  Echoes of Hebrew thought, if not Hebrew psalmody, may have made their way into the more serious pagan literature. At least in the more enlightened pagans there has ever revealed itself more or less the instinct of the human soul that “feels after” God. St. Paul in his address to the Athenians made a tactful as well as scholarly point to preface a missionary sermon when he cited a line from a poem of Aratus (B.C. 272) familiar, doubtless, to the majority of his hearers. Dr. Lyman Abbot has thus translated the passage in which the line occurs: Let us begin from God. Let every mortal raise The grateful voice to tune God's endless praise, God fills the heaven, the earth, the sea, the air; We feel His spirit moving everywhere, And we His offspring are.* He, ever good, Daily provides for man his daily food. To Him, the First, the Last, all homage yield,— Our Father wonderful, our help, our shield. * Τοῡ γὰρ καὶ γένος ἐσμέν. “RISE, CROWNED WITH LIGHT.”Alexander Pope, a Roman Catholic poet, born in London 1688, died at Twickenham 1744, was not a hymnist, but passages in his most serious and exalted flights deserve a tuneful accompaniment. His translations of Homer made him famous, but his ethical poems, especially his “Essay on Man,” are inexhaustible mines of quotation, many of the lines and couplets being common as proverbs. His “Messiah,” written about 1711, is a religious anthem in which the prophecies of Holy Writ kindle all the splendor of his verse. THE TUNE.The closing strain, indicated by the above line, has been divided into stanzas of four lines suitable to a church hymn-tune. The melody selected by the compilers of the Plymouth Hymnal, and of the Unitarian Hymn and Tune Book is “Savannah,” an American sounding name for what is really one of Pleyel's chorals. The music is worthy of Pope's triumphal song. The seas shall waste, the skies to smoke decay, Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away, But fixed His Word; His saving power remains: Thy realm shall last; thy own Messiah reigns. “OH, WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT?”This is a sombre poem, but its virile strength and its literary merit have given it currency, and * This account so nearly resembles the story of Mrs. Gates' “Your Mission,” sung to a similar audience, on a similar occasion, by the same man, that a possible confusion by the narrators of the incident has been suggested. But that Mr. Phillips sang twice before the President during the war does not appear to be contradicted. To what air he sang the above verses is uncertain. The poem has fourteen stanzas, the following being the first and two last— Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud? Like a swift-fleeting meteor, a fast-flying cloud A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, He passeth from life to rest in the grave. * * * * * * Yea, hope and despondency, pleasure and pain, Are mingled together like sunshine and rain; And the smile and the tear, the song and the dirge, Still follow each other like surge upon surge. 'Tis the wink of an eye; 'tis the draft of a breath From the blossom of health to the paleness of death, From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud, Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud? Philip Phillips was born in Jamestown, Chautauqua Co., N.Y., Aug. 11, 1834, and died in He was a pioneer gospel singer, and his tuneful journeys through America, England and Australia gave him the name of the “Singing Pilgrim,” the title of his song collection (1867). “WHEN ISRAEL OF THE LORD BELOVED.”The “Song of Rebecca the Jewess,” in “Ivanhoe,” was written by Sir Walter Scott, author of the Waverly Novels, “Marmion,” etc., born in Edinburgh, 1771, and died at Abbotsford, 1832. The lines purport to be the Hebrew hymn with which Rebecca closed her daily devotions while in prison under sentence of death. The “Hymn of Rebecca” has been set to music though never in common use as a hymn. Old “Truro”, by Dr. Charles Burney (1726–1814) is a grand Scotch psalm harmony for the words, though one of the Unitarian hymnals borrows Zeuner's sonorous choral, the “Missionary Chant.” Both sound the lyric of the Jewess in good Christian music. “WE SAT DOWN AND WEPT BY THE WATERS.”The 137th Psalm has been for centuries a favorite with poets and poetical translators, and its pathos appealed to Lord Byron when engaged in writing his Hebrew Melodies. Byron was born in London, 1788, and died at Missolonghi, Western Greece, 1824. We sat down and wept by the waters Of Babel, and thought of the day When the foe, in the hue of his slaughters, Made Salem's high places his prey, And ye, Oh her desolate daughters, Were scattered all weeping away. —Written April, 1814. It was the fashion then for musical societies to call on the popular poets for contributions, and tunes were composed for them, though these have practically passed into oblivion. Byron's ringing ballad (from II Kings 19:35)— Th' Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold, —has been so much a favorite for recitation