THE TUNE.

The long lines, not easily manageable for congregational singing, are wisely set by Mr. Bliss to duet music. There is a weighty thought in the hymn for every Christian, and experience has shown that a pair of good singers can make it very affecting, but the only use of the repeat, by way of a chorus, seems to be to give the miscellaneous voices a brief chance to sing.

"HE WILL HIDE ME."

(Isa. 49:2.)

Miss Mary Elizabeth Servoss, the author of this trustful hymn, was born in Schenectady, N.Y., Aug. 22, 1849. When a very young girl her admiration of Fanny Crosby's writings, and the great and good service they were doing in the world, inspired her with a longing to resemble her. Though her burden was as real, it was not like the other's, and her opportunities for religious meditation and literary work were fewer than those of the elder lady, but the limited number of hymns she has written have much of the spirit and beauty of their model.

Providence decreed for her a life of domestic care and patient waiting. For eighteen years she was the constant attendant of a disabled grandmother, and long afterwards love and duty made her the home nurse during her mother's protracted illness and the last sickness of her father, until both parents passed away.

From her present home in Edeson, Ill., some utterances of her chastened spirit have found their way to the public, and been a gospel of blessing. Besides "He Will Hide Me" other hymns of Miss Servoss are "Portals of Light," "He Careth," "Patiently Enduring," and "Gates of Praise," the last being the best known.

When the storms of life are raging. Tempests wild on sea and land, I will seek a place of refuge In the shadow of God's hand.

CHORUS. He will hide me, He will hide me, Where no harm can e'er betide me, He will hide me, safely hide me In the shadow of His hand.

* * * * *

So while here the cross I'm bearing, Meeting storms and billows wild, Jesus for my soul is caring, Naught can harm His Father's child. He will hide me, etc.

THE TUNE.

An animating choral in nine-eight tempo, with a swinging movement and fugue chorus, is rather florid for the hymn, but undeniably musical. Mr. James McGranahan was the composer. He was born in Adamsville, Pa., July 4, 1840. His education was acquired mostly at the public schools, and both in general knowledge and in musical accomplishments it may be said of him that he is "self-made."

Music was born in him, and at the age of nineteen, with some valuable help from men like Bassini, Webb, Root and Zerrahn, he had studied to so good purpose that he taught music classes himself. This talent, joined to the gift of a very sweet tenor voice, made him the natural successor of the lamented Bliss, and, with Major D.W. Whittle, he entered on a career of gospel work, making between 1881 and 1885 two successful tours of England, Scotland and Ireland, and through the chief American cities.

Among his publications are the Male Chorus Book, Songs of the Gospel and the Gospel Male Choir.

Resides at Kinsman, O.

"REVIVE THY WORK, O LORD."

(Heb. 3:2.)

The supposed date of the hymn is 1860; the author, Albert Midlane. He was born at Newport on the Isle of Wight, Jan. 23, 1825 a business man, but, being a Sunday-school teacher, he was prompted to write verses for children. The habit grew upon him till he became a frequent and acceptable hymn-writer, both for juvenile and for general use. English collections have at least three hundred credited to him.

Revive Thy work, O Lord, Thy mighty arm make bare, Speak with the voice that wakes the dead, And make Thy people hear.

THE TUNE.

Music and words together make a song-litany alive with all the old psalm-tune unction and the new vigor; and both were upon Mr. McGranahan when he wrote the choral. It is one of his successes.

Revive thy work, O Lord, Exalt Thy precious name, And by the Holy Ghost our love For Thee and Thine inflame.

REFRAIN. Revive Thy work, O Lord, And give refreshing showers; The glory shall be all Thine own, The blessing shall be ours.

"WHERE IS MY WANDERING BOY TO-NIGHT?"

This remarkable composition—words and music by Rev. Robert Lowry—has a record among sacred songs like that of "The Prodigal Son" among parables.

A widowed lady of culture, about forty years of age, who was an accomplished vocalist, had ceased to sing, though her sweet voice was still in its prime. The cause was her sorrow for her runaway boy. She had not heard from him for five years. While spending a week with friends in a city distant from home, her hidden talent was betrayed by the friends to the pastor of their church, where a revival was in progress, and persuasion that seemed to put a duty upon her finally procured her consent to sing a solo.

The church was crowded. With a force and feeling that can easily be guessed she sang "Where Is My Boy Tonight?" and finished the first stanza. She began the second,—

Once he was pure as morning dew, As he knelt at his mother's knee, No face was so bright, no heart more true, And none were so sweet as he;

—and as the congregation caught up the refrain,—

O where is my boy tonight? O where is my boy tonight? My heart overflows, for I love him he knows, O where is my boy tonight?

—a young man who had been sitting in a back seat made his way up the aisle and sobbed, "Mother, I'm here!" The embrace of that mother and her long-lost boy turned the service into a general hallelujah. At the inquiry meeting that night there were many souls at the Mercy Seat who never knelt there before—and the young wanderer was one.



Mr. Sankey, when in California with Mr. Moody, sang this hymn in one of the meetings and told the story of a mother in the far east who had commissioned him to search for her missing son. By a happy providence the son was in the house—and the story and the song sent him home repentant.

At another time Mr. Sankey sang the same hymn from the steps of a snow-bound train, and a man between whose father and himself had been trouble and a separation, was touched, and returned to be reconciled after an absence of twenty years.

At one evening service in Stanberry, Mo., the singing of the hymn by the leader of the choir led to the conversion of one boy who was present, and whose parents were that night praying for him in an eastern state, and inspired such earnest prayer in the hearts of two other runaway boys' parents that the same answer followed.

There would not be room in a dozen pages to record all the similar saving incidents connected with the singing of "Where Is My Wandering Boy?" The rhetoric of love is strong in every note and syllable of the solo, and the tender chorus of voices swells the song to heaven like an antiphonal prayer.

Strange to say, Dr. Lowry set lightly by his hymns and tunes, and deprecated much mention of them though he could not deny their success. An active Christian since seventeen years of age, through his early pulpit service, his six years' professorship, and the long pastorate in Plainfield, N.J., closed by his death, he considered preaching to be his supreme function as it certainly was his first love. Music was to him "a side-issue," an "efflorescence," and writing a hymn ranked far below making and delivering a sermon. "I felt a sort of meanness when I began to be known as a composer," he said. And yet he was the author of a hymn and tune which "has done more to bring back wandering boys than any other" ever written.[45]

[Footnote 45: "Where Is My Boy Tonight" was composed for a book of temperance hymns, The Fountain of Song, 1877.]

"ETERNITY."

This is the title and refrain of both Mrs. Ellen M.H. Gates' impressive poem and its tune.

O the clanging bells of Time! Night and day they never cease; We are weaned with their chime, For they do not bring us peace. And we hush our hearts to hear, And we strain our eyes to see If thy shores are drawing near Eternity! Eternity!

Skill was needed to vocalize this great word, but the ear of Mr. Bliss for musical prosody did not fail to make it effective. After the beautiful harmony through the seven lines, the choral reverently softens under the rallentando of the closing bars, and dwelling on the awe-inspiring syllables, solemnly dies away.

TRIUMPH BY AND BY.

This rally-song of the Christian arena is wonderfully stirring, especially in great meetings, for it sings best in full choral volume.

The prize is set before us, To win His words implore us, The eye of God is o'er us From on high. His loving tones are falling While sin is dark, appalling, 'Tis Jesus gently calling; He is nigh!

CHORUS. By and by we shall meet Him, By and by we shall greet Him, And with Jesus reign in glory, By and by!

We'll follow where He leadeth, We'll pasture where He feedeth, We'll yield to Him who pleadeth From on high. Then nought from Him shall sever, Our hope shall brighten ever And faith shall fail us never; He is nigh.

CHORUS— By and by, etc.

Dr. Christopher Ruby Blackall, the author of the hymn, was born in Albany, N.Y., Sept. 18, 1830. He was a surgeon in the Civil War, and in medical practice fifteen years, but afterwards became connected with the American Baptist Publication Society as manager of one of its branches. He has written several Sunday-school songs set to music by W.H. Doane.

