Part 15

In the year (1827) of the publication of Heber’s _Hymns, written and adapted to the Weekly Church Services of the Year_, Keble issued anonymously the most influential devotional work of the nineteenth century, _The Christian Year: Thoughts in Verse for the Sundays and Holy Days throughout the Year_. Like Ken’s festival hymns, it was not a hymn-book, and was not meant for use in Church services, though from a few of the poems verses may be taken which make hymns of the very best type. Pusey regarded it as ‘the real source of the Oxford Movement,’ of which Newman also thought Keble ‘the true and primary author,’ though he ‘ever considered and kept’ July 14, 1832, the day when Keble preached his sermon on ‘National Apostasy,’ ‘as the start of the religious movement.’ Of the _Christian Year_ Newman says, ‘Keble struck an original note, and woke up in the hearts of thousands a new music, the music of a school long unknown in England.’ But the teaching of the Oxford Movement was rather latent than patent in the _Christian Year_, and it would be a great mistake to regard it as influencing that religious revival or even the English Church alone. On the other hand, Hurrell Froude feared that the authorship of the _Christian Year_ would be attributed to a Methodist.[172] It was as important an element in the Movement as Charles Wesley’s hymns were in the Evangelical Revival. In each case the influence extended far beyond those who claim the poems as their special heritage.

Keble regarded the Church as in a state of desolation, decay, and apostasy. He knew nothing of the glorious optimism of the Wesleys, who saw everywhere signs of the speedy triumph of the gospel and the coming of Christ’s kingdom. They sang

Plague, earthquake, and famine, and tumult and war, The wonderful coming of Jesus declare.

Keble’s vision was

So Famine waits, and War with greedy eyes, Till some repenting heart be ready for the skies.

They saw in the ingatherings to their scattered Societies the assurance of abounding blessing

Lo, the promise of a shower Drops already from above; But the Lord will shortly pour All the spirit of His love.

Keble saw no such visions, dreamed no such dreams. All he dares to ask is

Lord, ere our trembling lamps sink down and die, Touch us with chastening hand, and make us feel Thee nigh.[173]

Yet, when he forgets the depression of the time, and turns to the consolations of eternity, he shows how firmly he believed his own motto, ‘In quietness and in confidence shall be your strength.’ He has the sure trust and confidence of all God’s chosen, and at times kindles into holy rapture. The prevailing tone, however, is of sadness—the depression of the saint, not the perplexity of the doubter.

In 1839 Keble published, also anonymously, his metrical version of the Psalms. He had intended it to be a substitute for Tate and Brady, and had hoped to secure episcopal sanction for its use in the dioceses of Oxford and Winchester. It is, however, more interesting from the standpoint of the expositor than the hymnologist, very few of its versions being adapted to congregational use. The _Lyra Innocentium_, published anonymously in 1846, is vastly inferior to his great work, and has little to recommend it to those who are not in sympathy with the High Church Movement.

After Heber and Keble all that there was of justice in Montgomery’s sarcastic complaint, that hymns had been written by ‘all sorts of persons except poets’[174] is gone. They were poets first, hymn-writers afterwards. Keble’s greatest hymn is taken from his ‘Verses for Evening,’ which begins as a poem, and rises from meditation to praise and prayer. The earlier verses are not suitable for a hymn-book, but the beauty of the later lines is only fully realized when they are remembered.

’Tis gone, that bright and orbèd blaze, Fast fading from our wistful gaze; Yon mantling cloud has hid from sight The last faint pulse of quivering light.

In darkness and in weariness The traveller on his way must press, No gleam to watch on tree or tower, Whiling away the lonesome hour.

Sun of my soul, Thou Saviour dear, It is not night if Thou be near: O may no earth-born cloud arise To hide Thee from Thy servant’s eyes.

There is surely no more beautiful illustration of the way in which the Christian rises from Nature up to Nature’s God.

As in the case of so many hymns, the part is greater than the whole. The six verses universally selected are not improved by the addition of others—though they have much to commend them.