and declamation that the loss of its tune is never thought of. Another poetic rendering of the “Captivity Psalm” is worthy of notice among the lay hymns not unworthy to supplement clerical sermons. It was written by the Hon. Joel Barlow in 1799, and published in a pioneer psalm-book at Northampton, Mass. It is neither a translation nor properly a hymn but a poem built upon the words of the Jewish lament, and really reproducing something of its plaintive beauty. Two stanzas of it are as follows: Along the banks where Babel's current flows Our captive bands in deep despondence strayed, While Zion's fall in deep remembrance rose, Her friends, her children mingled with the dead. The tuneless harps that once with joy we strung When praise employed, or mirth inspired the lay, In mournful silence on the willows hung, And growing grief prolonged the tedious day. Like Pope, this American poet loved onomatope and imitative verse, and the last line is a word-picture Joel Barlow was a versatile gentleman, serving his country and generation in almost every useful capacity, from chaplain in the continental army to foreign ambassador. He was born in Redding, Ct., 1755, and died near Cracow, Poland, Dec. 1812. “AS DOWN IN THE SUNLESS.”Thomas Moore, the poet of glees and love-madrigals, had sober thoughts in the intervals of his gaiety, and employed his genius in writing religious and even devout poems, which have been spiritually helpful in many phases of Christian experience. Among them was this and the four following hymns, with thirty-four others, each of which he carefully labelled with the name of a music composer, though the particular tune is left indefinite. “The still prayer of devotion” here answers, in rhyme and reality, the simile of the sea-flower in the unseen deep, and the mariner's compass represents the constancy of a believer. As, still to the star of its worship, though clouded, The needle points faithfully o'er the dim sea, So, dark as I roam in this wintry world shrouded, The hope of my spirit turns trembling to Thee. It is sung in Plymouth Hymnal to Barnby's “St. Botolph.” “THE TURF SHALL BE MY FRAGRANT SHRINE”Is, in part, still preserved in hymn collections, and sung to the noble tune of “Louvan,” Virgil Taylor's piece. The last stanza is especially reminiscent of the music. There's nothing bright above, below, From flowers that bloom to stars that glow; But in its light my soul can see Some feature of Thy deity. “O THOU WHO DRY'ST THE MOURNER'S TEAR”Is associated in the Baptist Praise Book with Woodbury's “Siloam.” “THE BIRD LET LOOSE IN EASTERN SKIES”Has been sung in Mason's “Coventry,” and the Plymouth Hymnal assigns it to “Spohr”—a namesake tune of Louis Spohr, while the Unitarian Hymn and Tune Book unites to it a beautiful triple-time melody from Mozart, and bearing his name. “THOU ART, O GOD, THE LIFE AND LIGHT.”This is the best of the Irish poet's sacred songs—always excepting, “Come, Ye Disconsolate.” It is said to have been originally set to a secular melody composed by the wife of Hon. Richard Brinsley Thou art, O God, the life and light Of all this wondrous world we see; Its glow by day, its smile by night Are but reflections caught from Thee. Where'er we turn Thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are Thine. * * * * * * When night with wings of starry gloom O'ershadows all the earth, and skies Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume Is sparkling with unnumbered eyes, That sacred gloom, those fires divine, So grand, so countless, Lord, are Thine. When youthful spring around us breathes, Thy Spirit warms her fragrant sigh, And every flower the summer wreathes Is born beneath that kindling eye. Where'er we turn Thy glories shine, And all things fair and bright are Thine. “MOURNFULLY, TENDERLY, BEAR ON THE DEAD.”A tender funeral ballad by Henry S. Washburn, composed in 1846 and entitled “The Burial of Mrs. Judson.” It is rare now in sheet-music form but the American Vocalist, to be found in the stores Its occasion was the death at sea, off St. Helena, of the Baptist missionary, Mrs. Sarah Hall Boardman Judson, and the solemn committal of her remains to the dust on that historic island, Sept. 1, 1845. She was on her way to America from Burmah at the time of her death, and the ship proceeded on its homeward voyage immediately after her burial. The touching circumstances of the gifted lady's death, and the strange romance of her entombment where Napoleon's grave was made twenty-four years before, inspired Mr. Washburn, who was a prominent layman of the Baptist denomination, and interested in all its ecclesiastical and missionary activities, and he wrote this poetic memorial of the event: Mournfully, tenderly, bear on the dead; Where the warrior has lain, let the Christian be laid. No place more befitting, O rock of the sea; Never such treasure was hidden in thee. Mournfully, tenderly, solemn and slow; Tears are bedewing the path as ye go; Kindred and strangers are mourners today; Gently, so gently, O bear her away. Mournfully, tenderly, gaze on that brow; Beautiful is it in quietude now. One look, and then settle the loved to her rest The ocean beneath her, the turf on her breast. Mrs. Sarah Judson was the second wife of the Rev. Adoniram Judson, D.D., the celebrated pioneer The Hon. Henry S. Washburn was born in Providence, R.I., 1813, and educated at Brown University. During most of his long life he resided in Massachusetts, and occupied there many positions of honor and trust, serving in the State Legislature both as Representative and Senator. He was the author of many poems and lyrics of high merit, some of which—notably “The Vacant Chair”—became popular in sheet-music and in books of religious and educational use. He died in 1903. THE TUNE.