THE TUNE,

By Horatio R. Palmer is exactly what the hymn demands. The range scarcely exceeds an octave, but with the words "From on high," the stroke of the soprano on upper D carries the feeling to unseen summits, and verifies the title of the song. From that note, through melody and chorus the "Triumph by and by" rings clear.

"NOT HALF HAS EVER BEEN TOLD"

This is emotional, but every word and note is uplifting, and creates the mood for religious impressions. The writer, Rev. John Bush Atchison, was born at Wilson, N.Y., Feb. 18, 1840, and died July 15, 1882.

I have read of a beautiful city Far away in the kingdom of God, I have read how its walls are of jasper, How its streets are all golden and broad; In the midst of the street is Life's River Clear as crystal and pure to behold, But not half of that city's bright glory To mortals has ever been told.

The chorus (twice sung)—

Not half has been told,

—concludes with repeat of the two last lines of this first stanza.

Mr. Atchison was a Methodist clergyman who composed several good hymns. "Behold the Stone is Rolled Away," "O Crown of Rejoicing," and "Fully Persuaded," indicate samples of his work more or less well-known. "Not Half Has Ever Been Told" was written in 1875.

THE TUNE.

Dr. Otis F. Presbry, the composer, was a young farmer of York, Livingston Co., N.Y., born there the 20th of December, 1820. Choice of a professional life led him to Berkshire Medical College, where he graduated in 1847. In after years his natural love of musical studies induced him to give his time to compiling and publishing religious tunes, with hymns more especially for Sunday-schools.

He became a composer and wrote the melody to Atchison's words in 1877, which was arranged by a blind musician of Washington, D.C., J.W. Bischoff by name, with whom he had formed a partnership. The solo is long—would better, perhaps, have been four-line instead of eight—but well sung, it is a flight of melody that holds an assembly, and touches hearts.

Dr. Presbry's best known book was Gospel Bells (1883), the joint production of himself, Bischoff, and Rev. J.E. Rankin. He died Aug. 20, 1901.

"COME."

One of the most characteristic (both words and music) of the Gospel Hymns—"Mrs. James Gibson Johnson" is the name attached to it as its author, though we have been unable to trace and verify her claim.

O, word of words the sweetest, O, words in which there lie All promise, all fulfillment, And end of mystery; Lamenting or rejoicing, With doubt or terror nigh, I hear the "Come" of Jesus, And to His cross I fly.

CHORUS. Come, come— Weary, heavy-laden, come, O come to me.

THE TUNE,

Composed by James McGranahan, delivers the whole stanza in soprano or tenor solo, when the alto, joining the treble, leads off the refrain in duet, the male voices striking alternate notes until the full harmony in the last three bars. The style and movement of the chorus are somewhat suggestive of a popular glee, but the music of the duet is flexible and sweet, and the bass and tenor progress with it not in the ride-and-tie-fashion but marking time with the title-syllable.

The contrast between the spiritual and the intellectual effect of the hymn and its wakeful tune is illustrated by a case in Baltimore. While Moody and Sankey were doing their gospel work in that city, a man, who, it seems, had brought a copy of the Gospel Hymns, walked out of one of the meetings after hearing this hymn-tune, and on reaching home, tore out the leaves that contained the song and threw them into the fire, saying he had "never heard such twaddle" in all his life.

The sequel showed that he had been too hasty. The hymn would not leave him. After hearing it night and day in his mind till he began to realize what it meant, he went to Mr. Moody and told him he was "a vile sinner" and wanted to know how he could "come" to Christ. The divine invitation was explained, and the convicted man underwent a vital change. His converted opinion of the hymn was quite as remarkably different. He declared it was "the sweetest one in the book." (Story of the Gospel Hymns.)

"ALMOST PERSUADED."

The Rev. Mr. Brundage tells the origin of this hymn. In a sermon preached by him many years ago, the closing words were:

"He who is almost persuaded is almost saved, but to be almost saved is to be entirely lost." Mr. Bliss, being in the audience, was impressed with the thought, and immediately set about the composition of what proved one of his most popular songs, deriving his inspiration from the sermon of his friend, Mr. Brundage. Memoir of Bliss.

Almost persuaded now to believe, Almost persuaded Christ to receive; Seems now some soul to say "Go Spirit, go thy way, Some more convenient day On Thee I'll call."

* * * * *

Almost persuaded—the harvest is past!

Both hymn and tune are by Mr. Bliss—and the omission of a chorus is in proper taste. This revival piece brings the eloquence of sense and sound to bear upon the conscience in one monitory pleading. Incidents in this country and in England related in Mr. Sankey's book, illustrate its power. It has a convicting and converting history.

"MY AIN COUNTREE."

This hymn was written by Miss Mary Augusta Lee one Sabbath day in 1860 at Bowmount, Croton Falls, N.Y., and first published in the New York Observer, Dec, 1861. The authoress had been reading the story of John Macduff who, with his wife, left Scotland for the United States, and accumulated property by toil and thrift in the great West. In her leisure after the necessity for hard work was past, the Scotch woman grew homesick and pined for her "ain countree." Her husband, at her request, came east and settled with her in sight of the Atlantic where she could see the waters that washed the Scotland shore. But she still pined, and finally to save her life, John Macduff took her back to the heather hills of the mother-land, where she soon recovered her health and spirits.

I am far from my hame an' I'm weary aften whiles For the langed-for hame-bringing an' my Father's welcome smiles. I'll ne'er be fu' content until mine eyes do see The shinin' gates o' heaven an' mine ain countree.

The airt' is flecked wi' flowers mony-tinted, frish an' gay, The birdies warble blithely, for my Father made them sae, But these sights an' these soun's will naething be to me When I hear the angels singin' in my ain countree.

Miss Lee was born in Croton Falls in 1838, and was of Scotch descent, and cared for by her grandfather and a Scotch nurse, her mother dying in her infancy. In 1870 she became the wife of a Mr. Demarest, and her married life was spent in Passaic, N.J., until their removal to Pasadena, Cal., in hope of restoring her failing health. She died at Los Angeles, Jan. 8, 1888.

THE TUNE

Is an air written in 1864 in the Scottish style by Mrs. Ione T. Hanna, wife of a banker in Denver, Colo., and harmonized for choral use by Hubert P. Main in 1873. Its plaintive sweetness suits the words which probably inspired it. The tone and metre of the hymn were natural to the young author's inheritance; a memory of her grandfather's home-land melodies, with which he once crooned "little Mary" to sleep.

Sung as a closing hymn, "My ain countree" sends the worshipper away with a tender, unworldly thought that lingers.

Mrs. Demarest wrote an additional stanza in 1881 at the request of Mr. Main.

Some really good gospel hymns and tunes among those omitted in this chapter will cry out against the choice that passed them by. Others are of the more ephemeral sort, the phenomena (and the demand) of a generation. Carols of pious joy with inordinate repetition, choruses that surprise old lyrics with modern thrills, ballads of ringing sound and slender verse, are the spray of tuneful emotion that sparkles on every revival high-tide, but rarely leaves floodmarks that time will not erase. Religious songs of the demonstrative, not to say sensational, kind spring impromptu from the conditions of their time—and give place to others equally spontaneous when the next spiritual wave sweeps by. Their value lingers in the impulse their novelty gave to the life of sanctuary worship, and in the Christian characters their emotional power helped into being.



CHAPTER XIII.

HYMNS, FESTIVAL AND OCCASIONAL.

CHRISTMAS.

"ADESTE FIDELES."

This hymn is of doubtful authorship, by some assigned to as late a date as 1680, and by others to the 13th century as one of the Latin poems of St. Bonaventura, Bishop of Albano, who was born at Bagnarea in Tuscany, A.D. 1221. He was a learned man, a Franciscan friar, one of the greatest teachers and writers of his church, and finally a cardinal. Certainly Roman Catholic in its origin, whoever was its author, it is a Christian hymn qualified in every way to be sung by the universal church.

Adeste, fideles Laeti triumphantes, Venite, venite in Bethlehem; Natum videte Regem angelorum.

CHORUS. Venite, adoremus, Venite, adoremus! Venite, adoremus Dominum.

This has been translated by Rev. Frederick Oakeley (1808-1880) and by Rev. Edward Caswall (1814-1878) the version of the former being the one in more general use. The ancient hymn is much abridged in the hymnals, and even the translations have been altered and modernized in the three or four stanzas commonly sung. Caswall's version renders the first line "Come hither, ye faithful," literally construing the Latin words.

The following is substantially Oakeley's English of the "Adeste, fideles."

O come all ye faithful Joyful and triumphant, To Bethlehem hasten now with glad accord; Come and behold Him, Born the King of Angels.

CHORUS. O come, let us adore Him, O come, let us adore Him, O come, let us adore Him, Christ, the Lord.

Sing choirs of angels, Sing in exultation Through Heaven's high arches be your praises poured; Now to our God be Glory in the highest! O come, let us adore Him!

Yea, Lord, we bless Thee, Born for our salvation Jesus, forever be Thy name adored! Word of the Father Now in flesh appearing; O come, let us adore Him!

The hymn with its primitive music as chanted in the ancient churches, was known as "The Midnight Mass," and was the processional song of the religious orders on their way to the sanctuaries where they gathered in preparation for the Christmas morning service. The modern tune—or rather the tune in modern use—is the one everywhere familiar as the "Portuguese Hymn." (See page 205.)

MILTON'S HYMN TO THE NATIVITY.

It was the winter wild While the Heavenly Child All meanly wrapped in the rude manger lies. Nature in awe of Him Had doffed her gaudy trim With her great Master so to sympathize.

* * * * *

No war nor battle sound Was heard the world around. The idle spear and shield were high uphung. The hooked chariot stood Unstained with hostile blood, The trumpets spake not to the armed throng, And Kings sat still with awful eye As if they knew their Sovereign Lord was by.

This exalted song—the work of a boy of scarcely twenty-one—is a Greek ode in form, of two hundred and sixteen lines in twenty-seven strophes. Some of its figures and fancies are more to the taste of the seventeenth century than to ours, but it is full of poetic and Christian sublimities, and its high periods will be heard in the Christmas hymnody of coming centuries, though it is not the fashion to sing it now.

John Milton, son and grandson of John Miltons, was born in Breadstreet, London, Dec. 9, 1608, fitted for the University in St. Paul's school, and studied seven years at Cambridge. His parents intended him for the church, but he chose literature as a profession, travelled and made distinguished friendships in Italy, Switzerland and France, and when little past his majority was before the public as a poet, author of the Ode to the Nativity, of a Masque, and of many songs and elegies. In later years he entered political life under the stress of his Puritan sympathies, and served under Cromwell and his successor as Latin Secretary of State through the time of the Commonwealth. While in public duty he became blind, but in his retirement composed "Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained." Died in 1676.

THE TUNE.

In the old "Carmina Sacra" a noble choral (without name except "No war nor battle sound") well interprets portions of the 4th and 5th stanzas of the great hymn, but replaces the line—

"The idle spear and shield were high uphung."

—with the more modern and less figurative—

"No hostile chiefs to furious combat ran."

Three stanzas are also added, by the Rev. H.O. Dwight, missionary to Constantinople. The substituted line, which is also, perhaps, the composition of Mr. Dwight, rhymes with—

"His reign of peace upon the earth began,"

—and as it is not un-Miltonic, few singers have ever known that it was not Milton's own.

Dr. John Knowles Paine, Professor of Music at Harvard University, and author of the Oratorio of "St. Peter," composed a cantata to the great Christmas Ode of Milton, probably about 1868.

Professor Paine died Apr. 25, 1906.

It is worth noting that John Milton senior, the great poet's father, was a skilled musician and a composer of psalmody. The old tunes "York" and "Norwich," in Ravenscroft's collection and copied from it in many early New England singing-books, are supposed to be his.

The Miltons were an old Oxfordshire Catholic family, and John, the poet's father, was disinherited for turning Protestant, but he prospered in business, and earned the comfort of a country gentleman. He died, very aged, in May, 1646, and his son addressed a Latin poem ("Ad Patrem") to his memory.

"HARK! THE HERALD ANGELS SING."

This hymn of Charles Wesley, dating about 1730, was evidently written with the "Adeste Fideles" in mind, some of the stanzas, in fact, being almost like translations of it. The form of the two first lines was originally—

Hark! how all the welkin rings, "Glory to the King of Kings!"

—but was altered thirty years later by Rev. Martin Madan (1726-1790) to—

Hark! the herald angels sing Glory to the new-born King!

Other changes by the same hand modified the three following stanzas, and a fifth stanza was added by John Wesley—

Hail the heavenly Prince of Peace! Hail the Sun of Righteousness! Light and life to all He brings, Ris'n with healing in His wings.

THE TUNE.

"Mendelssohn" is the favorite musical interpreter of the hymn. It is a noble and spirited choral from Felix Mendelssohn Bartholdy's cantata, "Gott ist Licht."

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

This inspirational lyric of Dr. Watts never grows old. It was written in 1719.

Joy to the world! the Saviour reigns! Let men their songs employ While fields and floods, rocks, hills and plains Repeat the sounding joy.

Dr. Edward Hodges (1796-1867) wrote an excellent psalm-tune to it which is still in occasional use, but the music united to the hymn in the popular heart is "Antioch," an adaptation from Handel's Messiah. This companionship holds unbroken from hymnal to hymnal and has done so for sixty or seventy years; and, in spite of its fugue, the tune—apparently by some magic of its own—contrives to enlist the entire voice of a congregation, the bass falling in on the third beat as if by intuition. The truth is, the tune has become the habit of the hymn, and to the thousands who have it by heart, as they do in every village where there is a singing school, "Antioch" is "Joy to the World," and "Joy to the World" is "Antioch."

"HARK! WHAT MEAN THOSE HOLY VOICES?"

This fine hymn, so many years appearing with the simple sign "Cawood" or "J. Cawood" printed under it, still holds its place by universal welcome.

Hark! what mean those holy voices Sweetly sounding through the skies? Lo th' angelic host rejoices; Heavenly hallelujahs rise.

Hear them tell the wondrous story, Hear them chant in hymns of joy, Glory in the highest, glory, Glory be to God on high!

The Rev. John Cawood, a farmer's son, was born at Matlock, Derbyshire, Eng., March 18, 1775, graduated at Oxford, 1801, and was appointed perpetual curate of St. Anne's in Bendly, Worcestershire. Died Nov. 7, 1852. He is said to have written seventeen hymns, but was too modest to publish any.

THE TUNE.

Dr. Dykes' "Oswald," and Henry Smart's "Bethany" are worthy expressions of the feeling in Cawood's hymn. In America, Mason's "Amaland," with fugue in the second and third lines, has long been a favorite.

"WHILE SHEPHERDS WATCHED THEIR FLOCKS."

This was written by Nahum Tate (1652-1715), and after two hundred years the church remembers and sings the song. Six generations have grown up with their childhood memory of its pictorial verses illustrating St. Luke's Christmas story.

While shepherds watched their flocks by night, All seated on the ground, The angel of the Lord came down And glory shone around.

"Fear not" said he, for mighty dread Had seized their troubled mind, "Glad tidings of great joy I bring To you and all mankind."

THE TUNE.

Modern hymnals have substituted "Christmas" and other more or less spirited tunes for Read's "Sherburne," which was the first musical translation of the hymn to American ears. But, to show the traditional hold that the New England fugue melody maintains on the people, many collections print it as alternate tune. Some modifications have been made in it, but its survival is a tribute to its real merit.

Daniel Read, the creator of "Sherburne," "Windham," "Russia," "Stafford," "Lisbon," and many other tunes characteristic of a bygone school of psalmody, was born in Rehoboth, Mass., Nov. 2, 1757. He published The American Singing Book, 1785, Columbian Harmony, 1793, and several other collections. Died in New Haven, Ct., 1836.