John Henry Newman (1801-90) belongs to Anglican hymn-writers in virtue of his ‘Lead, kindly Light,’ though it may almost be described as his farewell to the Church of England. It marks at least the beginning of his long-drawn-out parting from the Establishment. Few hymns have won a wider popularity, and no doubt it has done much to accustom Nonconformist Churches to sympathize with the poetic and emotional side of the Oxford Movement. This hymn and the _Christian Year_ made absolute want of sympathy with the new devotion impossible. Moreover, the tone of perplexity, the confession of bewilderment, the sense of ‘encircling gloom,’ fell in with the prevailing spirit of religious emotion. To many men of his own school the hymn meant something very different from what it means to the average worshipper, who finds in it a comfortable sedative for vague religious depression. I confess that personally the hymn does not seem to me as great as its reputation, but it has brought help and comfort to myriads. Dr. Wm. Barry says—

This most tender of pilgrim songs may be termed the March of the Tractarian Movement. It is pure melody, austere yet hopeful, strangely not unlike the stanzas which Carlyle has made familiar to the whole English race, the Mason-Song of Goethe, in its sublime sadness and invincible trust. Both are psalms of life, Hebrew or Northern, chanted in a clear-obscure where faith moves onward heroically to the day beyond.[175]

Newman’s other great hymn, ‘Praise to the Holiest in the height,’ which owes its popularity largely to Mr. Gladstone’s affection for it—though it is in itself a fine hymn—belongs to his Romanist days.

There was room for the new teaching. Perhaps Methodism was a little too buoyant, Evangelicalism too contented, and the Church was ready for a fresh upheaval.

Coincidently with the rise of the Oxford Movement came, as we have seen, the rolling away of the reproach of hymn-singing. Even the strongholds of the Establishment capitulated, and hymns formed an important part in the new propaganda. Stanch Churchmen had disliked hymn-singing. To quote Canon Ellerton—

It came to us from an unwelcome source—from the Dissenters, eminently from the Methodists. It was first adopted by those of the clergy who sympathized most with them; for many long years it was that dreaded thing, a party badge.[176]

The Evangelicals adopted the custom easily, and with delight. Cowper, Newton, Toplady, Hervey, Watts, Doddridge, and even Wesley, were no strangers to them. But for the Calvinistic trouble, they all minded the same things. They had no difficulty in regard to fellowship with Nonconformists in worship or in work. It has been the fashion to disparage the Evangelicals, and to regard the ‘Clapham Sect’ as a coterie of ill-informed, self-satisfied Pharisees; but for solid, practical Christianity it would be difficult to find any ‘school’ that outrivals them. The ‘Clapham Sect’ knew little and cared less for priestly rights or the niceties of ritual. They may have been slack in the observance of fast and vigil, but they kept the fast of God, breaking the bonds of wickedness and letting the oppressed go free. The men who were the backbone of the anti-slavery movement, who were nursing fathers to the Bible Society, and established the Church Missionary Society, were not narrow-minded bigots, but held the true Catholic Faith concerning the kingdom of God.

Henry Francis Lyte (1793-1847), whose highest preferment was the Perpetual Curacy of Lower Brixham, ranks, as a hymn-writer, with Ken and Keble. While ministering to his ‘dear fishermen,’ he wrote many a lovely hymn, and one of unsurpassed beauty. ‘Abide with me’ was his swan-song. He died, like Toplady, of consumption, and felt the pain and pathos of death in the prime of life. In a most tender poem he has recorded that common but infinitely pathetic grief. It is interesting to contrast the subdued sadness, the patient submission of Lyte with the triumphant ecstasy of Toplady’s ‘Deathless principle, arise.’

Shudder not to pass the stream, Venture all thy care on Him. Not one object of His care Ever suffered shipwreck there.

Saints in glory perfect made Wait thy passage through the shade; Ardent for thy coming o’er, See they throng the blissful shore.

Such the prospects that arise To the dying Christian’s eyes. Such the glorious vista, Faith Opens through the shades of death.[177]

This was the view of death taken by the Evangelicals in the eighteenth century. The gospel of the great Revival brought life and immortality to light, robbed death of all its terrors, and made heaven seem, even to young men, far better than earth. The nineteenth century had not the glowing rapture of the earlier time. Moreover, its interest in works of Christian philanthropy, its awakening to the great missionary call, made the life and work of the day infinitely important and interesting. Christian men began to realize that heaven lay beyond the golden glory of the sunset sky, and felt, with those of the older dispensation, that it was a calamity for the sun to go down while it was yet day. Lyte felt with Anne Brontë—

I hoped that with the brave and strong My portioned task might lie.

Lyte’s sorrow was not that he feared to change the earthly for the heavenly, but that he longed to have done enduring work e’er the night fell.

Why do I sigh to find Life’s evening shadows gathering round my way, The keen eye dimming, and the buoyant mind Unhinging day by day?