“The Burial of Mrs. Judson” became favorite parlor music when Lyman Heath composed the melody for it—of the same name. Its notes and movement were evidently inspired by the poem, for it reproduces the feeling of every line. The threnody was widely known and sung in the middle years of the last century, by people, too, who had scarcely heard of Mrs. Judson, and received in the music and words their first hint of her history. The poem prompted the tune, but the tune was the garland of the poem. Lyman Heath of Bow, N.H., was born there Aug. 24, 1804. He studied music, and became a vocalist and vocal composer. Died July 30, 1870. “TELL ME NOT IN MOURNFUL NUMBERS.”Longfellow's “Psalm of Life” was written when he was a young man, and for some years it carried the title he gave it, “What the Young Man's Heart Said to the Psalmist”—a caption altogether too long to bear currency. The history of the beloved poet who wrote this optimistic ballad of hope and courage is too well known to need recounting here. He was born in Portland, Me., in 1807, graduated at Bowdoin College, and was for more than forty years professor of Belles Lettres in Harvard University. Died in Cambridge, March 4, 1882. Of his longer poems the most read and admired are his beautiful romance of “Evangeline,” and his epic of “Hiawatha,” but it is hardly too much to say that for the last sixty years, his “Psalm of Life” has been the common property of all American, if not English school-children, and a part of their education. When he was in London, Queen Victoria sent for him to come and see her at the palace. He went, and just as he was seating himself in the waiting coach after the interview, a man in working clothes appeared, hat in hand, at the coach window. “Please sir, yer honor,” said he, “an' are you Mr. Longfellow?” “I am Mr. Longfellow,” said the poet. “An' did you write the Psalm of Life?” he asked. “I wrote the Psalm of Life,” replied the poet. “An', yer honor, would you be willing to take a workingman by the hand?” Mr. Longfellow gave the honest Englishman a hearty handshake, “And” (said he in telling the story) “I never in my life received a compliment that gave me more satisfaction.” The incident has a delightful democratic flavor—and it is perfectly characteristic of the amiable author of the most popular poem in the English language. The “Psalm of Life” is a wonderful example of the power of commonplaces put into tuneful and elegant verse. The thought of setting the poem to music came to the compiler of one of the Unitarian church singing books. Some will question, however, whether the selection was the happiest that could have been made. The tune is “Rathbun,” Ithamar Conkey's melody that always recalls Sir John Bowring's great hymn of praise. “BUILD THEE MORE NOBLE MANSIONS.”This poem by Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, known among his works as “The Chambered Nautilus,” was considered by himself as his worthiest achievement in verse, and his wish that it might live is likely to be fulfilled. It is stately, and in character and effect a rhythmic sermon from a text in “natural theology.” The biography of one of the little molluscan sea-navigators that continually enlarges its shell to adapt it to its Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread the lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the last year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step the shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more. Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wand'ring sea, Cast from her lap forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathÉd horn! While on my ear it rings Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings, “Build thee more noble mansions, O my soul. As the swift seasons roll: Leave thy low-vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free, Leaving thy outgrown shell by life's unresting sea.” Dr. Frederic Hedge included the poem in his hymn-book but without any singing-supplement to the words. WHITTIER'S SERVICE SONG.It may not be our lot to wield If this stanza and the four following do not reveal all the strength of John G. Whittier's spirit, The second stanza is the one most generally recognized and oftenest quoted: Yet where our duty's task is wrought In unison with God's great thought, The near and future blend in one, And whatsoe'er is willed, is done. John Greenleaf Whittier, the poet of the oppressed, was born in Haverhill, Mass., 1807, worked on a farm and on a shoe-bench, and studied at the local academy, until, becoming of age, he went to Hartford, Conn., and began a brief experience in editorial life. Soon after his return to Massachusetts he was elected to the Legislature, and after his duties ended there he left the state for Philadelphia to edit the Pennsylvania Freeman. A few years later he returned again, and established his home in Amesbury, the town with which his life and works are always associated. He died in 1892 at Hampton Falls, N.H., where he had gone for his health. THE TUNE.