"IT CAME UPON THE MIDNIGHT CLEAR."

Rev. Edmund Hamilton Sears, author of this beautiful hymn-poem, was born at Sandisfield, Berkshire Co., Mass., April 6, 1810, and educated at Union College and Harvard University. He became pastor of the Unitarian Church in Wayland, Mass., 1838. Died in the adjoining town of Weston, Jan. 14, 1876. The hymn first appeared in the Christian Register in 1857.

It came upon the midnight clear, That glorious song of old, From angels bending near the earth To touch their harps of gold.

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

Still through the cloven skies they come With peaceful wings unfurled And still their heavenly music floats O'er all the weary world.

Above its sad and lonely plains They bend on hovering wing, And ever o'er its Babel sounds The blessed angels sing.

THE TUNE.

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

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

Calm on the listening ear of night Come heaven's melodious strains Where wild Judea stretches far Her silver-mantled plains,

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

"O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM!"

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

O little town of Bethlehem, How still we see thee lie! Above thy deep and dreamless sleep The silent stars go by; Yet in thy dark streets shineth The everlasting light; The hopes and fears of all the years Are met in thee tonight.

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

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

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

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

THE TUNE.

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

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



PALM SUNDAY.

FAURE'S "PALM BRANCHES."

Sur nos chemins les rameaux et les fleurs Sont repandos—

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

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

His "Palm-Branches" has come to be a sine qua non on its calendar Sunday wherever church worship is planned with any regard to the Feasts of the Christian year.



EASTER.

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

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

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

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

Tolle vultum, Magdalena! Redivivum aspice; Vide frons quam sit amoena, Quinque plagas inspice; Fulgent, sic ut margaritae, Ornamenta novae vitae. Alleluia!

* * * * *

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

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

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

Simple mention must suffice of Luther's—

In the bonds of death He lay;

—of Watts'—

He dies, the Friend of sinners dies;

—of John Wesley's—

Our Lord has gone up on high;

—of C.F. Gellert's—

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

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

"CHRIST THE LORD IS RISEN TODAY"

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

AN ANTHEM FOR EASTER.

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

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

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

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

Then duet, trio and chorus sing it, successively—

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

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

Then, then I rose,

* * * * *

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

"YES, THE REDEEMER ROSE."

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

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

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

"O SHORT WAS HIS SLUMBER."

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

He rose! O morn of wonder! They saw His light go down Whose hate had crushed Him under, A King without a crown. No plume, no garland wore He, Despised death's Victor lay, And wrapped in night His glory, That claimed a grander day.

* * * * *

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

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



THANKSGIVING.

"DIE FELDER WIR PFLUeGEN UND STREUEN."

We plow the fields and scatter The good seed on the land, But it is fed and watered By God's Almighty hand, He sends the snow in winter, The warmth to swell the grain, The breezes, and the sunshine And soft, refreshing rain, All, all good gifts around us Are sent from heaven above Then thank the Lord, O thank the Lord For all His love!

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

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

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



"WITH SONGS AND HONORS SOUNDING LOUD."

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

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

THE TUNE,

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

"HARVEST HOME."

Let us sing of the sheaves, when the summer is done, And the garners are stored with the gifts of the sun. Shouting home from the fields like the voice of the sea, Let us join with the reapers in glad jubilee,—

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

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

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

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

Thanksgiving Hymn. Boston, 1890. Theron Brown.

Tune "To the Work, To the Work." W.H. Doane.

"THE GOD OF HARVEST PRAISE."

Written by James Montgomery in 1840, and published in the Evangelical Magazine as the Harvest Hymn for that year.

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

* * * * *

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

Tune, "Dort"—Lowell Mason.



MORNING.

"STILL, STILL WITH THEE."

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

THE TUNES.

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

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

"Come unto me when shadows darkly gather."



EVENING HYMNS.

John Keble's beautiful meditation—

Sun of my soul, Thou Saviour dear;

John Leland's—

The day is past and gone;

and Phebe Brown's—

I love to steal awhile away;

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

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

* * * * *

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

THE TUNE.

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

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

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

Softly now the light of day.

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

"Has it made a difference?" the lady inquired.

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

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

Softly fades the twilight ray Of the holy Sabbath day,

—is commonly sung to the tune of "Holley."

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

DEDICATION.

"CHRIST IS OUR CORNER-STONE."

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

Christ is our Corner-Stone; On Him alone we build, With His true saints alone The courts of heaven are filled, On His great love Our hopes we place Of present grace And joys above.

O then with hymns of praise These hallowed courts shall ring; Our voices we will raise The Three-in-One to sing. And thus proclaim In joyful song But loud and long That glorious Name.

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

THE TUNE.

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

"OH LORD OF HOSTS WHOSE GLORY FILLS THE BOUNDS OF THE ETERNAL HILLS."

A hymn of Dr. John Mason Neale—

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

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

THE TUNE.

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

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

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

"DAUGHTER OF ZION, FROM THE DUST."

Cases may occur where an exhortation hymn earns a place with dedication hymns.

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

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

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

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

Rebuild thy walls! thy bounds enlarge!

—and even without that added word the impoverished congregation evidently enough had received a message from heaven. They took heart of grace, overcame all difficulties, and in good time replaced their ruined Sabbath-home with the noble house in which they worship today.[46]

[Footnote 46: The story is told by Rev. William E. Barton D.D. of Oak Park, Ill.]

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

THE SABBATH.

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

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

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

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

THE TUNE.

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

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

COMMUNION.

"BREAD OF HEAVEN, ON THEE WE FEED."

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

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

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

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

THE TUNE.

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

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

"HERE, O MY LORD, I SEE THEE FACE TO FACE."

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

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

* * * * *

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

THE TUNE.

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

"O THOU MY SOUL, FORGET NO MORE."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE TUNE.

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

NEW YEAR.

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

While with ceaseless course the sun,

—and Charles Wesley's—

Come let us anew our journey pursue;

the one a voice at the next year's threshold, the other a song at the open door.

While with ceaseless course the sun Hasted thro' the former year Many souls their race have run Nevermore to meet us here.

* * * * *

As the winged arrow flies Speedily the mark to find, As the lightening from the skies Darts and leaves no trace behind, Swiftly thus our fleeting days Bear we down life's rapid stream, Upward, Lord, our spirits raise; All below is but a dream.

A grave occasion, whether unexpected or periodical, will force reflection, and so will a grave truth; and when both present themselves at once, the truth needs only commonplace statement. If the statement is in rhyme and measure more attention is secured. Add a tune to it, and the most frivolous will take notice. Newton's hymn sung on the last evening of the year has its opportunity—and never fails to produce a solemn effect; but it is to the immortal music given to it in Samuel Webbe's "Benevento" that it owes its unique and permanent place. Dykes' "St. Edmund" may be sung in England, but in America it will never replace Webbe's simple and wonderfully impressive choral.

Charles Wesley's hymn is the antipode of Newton's in metre and movement.

Come, let us anew our journey pursue, Roll round with the year And never stand still till the Master appear. His adorable will let us gladly fulfil And our talents improve By the patience of hope and the labor of love.

Our life is a dream, our time as a stream Glides swiftly away, And the fugitive moment refuses to stay. The arrow is flown, the moment is gone, The millennial year, Rushes on to our view, and eternity's near.



One could scarcely imagine a greater contrast than between this hymn and Newton's. In spite of its eccentric metre one cannot dismiss it as rhythmical jingle, for it is really a sermon shaped into a popular canticle, and the surmise is not a difficult one that he had in mind a secular air that was familiar to the crowd. But the hymn is not one of Wesley's poems. Compilers who object to its lilting measure omit it from their books, but it holds its place in public use, for it carries weighty thoughts in swift sentences.

O that each in the Day of His coming may say, "I have fought my way through, I have finished the work Thou didst give me to do." O that each from the Lord may receive the glad word, "Well and faithfully done, Enter into my joy, and sit down on my throne."