Is it the natural dread Of that stern lot, which all who live must see? The worm, the clay, the dark and narrow bed,— Have these such awe for me?

Can I not summon pride To fold my decent mantle round my breast, And lay me down at Nature’s Eventide, Calm to my dreamless rest?

As nears my soul the verge Of this dim continent of woe and crime, Shrinks she to hear Eternity’s long surge Break on the shores of Time?

I want not vulgar fame— I seek not to survive in brass or stone; Hearts may not kindle when they hear my name, Nor tears my value own;

But might I leave behind Some blessing for my fellows, some fair trust To guide, to cheer, to elevate my kind, When I was in the dust;

Within my narrow bed Might I not wholly mute or useless be; But hope that they, who trampled o’er my head, Drew still some good from me;

Might verse of mine inspire One virtuous aim, one high resolve impart; Light in one drooping soul a hallowed fire, Or bind one broken heart;—

Death would be sweeter then, More calm my slumber ’neath the silent sod,— Might I thus live to bless my fellow-men, Or glorify my God!

O Thou! whose touch can lend Life to the dead, Thy quickening grace supply, And grant me, swanlike, my last breath to spend In song that may not die!

Was ever faithful prayer more abundantly answered? ‘He asked life of Thee, and Thou gavest it, even length of days for ever and ever.’

Christopher Wordsworth (1807-85), Bishop of Lincoln, nephew of the poet, was of set purpose a writer of hymns for congregational use. He taught that hymns should express the feeling of the Church, and not of the individual worshipper. He thought it ‘inexpressibly shocking’ that ‘Jesu, Lover of my soul’ should be sung in Westminster Abbey, at least, so I understand his reference to ‘a large, mixed congregation in a dissolute part of a populous and irreligious city.’[178] His hymns are objective, and the best—e.g. ‘O day of rest and gladness,’ ‘See the Conqueror mounts in triumph’—are very fine. Bishop Wordsworth did not ‘translate any ancient hymns, but attempted to infuse something of their spirit into’ his own.

The _Holy Year_ was a distinct contribution to the literature of the Anglican Revival. Very inferior in strength and beauty to the _Christian Year_, it was more useful to editors of hymn-books, and it helped to concentrate interest upon the selection of hymns suited to the Church year. Bishop Wordsworth kept closely to the Prayer-book ideal of devotion, and some of his less-known poems are illustrative of its special teaching. A good example is the hymn for the Second Sunday in Advent, which he inscribed, ‘Christ ever coming in Holy Scripture.’

Lord, who didst the Prophets teach To prepare Thy way of old; And by Thine Apostles preach Truths of wisdom manifold;

Teach us to behold Thee, Lord, Present in the sacred page, Living Word in written word Coming thus to every age.

Coming in King David’s Psalms, In Isaiah’s trumpet-call, Coming in St. John’s deep calms, Coming in the fires of Paul.

Coming brightly from afar To the lands with darkness dim, On the Evangelic car Of Thy fourfold cherubim.

Thus, O blessèd Lord, when we On Thy Holy Scriptures look, May we ever worship Thee, Coming in Thy sacred Book.

So, when as a scroll is past Heaven, and earth with all its strife, We may see our names at last Written in the Book of Life.

But the Anglican hymn-writers of the nineteenth century are too many for detailed comment in my fast-failing space. It is a glorious choir, including Joseph Anstice, who had so powerful an influence over Mr. Gladstone in his Oxford days;[179] Dean Alford, Dr. Monsell, Sir H. W. Baker, Dean Stanley, Bishops Mant, How, and Bickersteth, Canon Bright, Godfrey Thring, Canon Ellerton, S. J. Stone, Canon Twells, Laurence Tuttiett, S. Baring-Gould, among the clergy; Mrs. Alexander, Charlotte Elliott, Frances Ridley Havergal, Sir R. Grant, W. Chatterton Dix, among the laity.

Sir Henry Williams Baker (1821-77) wrote the lovely sacramental version of Ps. xxiii.: ‘The King of love my Shepherd is.’ One verse he repeated with his dying breath—

Perverse and foolish oft I strayed, But yet in love He sought me, And on His shoulder gently laid, And home, rejoicing, brought me.

He is one of the simplest and most attractive of hymn-writers, and the inclusion of his hymns in Nonconformist hymnals is a great gain. His greatest service to Anglican hymnody was the editing of _Hymns Ancient and Modern_—a truly epoch-making (or perhaps epoch-marking) book.