“Abends,” the smooth triple-time choral joined to Whittier's poem by the music editor of the new Methodist Hymnal, speaks its meaning so well that it is scarcely worth while to look for another. Sir Herbert Stanley Oakeley, the composer, was born at Ealing, Eng., July 22, 1830, and educated at Rugby and Oxford. He studied music in Germany, and became a superior organist, winning great applause by his recitals at Edinburgh University, where he was elected Musical Professor. Archbishop Tait gave him the doctorate of music at Canterbury in 1871, and he was knighted by Queen Victoria in 1876. Besides vocal duets, Scotch melodies and student songs, he composed many anthems and tunes for the church—notably “Edina” (“Saviour, blessed Saviour”) and “Abends,” originally written to Keble's “Sun of my Soul.” “THE BIRD WITH THE BROKEN PINION.”This lay of a lost gift, with its striking lesson, might have been copied from the wounded bird's own song, it is so natural and so clear-toned. The opportune thought and pen of Mr. Hezekiah Butterworth gave being to the little ballad the day he heard the late Dr. George Lorimer preach from a text in the story of Samson's fall (Judges 16:21) “The Philistines took him, and put out his eyes, and brought him down to Gaza ... I walked through the woodland meadows Where sweet the thrushes sing, And found on a bed of mosses A bird with a broken wing. I healed its wound, and each morning It sang its old sweet strain, But the bird with a broken pinion Never soared as high again. I found a young life broken By sin's seductive art; And, touched with a Christ-like pity, I took him to my heart. He lived—with a noble purpose, And struggled not in vain; But the life that sin had stricken Never soared as high again. But the bird with a broken pinion Kept another from the snare, And the life that sin had stricken Saved another from despair. Each loss has its compensation, There is healing for every pain But the bird with a broken pinion Never soars as high again. In the tune an extra stanza is added—as if something conventional were needed to make the poem a hymn. But the professional tone of the appended stanza, virtually all in its two lines— Then come to the dear Redeemer, He will cleanse you from every stain, —is forced into its connection. The poem told the truth, and stopped there; and should be left to fasten its own impression. There never was a more solemn warning uttered than in this little apologue. It promises “compensation” and “healing,” but not perfect rehabilitation. Sin will leave its scars. Even He who “became sin for us” bore them in His resurrection body. Rev. Frank M. Lamb, composer and singer of the hymn-tune, was born in Poland, Me., 1860, and educated in the schools of Poland and Auburn. He was licensed to preach in 1888, and ordained the same year, and has since held pastorates in Maine, New York, and Massachusetts. Besides his tune, very pleasing and appropriate music has been written to the little ballad of the broken wing by Geo. C. Stebbins. UNDER THE PALMS.In the cantata, “Under the Palms” (“Captive Judah in Babylon”)—the joint production of George F. Root* and Hezekiah Butterworth, several By the dark Euphrates' stream, By the Tigris, sad and lone I wandered, a captive maid; And the cruel Assyrian said, “Awake your harp's sweet tone!” I had heard of my fathers' glory from the lips of holy men, And I thought of the land of my fathers; I thought of my fathers' land then. Another is— O church of Christ! our blest abode, Celestial grace is thine. Thou art the dwelling-place of God, The gate of joy divine. Whene'er I come to thee in joy, Whene'er I come in tears, Still at the Gate called Beautiful My risen Lord appears. —with the chorus— Where'er for me the sun may set, Wherever I may dwell, My heart shall nevermore forget Thy courts, Immanuel! * See page 316.
“IF YOU CANNOT ON THE OCEAN.”This popular Christian ballad, entitled “Your Mission,” was written one stormy day in the winter of 1861–2 by Miss Ellen M. Huntington (Mrs. Isaac Gates), and made her reputation as one of the few didactic poets whose exquisite art wins a hearing for them everywhere. In a moment of revery, while looking through the window at the falling snow, the words came to her: If you cannot on the ocean Sail among the swiftest fleet. She turned away and wrote the lines on her slate, following with verse after verse till she finished the whole poem. “It wrote itself,” she says in her own account of it. Reading afterwards what she had written, she was surprised at her work. The poem had a meaning and a “mission.” So strong was the impression that the devout girl fell on her knees and consecrated it to a divine purpose. Free copies of it went to the Cooperstown, N.Y., local paper, and to the New York Examiner, and appeared in both. From that time the history and career of “Your Mission” presents a marked illustration of “catenal influence,” or transmitted suggestion. In the later days of the Civil War Philip Phillips, who had a wonderfully sweet tenor voice, was invited to sing at a great meeting of the United States Christian Commission in the Senate Chamber at Washington, February, 1865, President Lincoln and If you cannot on the ocean Sail among the swiftest fleet, Rocking on the highest billows, Laughing at the storms you meet, You can stand among the sailors Anchored yet within the bay; You can lend a hand to help them As they launch their boats away. The hushed audience listened spell-bound as the sweet singer went on, their interest growing to feverish eagerness until the climax was reached in the fifth stanza: If you cannot in the conflict Prove yourself a soldier true, If where fire and smoke are thickest There's no work for you to do, When the battlefield is silent You can go with careful tread; You can bear away the wounded, You can cover up the dead. In the storm of enthusiasm that followed, President Lincoln handed a hastily scribbled line on a bit of paper to Chairman Seward, “Near the close let us have ‘Your Mission’ repeated.” Mr. Phillips' great success on this occasion brought him so many calls for his services that he Though they may forget the singer They will not forget the song. Mrs. Ellen M.H. Gates, whose reputation as an author was made by this beautiful and always timely poem, was born in Torrington, Ct., and is the youngest sister of the late Collis P. Huntington. Her hymns—included in this volume and in other publications—are much admired and loved, both for their sweetness and elevated religious feeling, and for their poetic quality. Among her published books of verse are “Night,” “At Noontide,” and “Treasures of Kurium.” Her address is New York City. THE TUNE.Sidney Martin Grannis, author of the tune, was born Sept. 23, 1827, in Geneseo, Livingston county, N.Y. Lived in Leroy, of the same state, from 1831 to 1884, when he removed to Los Angeles, Cal., where several of his admirers presented him a cottage and grounds, which at last accounts he still occupies. Mr. Grannis won his first reputation as a popular musician by his song “Do They Miss Me at Home,” and his “Only Waiting,” “Cling to the Union,” and “People Will Talk You Know,” had an equally wide currency. As a solo singer his voice was remarkable, covering a range of two octaves, and while travelling with members of the “Amphion Troupe,” to which he belonged, he sang at more than five thousand concerts. His tune to “Your Mission” was composed in New Haven, Ct., in 1864. “TOO LATE! TOO LATE! YE CANNOT ENTER NOW.”“Too Late” is a thrilling fragment or side-song of Alfred Tennyson's, representing the vain plea of the five Foolish Virgins. Its tune bears the name of a London lady, “Miss Lindsay” (afterwards Mrs. J. Worthington Bliss). The arrangement of air, duo and quartet is very impressive*. * Methodist Hymnal, No. 743. “Late, late, so late! and dark the night and chill: Late, late, so late! but we can enter still." “Too late! too late! ye cannot enter now!” “No light! so late! and dark and chill the night— O let us in that we may find the light!" “Too late! too late! ye cannot enter now!” * * * * * * “Have we not heard the Bridegroom is so sweet? O let us in that we may kiss his feet!" “No, No—! too late! ye cannot enter now!” The words are found in “Queen Guinevere,” a canto of the “Idyls of the King.” “OH, GALILEE, SWEET GALILEE.”This is the chorus of a charming poem of three stanzas that shaped itself in the mind of Mr. Robert Morris while sitting over the ruins on the traditional site of Capernaum by the Lake of Genneseret. Each cooing dove, each sighing bough, That makes the eve so blest to me, Has something far diviner now, It bears me back to Galilee. Chorus Oh, Galilee, sweet Galilee, Where Jesus loved so much to be; Oh, Galilee, blue Galilee, Come sing thy song again to me. Robert Morris, LL.D., born Aug. 31, 1818, was a scholar, and an expert in certain scientific subjects, and wrote works on numismatics and the “Poetry of Free Masonry.” Commissioned to Palestine in 1868 on historic and archaeological service for the United Order, he explored the THE TUNE.The author wrote out his hymn in 1874 and sent it to his friend, the musician, Mr. Horatio R. Palmer,* and the latter learned it by heart, and carried it with him in his musings “till it floated out in the melody you know,” (to use his own words.) * See page 311. |
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