For a hundred and fifty years this has been sung in the Methodist watch-meetings, and it will be long before it ceases to be sung—and reprinted in Methodist, and some Baptist hymnals.

The tune of "Lucas," named after James Lucas, its composer, is the favorite vehicle of song for the "Watch-hymn." Like the tune to "O How Happy Are They," it has the movement of the words and the emphasis of their meaning.

No knowledge of James Lucas is at hand except that he lived in England, where one brief reference gives his birth-date as 1762 and "about 1805" as the birth-date of the tune.

"GREAT GOD, WE SING THAT MIGHTY HAND."

The admirable hymn of Dr. Doddridge may be noted in this division with its equally admirable tune of "Melancthon," one of the old Lutheran chorals of Germany.

Great God, we sing that mighty hand By which supported still we stand. The opening year Thy mercy shows; Thy mercy crown it till its close!

By day, by night, at home, abroad, Still we are guarded by our God.

As this last couplet stood—and ought now to stand—pious parents teaching the hymn to their children heard them repeat—

By day, by night, at home, abroad, We are surrounded still with God.

Many are now living whose first impressive sense of the Divine Omnipresence came with that line.

PARTING.

"GOD BE WITH YOU TILL WE MEET AGAIN."

A lyric of benediction, born, apparently, at the divine moment for the need of the great "Society of Christian Endeavor," and now adopted into the Christian song-service of all lands. The author, Rev. Jeremiah Eames Rankin, D.D., LL.D., was born in Thornton, N.H., Jan. 2, 1828. He was graduated at Middlebury College, Vt., in 1848, and labored as a Congregational pastor more than thirty years. For thirteen years he was President of Howard University, Washington, D.C. Besides the "Parting Hymn" he wrote The Auld Scotch Mither, Ingleside Rhymes, Hymns pro Patria, and various practical works and religious essays. Died 1904.

THE TUNE.

As in a thousand other partnerships of hymnist and musician, Dr. Rankin was fortunate in his composer. The tune is a symphony of hearts—subdued at first, but breaking into a chorus strong with the uplift of hope. It is a farewell with a spiritual thrill in it.

Its author, William Gould Tomer, was born in Finesville, Warren Co., N.J., October 5, 1832; died in Phillipsburg, N.J., Sept. 26, 1896. He was a soldier in the Civil War and a writer of good ability as well as a composer. For some time he was editor of the High Bridge Gazette, and music with him was an avocation rather than a profession. He wrote the melody to Dr. Rankin's hymn in 1880, Prof. J.W. Bischoff supplying the harmony, and the tune was first published in Gospel Bells the same year.

FUNERALS.

The style of singing at funerals, as well as the character of the hymns, has greatly changed—if, indeed, music continues to be a part of the service, as frequently, in ordinary cases, it is not. "China" with its comforting words—and terrifying chords—is forever obsolete, and not only that, but Dr. Muhlenberg's, "I Would Not Live Alway," with its sadly sentimental tune of "Frederick," has passed out of common use. Anna Steele's "So Fades the Lovely, Blooming Flower," on the death of a child, is occasionally heard, and now and then Dr. S.F. Smith's, "Sister, Thou Wast Mild and Lovely," (with its gentle air of "Mt. Vernon,") on the death of a young lady. Standard hymns like Watts', "Unveil Thy Bosom, Faithful Tomb," to the slow, tender melody of the "Dead March," (from Handel's oratorio of "Saul") and Montgomery's "Servant of God, Well Done," to "Olmutz," or Woodbury's "Forever with the Lord," still retain their prestige, the music of the former being played on steeple-chimes on some burial occasions in cities, during the procession—

Nor pain nor grief nor anxious fear Invade thy bounds; no mortal woes Can reach the peaceful sleeper here While angels watch the soft repose.

The latter hymn (Montgomery's) is biographical—as described on page 301—

Servant of God, well done; Rest from thy loved employ; The battle fought, the victory won, Enter thy Master's joy.

Only five stanzas of this long poem are now in use.

The exquisite elegy of Montgomery, entitled "The Grave,"—

There is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary mortals found They softly lie and sweetly sleep Low in the ground.

—is by no means discontinued on funeral occasions, nor Margaret Mackay's beloved hymn,—

Asleep in Jesus, blessed sleep,

—melodized in Bradbury's "Rest."

Mrs. Margaret Mackay was born in 1801, the daughter of Capt. Robert Mackay of Hedgefield, Inverness, and wife of a major of the same name. She was the author of several prose works and Lays of Leisure Hours, containing seventy-two original hymns and poems, of which "Asleep in Jesus" is one. She died in 1887.

"MY JESUS, AS THOU WILT."

(Mein Jesu, wie du willst.)

This sweet hymn for mourners, known to us here in Jane Borthwick's translation, was written by Benjamin Schmolke (or Schmolk) late in the 17th century. He was born at Brauchitzchdorf, in Silesia, Dec. 21, 1672, and received his education at the Labau Gymnasium and Leipsic University. A sermon preached while a youth, for his father, a Lutheran pastor, showed such remarkable promise that a wealthy man paid the expenses of his education for the ministry. He was ordained and settled as pastor of the Free Church at Schweidnitz, Silesia, in which charge he continued from 1701 till his death.

Schmolke was the most popular hymn-writer of his time, author of some nine hundred church pieces, besides many for special occasions. Withal he was a man of exalted piety and a pastor of rare wisdom and influence.

His death, of paralysis, occurred on the anniversary of his wedding, Feb. 12, 1737.

My Jesus, as Thou wilt, Oh may Thy will be mine! Into Thy hand of love I would my all resign. Thro' sorrow or thro' joy Conduct me as Thine own, And help me still to say, My Lord, Thy will be done.

The last line is the refrain of the hymn of four eight-line stanzas.

THE TUNE.

"Sussex," by Joseph Barnby, a plain-song with a fine harmony, is good congregational music for the hymn.

But "Jewett," one of Carl Maria Von Weber's exquisite flights of song, is like no other in its intimate interpretation of the prayerful words. We hear Luther's "bird in the heart" singing softly in every inflection of the tender melody as it glides on. The tune, arranged by Joseph Holbrook, is from an opera—the overture to Weber's Der Freischutz—but one feels that the gentle musician when he wrote it must have caught an inspiration of divine trust and peace. The wish among the last words he uttered when dying in London of slow disease was, "Let me go back to my own (home), and then God's will be done." That wish and the sentiment of Schmolke's hymn belong to each other, for they end in the same way.

My Jesus, as Thou wilt: All shall be well for me; Each changing future scene I gladly trust with Thee. Straight to my home above I travel calmly on, And sing in life or death My Lord, Thy will be done.

"I CANNOT ALWAYS TRACE THE WAY."

In later years, when funeral music is desired, the employment of a male quartette has become a favorite custom. Of the selections sung in this manner few are more suitable or more generally welcomed than the tender and trustful hymn of Sir John Bowring, rendered sometimes in Dr. Dykes' "Almsgiving," but better in the less-known but more flexible tune composed by Howard M. Dow—

I cannot always trace the way Where Thou, Almighty One, dost move, But I can always, always say That God is love.

When fear her chilling mantle flings O'er earth, my soul to heaven above As to her native home upsprings, For God is love.

When mystery clouds my darkened path, I'll check my dread, my doubts reprove; In this my soul sweet comfort hath That God is love.

Yes, God is love. A thought like this Can every gloomy thought remove, And turn all tears, all woes to bliss For God is love.

The first line of the hymn was originally, "'Tis seldom I can trace the way."

Howard M. Dow has been many years a resident of Boston, and organist of the Grand Lodge of Freemasons at the Tremont St. (Masonic) Temple.

WEDDING.

Time was when hymns were sung at weddings, though in America the practice was never universal. Marriage, among Protestants, is not one of the sacraments, and no masses are chanted for it by ecclesiastical ordinance. The question of music at private marriages depends on convenience, vocal or instrumental equipment, and the general drift of the occasion. At public weddings the organ's duty is the "Wedding March."

