Before Worship

A few had gathered at the Goodwill Chapel service fifteen minutes before the time to begin. The leader often allowed his audience to select the opening hymn. And these early comers were making their choices.

“Here’s a hymn I like,” said one. “It’s ‘We’re Marching to Zion.’” “I like it, too,” said another, “but why do you like it?”

“Well,” replied the first speaker, “there’s nothing uncertain about that hymn. It knows where it’s going. A person can stand a whole lot of hardship if she knows the end is worth it. Yes, I like that hymn. If Mr. Dawson asks us what we want to sing, this morning, I am going to ask for this one.” And so they talked happily among themselves.

Others came in and took their seats, a motley company of depressed old age wearing the marks of poverty and sorrow. The leader entered and this time he gave out the hymn. “I don’t care. I like this just as well,” observed the one who had chosen “We’re Marching to Zion.” Well might she and the others, for it expressed faith and hope in the lines:

Thus encouraged they went from that service to the humdrum routine of daily drudgery.

The power of the Gospel to reach those on the outskirts of civilization is evidenced

When Lumberjacks Sang “Jesus, Lover of My Soul”

Thomas D. Whittles tells of many an interesting incident in his book, The Parish of the Pines[19]—the story of Frank Higgins, the Lumberjacks’ Sky Pilot.

One morning after breakfast the men went to the bunkhouse to wait for the word of the “push” ordering them to “the works.” While they waited a rich tenor struck up the hymn,

One by one the men joined in and the solo passed into the chorus of a hundred voices. Out through the twilight the melody rolled, waking the sleeping pines, crossing the frozen lakes. The men in the stables, harnessing their horses, heard the song and softly whistled it; the cook, busy with the pots and pans, hummed it in unison and the swearing cookee closed his profane mouth and listened in astonished silence. Over in the office where the officials slept, the song caused silent amazement, for it was unlike the morning hour when oaths and curses break the stillness.

sang the men, unconscious of aught save the song.

and it came from the hearts of those who knew the weight of lonely weeks and months. The Sky Pilot in the office turned his face to the wall and prayed while they sang this hymn which the men had sung at the service the night before.

“All out,” cried the “push.”

From the shack streamed forth the men, singing the song of comfort. Into groups they separated, each going his appointed way, but the hymn continued in all parts of the forest until the sweet melody died to tender murmurs and was lost in the distant evergreens. In all that North Star State no happier body of men went forth to toil, for with them went the spirit of song.

Here is an instance of gratitude expressively shown in the words,

“Pass It On”

Henry Burton’s famous hymn, “Pass It On,” was inspired by a story relating to the early life of the Rev. Mark Guy Pearse, noted as a preacher and a writer, and who died just a few months before Dr. Burton. The latter married a sister of Mr. Pearse. How he came to write this hymn was related in The British Weekly.

“Returning from school in Holland, Pearse once found himself on a steam packet bound from Bristol to Hayle in Cornwall, having had a hearty supper, and later finding that he had reached the limit of his finances. The steward was inclined to be severe, but on hearing the lad’s name he changed his tone. Pearse’s father had recently helped the steward’s mother in a difficulty, now the opportunity had come for the old debt to be repaid. The steward paid the supper bill with the remark, ‘Now pass this on to some one else.’”

This furnished the inspiration for the appealing lines: