from the dead.

Daughter of Zion, from the dust,

Exalt thy fallen head;

Again in thy Redeemer trust,

He calls thee from the dead.

Awake, awake! put on thy strength,Thy beautiful array;The day of freedom dawns at length,The Lord's appointed day.

Awake, awake! put on thy strength,

Thy beautiful array;

The day of freedom dawns at length,

The Lord's appointed day.

The third verse was not long in coming to every mind—

Rebuild thy walls! thy bounds enlarge!

—and even without that added word the impoverished congregation evidently enough had received a message from heaven. They took heart of grace, overcame all difficulties, and in good time replaced their ruined Sabbath-home with the noble house in which they worship today.*

* The story is told by Rev. William E. Barton D.D. of Oak Park, Ill.

If the “New England Church” of Chicago did not sing this hymn at the dedication of their new550 /488temple it was for some other reason than lack of gratitude—not to say reverence.

The very essence of all song-worship pitched on this key-note is the ringing hymn of Watts—

Sweet is the day of sacred rest,No mortal cares disturb my breast, etc.

Sweet is the day of sacred rest,

No mortal cares disturb my breast, etc.

—but it has vanished from the hymnals with its tune. Is it because profane people or thoughtless youth made a travesty of the two next lines—

O may my heart in tune be foundLike David's harp of solemn sound?

O may my heart in tune be found

Like David's harp of solemn sound?

Old “Portland” by Abraham Maxim, a fugue tune in F major of the canon style, expressed all the joy that a choir could put into music, though with more sound than skill. The choral is a relic among relics now, but it is a favorite one.

“Sweet is the Light of Sabbath Eve” by Edmeston; Stennett's “Another Six Days' Work is Done,” sung to “Spohr,” the joint tune of Louis Spohr and J.E. Gould; and Doddridge's “Thine Earthly Sabbath, Lord, We Love” retain a feeble hold among some congregations. And Hayward's “Welcome Delightful Morn,” to the impossible tune of551 /489“Lischer,” survived unaccountably long in spite of its handicap. But special Sabbath hymns are out of fashion, those classed under that title taking an incidental place under the general head of “Worship.”

This hymn of Josiah Conder, copying the physical metaphors of the 6th of John, is still occasionally used at the Lord's Supper.

Vine of Heaven, Thy blood suppliesThis blest cup of sacrifice,Lord, Thy wounds our healing give,To Thy Cross we look and live.

Vine of Heaven, Thy blood supplies

This blest cup of sacrifice,

Lord, Thy wounds our healing give,

To Thy Cross we look and live.

The hymn is notable for the felicity with which it combines imagery and reality. Figure and fact are always in sight of each other.

Josiah Conder was born in London, September 17, 1789. He edited theEclectic Review, and was the author of numerous prose works on historic and religious subjects. Rev. Garrett Horder says that more of his hymns are in common use now than those of any other except Watts and Doddridge. Morein proportion to the relative numbermay be nearer the truth. In his lifetime Conder wrote about sixty hymns. He died Dec. 27, 1855.

The tune “Corsica” sometimes sung to the words, though written by the famous Von Gluck, shows no sign of the genius of its author. Born at Weissenwang, near New Markt, Prussia, July 2, 1714, he spent his life in the service of operatic art, and is called “the father of the lyric drama,” but he paid little attention to sacred music. Queen Marie Antoinette was for a while his pupil. Died Nov. 25, 1787.

“Wilmot,” (from Von Weber) one of Mason's popular hymn-tune arrangements, is a melody with which the hymn is well acquainted. It has a fireside rhythm which old and young of the same circles take up naturally in song.

Carl von WeberCarl von WeberHymnal

Written in October, 1855, by Dr. Horatius Bonar. James Bonar, brother of the poet-preacher, just after the communion for that month, asked him to furnish a hymn for the communion record. It was the church custom to print a memorandum of each service at the Lord's table, with an appropriate hymn attached, and an original one would be thrice welcome. Horatius in a day or two sent this hymn:

Here, O my Lord, I see Thee face to face,Here would I touch and handle things unseenHere grasp with firmer hand th' eternal graceAnd all my weariness upon Thee lean.553 /491* * * * * *Too soon we rise; the symbols disappear;The feast, though not the love, is past and gone;The bread and wine remove, but Thou art hereNearer than ever—still my Shield and Sun.

Here, O my Lord, I see Thee face to face,Here would I touch and handle things unseenHere grasp with firmer hand th' eternal graceAnd all my weariness upon Thee lean.

Here, O my Lord, I see Thee face to face,

Here would I touch and handle things unseen

Here grasp with firmer hand th' eternal grace

And all my weariness upon Thee lean.

* * * * * *

Too soon we rise; the symbols disappear;The feast, though not the love, is past and gone;The bread and wine remove, but Thou art hereNearer than ever—still my Shield and Sun.

Too soon we rise; the symbols disappear;

The feast, though not the love, is past and gone;

The bread and wine remove, but Thou art here

Nearer than ever—still my Shield and Sun.

“Morecambe” is an anonymous composition printed with the words by thePlymouth Hymnaleditors. “Berlin” by Mendelssohn is better. The metre of Bonar's hymn is unusual, and melodies to fit it are not numerous, but for a meditative service it is worth a tune of its own.

The author of this hymn found in the Baptist hymnals, and often sung at the sacramental seasons of that denomination, was the first Hindoo convert to Christianity.

Krishna Pal, a native carpenter, in consequence of an accident, came under the care of Mr. Thomas, a missionary who had been a surgeon in the East Indies and was now an associate worker with William Carey. Mr. Thomas set the man's broken arm, and talked of Jesus to him and the surrounding crowd with so much tact and loving kindness that Krishna Pal was touched. He became a pupil of the missionaries; embraced Christ, and influenced his wife and daughter and his brother to accept his new faith.

He alone, however, dared the bitter persecution of his caste, and presented himself for church-membership. He and Carey's son were baptized in the Ganges by Dr. Carey, Dec. 28, 1800, in the presence of the English Governor and an immense concourse of people representing four or five different religions.

Krishna Pal wrote several hymns. The one here noted was translated from the Bengalee by Dr. Marshman.

O thou, my soul, forget no moreThe Friend who all thy sorrows bore;Let every idol be forgot;But, O my soul, forget him not.Renounce thy works and ways, with grief,And fly to this divine relief;Nor Him forget, who left His throne,And for thy life gave up His own.Eternal truth and mercy shineIn Him, and He Himself is thine:And canst thou then, with sin beset,Such charms, such matchless charms forget?Oh, no; till life itself depart,His name shall cheer and warm my heart;And lisping this, from earth I'll rise,And join the chorus of the skies.

O thou, my soul, forget no moreThe Friend who all thy sorrows bore;Let every idol be forgot;But, O my soul, forget him not.

O thou, my soul, forget no more

The Friend who all thy sorrows bore;

Let every idol be forgot;

But, O my soul, forget him not.

Renounce thy works and ways, with grief,And fly to this divine relief;Nor Him forget, who left His throne,And for thy life gave up His own.

Renounce thy works and ways, with grief,

And fly to this divine relief;

Nor Him forget, who left His throne,

And for thy life gave up His own.

Eternal truth and mercy shineIn Him, and He Himself is thine:And canst thou then, with sin beset,Such charms, such matchless charms forget?

Eternal truth and mercy shine

In Him, and He Himself is thine:

And canst thou then, with sin beset,

Such charms, such matchless charms forget?

Oh, no; till life itself depart,His name shall cheer and warm my heart;And lisping this, from earth I'll rise,And join the chorus of the skies.

Oh, no; till life itself depart,

His name shall cheer and warm my heart;

And lisping this, from earth I'll rise,

And join the chorus of the skies.

There is no scarcity of good long-metre tunes to suit the sentiment of this hymn. More commonly in the Baptist manuals its vocal mate is Bradbury's555 /493“Rolland” or the sweet and serious Scotch melody of “Ward,” arranged by Mason. Best of all is “Hursley,” the beautiful Ritter-Monk choral set to “Sun of My Soul.”

Two representative hymns of this class are John Newton's—

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