To revive a fashion of singing at home marriages would be considered an oddity—and, where civil marriages are legal, a superfluity—but in the religious ceremony, just after the prayer that follows the completion of the nuptial formula, it will occur to some that a hymn would "tide over" a proverbially awkward moment. Even good, quaint old John Berridge's lines would happily relieve the embarrassment—besides reminding the more thoughtless that a wedding is not a mere piece of social fun—

Since Jesus truly did appear To grace a marriage feast O Lord, we ask Thy presence here To make a wedding guest.

Upon the bridal pair look down Who now have plighted hands; Their union with Thy favor crown And bless the nuptial bands

* * * * *

In purest love these souls unite That they with Christian care May make domestic burdens light By taking each a share.

Tune, "Lanesboro," Mason.

A wedding hymn of more poetic beauty is the one written by Miss Dorothy Bloomfield (now Mrs. Gurney), born 1858, for her sister's marriage in 1883.

O perfect Love, all human thought transcending, Lowly we kneel in prayer before Thy throne That their's may be a love which knows no ending Whom Thou forevermore dost join in one.

O perfect Life, be Thou their first assurance Of tender charity and steadfast faith, Of patient hope and quiet, brave endurance, With childlike trust that fears nor pain nor death.

Grant them the joy which brightens earthly sorrow, Grant them the peace which calms all earthly strife, And to their day the glorious unknown morrow That dawns upon eternal love and life.

Tune by Joseph Barnby, "O Perfect Love."

FRUITION DAY.

"LO! HE COMES WITH CLOUDS DESCENDING."

Thomas Olivers begins one of his hymns with this line. The hymn is a Judgment-day lyric of rude strength and once in current use, but now rarely printed. The "Lo He Comes," here specially noted, is the production of John Cennick, the Moravian.

Lo! He comes with clouds descending Once for favored sinners slain, Thousand thousand saints attending Swell the triumph of His train. Hallelujah! God appears on earth to reign.

* * * * *

Yea, amen; let all adore Thee High on Thy eternal throne. Saviour, take the power and glory, Claim the kingdom for thine own; O come quickly; Hallelujah! Come, Lord, come.

THE TUNES.

Various composers have written music to this universal hymn, but none has given it a choral that it can claim as peculiarly its own. "Brest," Lowell Mason's plain-song, has a limited range, and runs low on the staff, but its solemn chords are musical and commanding. As much can be said of the tunes of Dr. Dykes and Samuel Webbe, which have more variety. Those who feel that the hymn calls for a more ornate melody will prefer Madan's "Helmsley."

"LO! WHAT A GLORIOUS SIGHT APPEARS."

The great Southampton bard who wrote "Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood" was quick to kindle at every reminder of Fruition Day.

Lo! what a glorious sight appears To our believing eyes! The earth and seas are passed away, And the old rolling skies. From the third heaven, where God resides, That holy, happy place, The New Jerusalem comes down, Adorned with shining grace.

This hymn of Watts' sings one of his most exalted visions. It has been dear for two hundred years to every Christian soul throbbing with millennial thoughts and wishful of the day when—

The God of glory down to men Removes His best abode,

—and when—

His own kind hand shall wipe the tears From every weeping eye, And pains and groans, and griefs and fears, And death itself shall die,

—and the yearning cry of the last stanza, when the vision fades, has been the household ? [A] of myriads of burdened and sorrowing saints—

How long, dear Saviour, O how long Shall this bright hour delay? Fly swifter round ye wheels of Time, And bring the welcome day!

[Footnote A: Transcriber's note—This question mark is in the original. It is possibly a compositor's query which the author missed when correcting the proofs. The missing text could be "word".]

THE TUNES.

By right of long appropriation both "Northfield" and "New Jerusalem" own a near relationship to these glorious verses. Ingalls, one of the constellation of early Puritan psalmodists, to which Billings and Swan belonged, evidently loved the hymn, and composed his "New Jerusalem" to the verse, "From the third heaven," and his "Northfield" to "How long, dear Saviour." The former is now sung only as a reminiscence of the music of the past, at church festivals, charity fairs and entertainments of similar design, but the action and hearty joy in it always evoke sympathetic applause. "Northfield" is still in occasional use, and it is a jewel of melody, however irretrievably out of fashion. Its union to that immortal stanza, if no other reason, seems likely to insure its permanent place in the lists of sacred song.

John Cole's "Annapolis," still found in a few hymnals with these words, is a little too late to be called a contemporary piece, but there are some reminders of Ingalls' "New Jerusalem" in its style and vigor, and it really partakes the flavor of the old New England church music.

Jeremiah Ingalls was born in Andover, Mass., March 1, 1764. A natural fondness for music increased with his years, but opportunities to educate it were few and far between, and he seemed like to become no more than a fairly good bass-viol player in the village choir. But his determination carried him higher, and in time his self-taught talent qualified him for a singing-school master, and for many years he travelled through Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Vermont, training the raw vocal material in the country towns, and organizing choirs.

Between his thirtieth and fortieth years, he composed a number of tunes, and, in 1804 published a two hundred page collection of his own and others' music, which he called the Christian Harmony.

His home was for some time in Newberry, Vt., but he subsequently lived at Rochester and at Hancock in the same state.

Among the traditions of him is this anecdote of the origin of his famous tune "Northfield," which may indicate something of his temper and religious habit. During his travels as a singing-school teacher he stopped at a tavern in the town of Northfield and ordered his dinner. It was very slow in coming, but the inevitable "how long?" that formulated itself in his hungry thoughts, instead of sharpening into profane complaint, fell into the rhythm of Watts' sacred line—and the tune came with it. To call it "Northfield" was natural enough; the place where its melody first beguiled him from his bodily wants to a dream of the final Fruition Day.

Ingalls died in Hancock, Vt., April 6, 1828.



CHAPTER XIV.

HYMNS OF HOPE AND CONSOLATION.

"JERUSALEM THE GOLDEN."

Urbs Sion Aurea.

"The Seven Great Hymns" of the Latin Church are:

Laus Patriae Coelestis,—(Praise of the Heavenly Country). Veni, Sancte Spiritus,—(Come, Holy Spirit) Veni, Creator Spiritus,—(Come, Creator Spirit) Dies Irae,—(The Day of Wrath) Stabat Mater,—(The Mother Stood By) Mater Speciosa,—(The Fair Mother.) Vexilla Regis.—(The Banner of the King.)

Chief of these is the first named, though that is but part of a religious poem of three thousand lines, which the author, Bernard of Cluny, named "De Contemptu Mundi" (Concerning Disdain of the World.)

Bernard was of English parentage, though born at Morlaix, a seaport town in the north of France. The exact date of his birth is unknown, though it was probably about A.D. 1100. He is called Bernard of Cluny because he lived and wrote at that place, a French town on the Grone where he was abbot of a famous monastery, and also to distinguish him from Bernard of Clairvaux.

His great poem is rarely spoken of as a whole, but in three portions, as if each were a complete work. The first is the long exordium, exhausting the pessimistic title (contempt of the world), and passing on to the second, where begins the real "Laus Patriae Coelestis." This being cut in two, making a third portion, has enriched the Christian world with two of its best hymns, "For Thee, O Dear, Dear Country," and "Jerusalem the Golden."

Bernard wrote the medieval or church Latin in its prime of literary refinement, and its accent is so obvious and its rhythm so musical that even one ignorant of the language could pronounce it, and catch its rhymes. The "Contemptu Mundi" begins with these two lines, in a hexameter impossible to copy in translation:

Hora novissima; tempora pessima sunt; Vigilemus! Ecce minaciter imminet Arbiter, Ille Supremus!

'Tis the last hour; the times are at their worst; Watch; lo the Judge Supreme stands threat'ning nigh!

