  It may be disputed whether religion is an inheritance or an acquisition but the fact remains that the influence of personality is the final explanation. And who has exercised such a power more beneficially than mothers? They constitute the heart of every home, the first and the last in everything. Whoever may fail us in the tumult and struggle of life, our mothers have never gone back on us but have remained steadfast even at the cost of incredible sacrifices. Indeed, mothers hold the key to every difficult situation in life, and they have opened doors closed to every other approach. During the World War most of the letters from the Front were written by the boys to their mothers, and this daily mail ran far into the tons. By their faith, devotion and consolation our mothers have done for us what no other mortals have ever been capable of doing. Even when we are inclined to make an exception of our wives, it is really the mother instinct in them which makes them so indispensable to us. Quick in sympathy, ready in resource, patient in trials, versatile in God be praised for our mothers, and may the blessing of the Eternal Father abide with all mothers, that they may continue to fulfill their gracious ministry for the highest welfare of mankind. This sheaf of testimonies bears glowing witness from grateful hearts to the sacramental virtue of mothers. May their memory be forever blessed! The Bible and the hymnal were the two books from which our mothers received their spiritual replenishment. This poem by the Rev. G. H. Winkworth tells of the hymnal which he fittingly describes as The Old Brown Book“The old brown book was worn and finger-stained. To touch it gently children’s hands were trained. It had within the hymns that mother sang In peaceful worship after church bells rang. I hear her voice again so sweet and clear, According praise to Christ her Saviour dear. The old brown book had words that blessed her soul; She sang them, ‘While the nearer waters roll.’ ’Tis years since mother gently passed to rest, And hands were gently folded on her breast, She sleeps, but in our ears the old hymns ring— The sweet old hymns that mother used to sing. The years are passing onward one by one, And with them changes to the church have come; The old brown book no longer fills its place; We struggle now to sing new hymns of grace. But when the Sabbath evening takes us home, And we are gathered there with friends alone, We take the old brown book and once more sing, ‘Hide thou beneath the shadow of Thy wing.’ And who can tell but what in heaven above They sing again the old sweet hymns we love? We only know that when we sing them here They bring to us the Heavenly Presence near. Thus we can fight life’s battle calm and sweet, Each unborn day with courage wait to meet, ‘Blest be the tie that binds,’ we smooth the way, ‘Nearer my God to Thee’ each closing day. The old brown book a treasure still we keep, The same old hymns that rocked our friends to sleep; And if we fail to catch the newest strain, Our hearts would sing the old hymns once again.” The same theme is continued in another poem by Maud Frazer Jackson in The Sunday School Times, entitled, “My Mother’s Song”“I heard a song that touched my heart And filled my eyes with tears. It was the song my mother sang In long-departed years,— ‘Only trust Him, only trust Him, Only trust Him now; He will save you, He will save you, He will save you now.’ How sweet the words that gave me hope That I might be restored,— ‘Come, every soul by sin oppressed, There’s mercy with the Lord.’ I seemed to hear her gentle voice As in the long ago,— ‘Plunge now into the crimson flood That washes white as snow.’ She knows tonight, my mother knows, Up there, her prayers are heard; For Jesus gives the wanderer rest, I’m ‘trusting in His Word.’” Dr. W. J. Dawson, in his reminiscences entitled The Autobiography of a Mind, The Note of Assurance in the Old Hymns“I came the other day upon a Methodist hymnal bearing the date of 1877, and in it I found the hymns which my mother loved to quote, and I was struck with their depth of emotion, their genuine spiritual quality. They have a note of profound assurance which I miss in the modern hymns. ‘Leader of faithful souls, and guide Of all who travel to the sky, Come and with us, even us, abide Who would on Thee alone rely. On Thee alone our spirits stay While held in life’s uneven way.’ “How fine is the crusading note in this verse! Particularly noble in sentiment and emotion are the numerous hymns dealing with death and the future state. Here is one which I confess I read with tears: ‘Rejoice for a brother deceased, Our loss is his infinite gain; A soul out of prison released, And freed from its bodily chain. With songs let us follow his flight And mount with his spirit above, Escaped to the mansions of light, And lodged in the Eden of love.’ One can fancy this hymn sung by Cornish fishermen over one of their numbers lost at sea.” The sacred memories of the past may slumber for a while but they are often awakened under favorable conditions, as seen on this occasion, as reported in The British Weekly, when Canadian Railroad Men Sang In Memory of MotherA student of Manitoba University, Winnipeg, accepted camp service for the long vacation in connection with the building of the last transcontinental railroad in Canada. He became one of the men and soon made friends with them. After the midday meal on the first Sunday he asked “the boys” if they would “roll up” to the service he “Rock of Ages, cleft for me, Let me hide myself in Thee.” The result was equally beneficial in another instance when John Callahan Heard Mother’s Hymn in a MissionHe was long superintendent of Hadley Mission in New York City, and known as “the Bishop of the Bowery.” He said, “It was ‘Abide With Me’ that I heard in a mission, and that I had not heard since it was sung when I was six years old at my mother’s funeral, that brought me to my senses and made me realize that I was not traveling on the right road.” The same effect was produced at the front when fond memories made Voices Husky With EmotionThe message of the Gospel took on a reality it had never worn before as the story of the Cross was recounted by the Salvationists to the American soldiers in France. The thunder of artillery was heard; and the flashing of signal lights, together with the hum of the airplanes, vivified the whole background of war. After an address on the God of their mothers a young woman began to sing: “I grieved my Lord from day to day, I scorned His love so full and free, And though I wandered far away, My mother’s prayers have followed me. I’m coming home, I’m coming home, To live my wasted life anew, For mother’s prayers have followed me, Have followed me the whole world through.” Many hearts echoed the words; and the voices of the men were husky with emotion when they tried to join in the closing hymn. A different testimony is given where one Wanted to Hear the Hymns That Mother Loved BestCountess Somers, the mother of Lady Henry Somerset, presented Frances E. Willard with a music-box. This may still be seen in Rest Cottage, Evanston, Illinois. The little guide-book, Historic Rest Cottage, says: “When this music-box was to be made, Miss Willard was asked what music she would most enjoy and she instantly replied: ‘The hymns that mother loved best.’ So the visitor hears, ‘How firm a foundation’; ‘Nearer, my God, to Thee’; ‘While the days are going by’; ‘There is a land of pure delight’; ‘Home, sweet home’ and ‘In heavenly love abiding.’” Concerning this first hymn the following incident tells how Miss Frances Willard’s mother Saluted Her Favorite Hymn“There was the gay summer ‘garden party’ at Rest Cottage (Evanston, Illinois) in honor of Anna Gordon’s birthday with Miss Willard as master of ceremonies, when speeches and presentation of gifts, poems and tributes, were in order. And at the close all united in singing ‘How firm a ‘And when hoary hairs shall their temples adorn, Like lambs they shall still in My bosom be borne.’” The substantial faith of mothers is illustrated in the case of one who Sang the Nicene CreedThe sixth child in a family of eight, Joseph Von Wittig was born in a one-room cottage. He tells us how his mother used to sing before her marriage in the choir of the village church. “What did you like best to sing, mother?” he once asked her, and she answered, “The Creed.” He remembered a day when she was busy with field-work, and he heard her clear voice rising in the closing words of the Nicene Creed, et vitam venturi sÆculi, “and the life of the world to come.” The foretaste of the life to come has been enjoyed Singing While Sleeping“My own dear mother as she lay upon her dying bed, after many years of the severest suffering and invalidhood, fell into a very sound sleep. It was only a night or two before her outgoing. My father was keeping his faithful vigil, when suddenly he heard a familiar voice singing, ‘O Thou, in whose presence my soul takes delight, On whom in affliction I call, My comfort by day, and my song in the night, My hope, my salvation, my all!’ “It was my mother’s voice singing in a marvelously clear tone the hymn that had been a favorite with her all her life. Though asleep she sang every verse clear through to the end. Other members of the family were awakened by it and listened in breathless silence, for it was like the song of an angel. She did not waken for some time after she had ceased singing, and when told of what had taken place she was not surprised, for the hymns of Another witness is Dr. Oscar L. Joseph who on every Mother’s Day has his congregation sing “Peace, Perfect Peace”Beyond all other hymns, his mother loved this one written by Bishop Edward H. Bickersteth. She often sang it in the family circle. No burden or distraction could interfere with the “perfect peace” which Christ imparted to her soul. Hence, when she died, it was the message she wished to have set over her resting place. So on her tombstone in Ceylon may be found the three words: “Peace, Perfect Peace.” When the members of the congregation hear this bit of family history from the lips of their pastor, they most feelingly sing at his request: “Peace, perfect peace, in this dark world of sin? The blood of Jesus whispers peace within. Peace, perfect peace, by thronging duties pressed? To do the will of Jesus,—this is rest. . . . . . . . . . Peace, perfect peace, our future all unknown? Jesus, we know, and He is on the throne. . . . . . . . . . It is enough: earth’s struggles soon shall cease, And Jesus call us to heaven’s perfect peace.” The sacrificial loyalty to Christ is seen when A Mother Answered with a HymnA missionary secretary of one of the Methodist churches in England once went to see a mother whose only remaining son had offered himself for foreign mission service. Two other sons had gone to the same country and there they had laid down their lives in the service of Christ and the natives. The secretary sympathetically referred to this pathetic fact, and wished to ascertain from the mother whether the last of her boys was to go with her full consent. The mother grasped the trend of the visitor’s conversation, and, without waiting for the secretary to put the direct question, she very quietly repeated the lines she so often sang in church, which conveyed her spirit of surrender: “Were the whole realm of nature mine, That were a present far too small; Love so amazing, so divine, Demands my soul, my life, my all.” There was no need for further questioning. The secretary said in my hearing, “I knelt with that mother and her boy and we had a tearful but beautiful season of prayer.” It is not surprising that in the soldiers’ hours of danger, according to The War Romance of the Salvation Army, by Booth and Hill, Mother Held Her Place in Their HeartsThe night of the St. Mihiel drive was the blackest night ever seen. It was so dark that one could positively see nothing a foot ahead of him. All that was heard was the sound of thousands of feet tramping, through the mud and slush, as the soldiers went to the front. In groups they were singing softly as they went by. One group was singing “Mother Machree.” “There’s a spot in me heart that no colleen may own, There’s a depth in me soul never sounded or known; There’s a place in me memory, me life, that you fill, No other can take it, no one ever will; Sure, I love the dear silver that shines in your hair, And the brow that’s all furrowed and wrinkled with care. I kiss the dear fingers, so toil-worn for me; O, God bless you and keep you! Mother Machree!” The simple pathos of the men’s voices, many of whom were tramping forward to their death, brought tears to the eyes of the Salvation Army lassies in the canteen. After an interval, sweetly and solemnly through the chill of the darkness there came floating by, with a thrill in the words, another group of voices: “Abide with me! Fast falls the eventide, The darkness deepens—Lord, with me abide!” |
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