Or, as Dr. Neale paraphrases and softens it,—

The World is very evil, The times are waxing late, Be sober and keep vigil, The Judge is at the gate,

—and, after the poet's long, dark diorama of the world's wicked condition, follows the "Praise of the Heavenly Fatherland," when a tender glory dawns upon the scene till it breaks into sunrise with the vision of the Golden City. All that an opulent and devout imagination can picture of the beauty and bounty of heaven, and all that faith can construct from the glimpses in the Revelation of its glory and happiness is poured forth in the lavish poetry of the inspired monk of Cluny—

Urbs Sion aurea, patria lactea, cive decora, Omne cor obruis, omnibus obstruis, et cor et ora. Nescio, nescio quae jubilatio lux tibi qualis, Quam socialia gaudia, gloria quam specialis.

Jerusalem, the golden; With milk and honey blest; Beneath thy contemplation Sink heart and voice opprest. I know not, O I know not What joys await us there, With radiancy of glory, With bliss beyond compare.

They stand, those halls of Zion, All jubilant with song,[47] And bright with many an angel; And all the martyr throng. The Prince is ever in them, The daylight is serene; The pastures of the blessed Are decked in glorious sheen.

* * * * *

O sweet and blessed country, The home of God's elect! O sweet and blessed country, That eager hearts expect! Jesu, in mercy bring us To that dear land of rest, Who art, with God the Father, And Spirit, ever blest.

[Footnote 47: In first editions, "conjubilant with song."]

Dr. John Mason Neale, the translator, was obliged to condense Bernard's exuberant verse, and he has done so with unsurpassable grace and melody. He made his translation while "inhibited" from his priestly functions in the Church of England for his high ritualistic views and practice, and so poor that he wrote stories for children to earn his living. His poverty added to the wealth of Christendom.

THE TUNE.

The music of "Jerusalem the Golden" used in most churches is the composition of Alexander Ewing, a paymaster in the English army. He was born in Aberdeen, Scotland, Jan. 3d, 1830, and educated there at Marischal College. The tune bears his name, and this honor, and its general favor with the public, are so much testimony to its merit. It is a stately harmony in D major with sonorous and impressive chords. Ewing died in 1895.

"WHY SHOULD WE START AND FEAR TO DIE?"

Probably it is an embarrassment of riches and despair of space that have crowded this hymn—perhaps the sweetest that Watts ever wrote—out of some of our church singing-books. It is pleasant to find it in the new Methodist Hymnal, though with an indifferent tune.

Christians of today should surely sing the last two stanzas with the same exalted joy and hope that made them sacred to pious generations past and gone—

O if my Lord would come and meet, My soul would stretch her wings in haste. Fly fearless through death's iron gate, Nor feel the terrors as she passed. Jesus can make a dying bed Feel soft as downy pillows are, While on His breast I lean my head And breathe my life out sweetly there.

THE TUNE.

The plain-music of William Boyd's "Pentecost," (with modulations in the tenor), creates a new accent for the familiar lines. Preferable in every sense are Bradbury's tender "Zephyr" or "Rest."

No coming generation will ever feel the pious gladness of Amariah Hall's "All Saints New" in E flat major as it stirred the Christian choirs of seventy five years ago. Fitted to this heart-felt lyric of Watts, it opened with the words—

O if my Lord would come and meet,

in full harmony and four-four time, continuing to the end of the stanza. The melody, with its slurred syllables and beautiful modulations was almost blithe in its brightness, while the strong musical bass and the striking chords of the "counter," chastened it and held the anthem to its due solemnity of tone and expression. Then the fugue took up—

Jesus can make a dying bed,

—bass, treble and tenor adding voice after voice in the manner of the old "canon" song, and the full harmony again carried the words, with loving repetitions, to the final bar. The music closed with a minor concord that was strangely effective and sweet.

Amariah Hall was born in Raynham, Mass., April 28, 1785, and died there Feb. 8, 1827. He "farmed it," manufactured straw-bonnets, kept tavern and taught singing-school. Music was only an avocation with him, but he was an artist in his way, and among his compositions are found in some ancient Tune books his "Morning Glory," "Canaan," "Falmouth," "Restoration," "Massachusetts," "Raynham," "Crucifixion," "Harmony," "Devotion," "Zion," and "Hosanna."

"All Saints New" was his masterpiece.

"WHEN I CAN READ MY TITLE CLEAR."

No sacred song has been more profanely parodied by the thoughtless, or more travestied, (if we may use so strong a word), in popular religious airs, than this golden hymn which has made Isaac Watts a benefactor to every prisoner of hope. Not to mention the fancy figures and refrains of camp-meeting music, which have cheapened it, neither John Cole's "Annapolis" nor Arne's "Arlington" nor a dozen others that have borrowed these speaking lines, can wear out their association with "Auld lang Syne." The hymn has permeated the tune, and, without forgetting its own words, the Scotch melody preforms both a social and religious mission. Some arrangements of it make it needlessly repetitious, but its pathos will always best vocalize the hymn, especially the first and last stanzas—

When I can read my title clear To mansions in the skies I'll bid farewell to every fear And wipe my weeping eyes.

* * * * *

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

"VITAL SPARK OF HEAVENLY FLAME."

This paraphrase, by Alexander Pope, of the Emperor Adrian's death-bed address to his soul—

Animula, vagula, blandula, Hospes, comesque corporis,

—transfers the poetry and constructs a hymnic theme.

An old hymn writer by the name of Flatman wrote a Pindaric, somewhat similar to "Adrian's Address," as follows:

When on my sick-bed I languish, Full of sorrow, full of anguish, Fainting, gasping, trembling, crying, Panting, groaning, speechless, dying; Methinks I hear some gentle spirit say, "Be not fearful, come away."

Pope combined these two poems with the words of Divine inspiration, "O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?" and made a pagan philosopher's question the text for a triumphant Christian anthem of hope.

Vital spark of heavenly flame, Quit, oh quit this mortal frame. Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, Oh the pain, the bliss of dying! Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife, And let me languish into life.

Hark! they whisper: angels say, "Sister spirit, come away!" What is this absorbs me quite, Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Drowns my spirit, draws my breath, Tell me, my soul, can this be death?

The world recedes: it disappears: Heaven opens on my eyes; my ears With sounds seraphic ring. Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O grave where is thy victory? O death, where is thy sting?

THE TUNE.

The old anthem, "The Dying Christian," or "The Dying Christian to his Soul," which first made this lyric familiar in America as a musical piece, will never be sung again except at antique entertainments, but it had an importance in its day.

Beginning in quadruple time on four flats minor, it renders the first stanza in flowing concords largo affettuoso, and a single bass fugue, Then suddenly shifting to one flat, major, duple time, it executes the second stanza, "Hark! they whisper" ... "What is this, etc.," in alternate pianissimo and forte phrases; and finally, changing to triple time, sings the third triumphant stanza, andante, through staccato and fortissimo. The shout in the last adagio, on the four final bars, "O Death! O Death!" softening with "where is thy sting?" is quite in the style of old orchestral magnificence.

Since "The Dying Christian" ceased to appear in church music, the poem, for some reason, seems not to have been recognized as a hymn. It is, however, a Christian poem, and a true lyric of hope and consolation, whatever the character of the author or however pagan the original that suggested it.

The most that is now known of Edward Harwood, the composer of the anthem, is that he was an English musician and psalmodist, born near Blackburn, Lancaster Co., 1707, and died about 1787.

"YOUR HARPS, YE TREMBLING SAINTS."

This hymn of Toplady,—unlike "A Debtor to Mercy Alone," and "Inspirer and Hearer of Prayer," both now little used,—stirs no controversial feeling by a single line of his aggressive Calvinism. It is simply a song of Christian gratitude and joy.

Your harps, ye trembling saints Down from the willows take; Loud to the praise of Love Divine Bid every string awake.

Though in a foreign land, We are not far from home, And nearer to our house above We every moment come.

* * * * *

Blest is the man, O God, That stays himself on Thee, Who waits for Thy salvation, Lord, Shall Thy salvation see.

THE TUNE.

"Olmutz" was arranged by Lowell Mason from a Gregorian chant. He set it himself to Toplady's hymn, and it seems the natural music for it. The words are also sometimes written and sung to Jonathan Woodman's "State St."

Jonathan Call Woodman was born in Newburyport, Mass., July 12, 1813. He was the organist of St. George's Chapel, Flushing L.I. and a teacher, composer and compiler. His Musical Casket was not issued until Dec. 1858, but he wrote the tune of "State St." in August, 1844. It was a contribution to Bradbury's Psalmodist, which was published the same year.

"YE GOLDEN LAMPS OF HEAVEN, FAREWELL."

Dr. Doddridge's "farewell" is not a note of regret. Unlike Bernard, he appreciates this world while he anticipates the better one, but his contemplation climbs from God's footstool to His throne. His thought is in the last two lines of the second stanza, where he takes leave of the sun—

My soul that springs beyond thy sphere No more demands thine aid.

But his fancy will find a function for the "golden lamps" even in the glory that swallows up their light—

Ye stars are but the shining dust Of my divine abode, The pavement of those heavenly courts Where I shall dwell with God.

The Father of eternal light Shall there His beams display, Nor shall one moment's darkness mix With that unvaried day.

THE TUNE.

The hymn has been assigned to "Mt. Auburn," a composition of George Kingsley, but a far better interpretation—if not best of all—is H.K. Oliver's tune of "Merton," (1847,) older, but written purposely for the words.

"TRIUMPHANT ZION, LIFT THY HEAD."

This fine and stimulating lyric is Doddridge in another tone. Instead of singing hope to the individual, he sounds a note of encouragement to the church.

Put all thy beauteous garments on, And let thy excellence be known; Decked in the robes of righteousness, The world thy glories shall confess.

* * * * *

God from on high has heard thy prayer; His hand thy ruins shall repair, Nor will thy watchful Monarch cease To guard thee in eternal peace.

The tune, "Anvern," is one of Mason's charming melodies, full of vigor and cheerful life, and everything can be said of it that is said of the hymn. Duffield compares the hymn and tune to a ring and its jewel.

It is one of the inevitable freaks of taste that puts so choice a strain of psalmody out of fashion. Many younger pieces in the church manuals could be better spared.

"SHRINKING FROM THE COLD HAND OF DEATH."

This is a hymn of contrast, the dark of recoiling nature making the background of the rainbow. Written by Charles Wesley, it has passed among his forgotten or mostly forgotten productions but is notable for the frequent use of its 3rd stanza by his brother John. John Wesley, in his old age, did not so much shrink from death as from the thought of its too slow approach. His almost constant prayer was, "Lord, let me not live to be useless." "At every place," says Belcher, "after giving to his societies what he desired them to consider his last advice, he invariably concluded with the stanza beginning—

"'Oh that, without a lingering groan, I may the welcome word receive. My body with my charge lay down, And cease at once to work and live.'"

The anticipation of death itself by both the great evangelists ended like the ending of the hymn—

No anxious doubt, no guilty gloom Shall daunt whom Jesus' presence cheers; My Light, my Life, my God is come, And glory in His face appears.

"FOREVER WITH THE LORD."

Montgomery had the Ambrosian gift of spiritual song-writing. Whatever may be thought of his more ambitious descriptive or heroic pages of verse, and his long narrative poems, his lyrics and cabinet pieces are gems. The poetry in some exquisite stanzas of his "Grave" is a dream of peace:

There is a calm for those who weep, A rest for weary mortals found; They softly lie and sweetly sleep Low in the ground.

The storms that wreck the winter's sky No more disturb their deep repose Than summer evening's latest sigh That shuts the rose.

But in the poem, "At Home in Heaven," which we are considering—with its divine text in I Thess. 4:17—the Sheffield bard rises to the heights of vision. He wrote it when he was an old man. The contemplation so absorbed him that he could not quit his theme till he had composed twenty-two quatrains. Only four or five—or at most only seven of them—are now in general use. Like his "Prayer is the Soul's Sincere Desire," they have the pith of devotional thought in them, but are less subjective and analytical.

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

Here in the body pent, Absent from Him I roam, Yet nightly pitch my moving tent A day's march nearer home.

My Father's house on high! Home of my soul, how near At times to faith's foreseeing eye Thy golden gates appear.

I hear at morn and even, At noon and midnight hour, The choral harmonies of heaven Earth's Babel tongues o'erpower.

The last line has been changed to read—

Seraphic music pour,

—and finally the hymnals have dropped the verse and substituted others. The new line is an improvement in melody but not in rhyme, and, besides, it robs the stanza of its leading thought—heaven and earth offsetting each other, and heavenly music drowning earthly noise—a thought that is missed even in the rich cantos of "Jerusalem the Golden."

THE TUNES.

Nearly the whole school of good short metre tunes, from "St. Thomas" to "Boylston" have offered their notes to Montgomery's "At Home in Heaven," but the two most commonly recognized as its property are "Mornington," named from Lord Mornington, its author, and I.B. Woodbury's familiar harmony, "Forever with the Lord."

Garret Colley Wellesley, Earl of Mornington, and ancestor of the Duke of Wellington, was born in Dagan, Ireland, July 19, 1735. Remarkable for musical talent when a child, he became a skilled violinist, organ-player and composer in boyhood, with little aid beyond his solitary study and practice. When scarcely twenty-one, the University of Dublin conferred on him the degree of Doctor of Music, and a professorship. He excelled as a composer of glees, but wrote also tunes and anthems for the church, some of which are still extant in the choir books of the Dublin Cathedral Died March 22, 1781.

"HARK! HARK, MY SOUL!"

The Methodist Reformation, while it had found no practical sympathy within the established church, left a deep sense of its reason and purpose in the minds of the more devout Episcopalians, and this feeling, instead of taking form in popular revival methods, prompted them to deeper sincerity and more spiritual fervor in their traditional rites of worship. Many of the next generation inherited this pious ecclesiasticism, and carried their loyalty to the old Christian culture to the extreme of devotion till they saw in the sacraments the highest good of the soul. It was Keble's "Christian Year" and his "Assize Sermon" that began the Tractarian movement at Oxford which brought to the front himself and such men as Henry Newman and Frederick William Faber.

The hymns and sacred poems of these sacramentarian Christians would certify to their earnest piety, even if their lives were unknown.

Faber's hymn "Hark, Hark My Soul," is welcomed and loved by every Christian sect for its religious spirit and its lyric beauty.

Hark! hark, my soul! angelic songs are swelling O'er earth's green fields and ocean's wave-beat shore; How sweet the truth those blessed strains are telling Of that new life where sin shall be no more.

REFRAIN Angels of Jesus, angels of light Singing to welcome the pilgrims of the night.

Onward we go, for still we hear them singing "Come, weary souls, for Jesus bids you come," And through the dark, its echoes sweetly ringing, The music of the gospel leads us home. Angels of Jesus.

Far, far away, like bells at evening pealing, The voice of Jesus sounds o'er land and sea, And laden souls, by thousands meekly stealing, Kind Shepherd, turn their weary steps to Thee. Angels of Jesus.

THE TUNES.

John B. Dykes and Henry Smart—both masters of hymn-tune construction—have set this hymn to music. "Vox Angelica" in B flat, the work of the former, is a noble composition for choir or congregation, but "Pilgrim," the other's interpretation, though not dissimilar in movement and vocal range, has, perhaps, the more sympathetic melody. It is, at least, the favorite in many localities. Some books print the two on adjacent pages as optionals.

Another much-loved hymn of Faber's is—

O Paradise, O Paradise! Who doth not crave for rest? Who would not see the happy land Where they that loved are blest?

REFRAIN Where loyal hearts and true Stand ever in the light, All rapture through and through In God's most holy sight.

O Paradise, O Paradise, The world is growing old; Who would not be at rest and free Where love is never cold.

Where loyal hearts and true.

O Paradise, O Paradise, I greatly long to see The special place my dearest Lord, In love prepares for me.