While Baker was at work in his Herefordshire vicarage, John Ellerton (1826-93) was writing hymns and essays on hymns in his rural or semi-rural parsonages. Ellerton had a rare gift in writing for special occasions. His great funeral hymn, ‘Now the labourer’s task is o’er,’ has a sombre strength which is full of comfort and trust. ‘Behold us, Lord, a little space’ is an ideal hymn for a week-day service, and ‘In the Name which earth and heaven’ is the grandest of all hymns for the laying of the foundation-stone of a church.[180] Without being a High-Churchman, Ellerton was a thorough-going Anglican, and his poetry has the restraint, the good taste, and the dignity which beseem a great Church.

S. J. Stone (1839-1900), unlike most clerical hymn-writers, was not a country parson, though his best hymns were written before he began his work in East London. But even in its dreary wastes he found the true poetry of life, and some of his obscure parishioners at Haggerston are richly shrined in his memorial verses. I feel all the more moved by the triumphant tones of ‘The Church’s one foundation,’ all the more tenderly impressed by ‘Weary of earth, and laden with my sin,’ when I remember how dear to his heart were the struggling, toiling masses of his dull East London parish. His best hymns are well known, so I quote a sonnet which expresses his love for those who live in the crowded city.

_From Windermere, To the Congregation and Children of St. Paul’s, Haggerston._

Moored by a green isle of Winandermere— Listening the gentlest lapping of the wave On the rock margin, and the blackbirds’ brave Soldierly antiphons, afar and near, And the wind’s whispered evensong—I hear A sound beyond, and sweeter as more grave Than ever paradise of nature gave, Dear to my heart of old, and now more dear: _The roar of London_—the deep undersong, The myriad music of immortal souls High-couraged, much-enduring, midst the long Drear toil and gloom and weariness. It rolls Over me with all power, for in its tone The hearts I love in Christ beat with my own.

Bishop Bickersteth demands mention, not only for his own beautiful hymns, but for his successful editing of the _Hymnal Companion to the Book of Common Prayer_. Edward Bickersteth’s _Christian Psalmody_ was, in its day, one of the best and most catholic hymnals. In the _Hymnal Companion_, his son provided for a later generation the more complete and worthy hymn-book which the growth of hymnody made possible. Of Bishop Bickersteth’s own hymns, a few are amongst those universally accepted. His Communion Hymn, to the regret of many, is absent from the _Methodist Hymn-book_.

’Till He come!’ O let the words Linger on the trembling chords; Let the ‘little while’ between In their golden light be seen; Let us think how heaven and home Lie beyond that ’Till He come.’

When the weary ones we love Enter on their rest above, Seems the earth so poor and vast, All our life joy overcast? Hush, be every murmur dumb; It is only till He come.

Clouds and conflicts round us press; Would we have one sorrow less? All the sharpness of the cross, All that tells the world is loss, Death, and darkness, and the tomb Only whisper, ’Till He come.’

See! the feast of love is spread; Drink the wine, and break the bread: Sweet memorials, till the Lord Call us round His heavenly board, Some from earth, from glory some, Severed only till He come.[181]

This aspect of the Lord’s Supper, the proclamation of the Lord’s death ’till He come,’ must ever be present to the mind of the devout communicant. The hymn—especially in its last verse—is full of the gracious, subdued trustfulness which befits the Christian as he commemorates the Atoning Sacrifice and looks forward to glad, eternal communion with those who have gone before, when once again our Lord Himself shall break the bread and drink the wine with His disciples in the Father’s kingdom.

Dean Stanley (1815-81) was not a poet, though he wrote the best English hymn on the Transfiguration. I mention him here, however, to quote some verses of his stirring national hymn, worthy of a Dean of Westminster. It is of a type that, I think, ought to be represented in our hymnals, and especially those intended for school use. Why should not such hymns as this and Mr. Gill’s ‘Lift thy song among the nations’ stir and consecrate the patriotism of our up-growing girls and boys? Dean Stanley’s hymn is very long. I quote less than half. In the _Westminster Abbey Hymn-book_ it is assigned to the Accession.

Let us with a gladsome mind Praise the Lord, for He is kind! Long our island throne has stood, Planted on the ocean flood; Crowned with rock, and girt with sea, Home and refuge of the free: For His mercies aye endure, Ever faithful, ever sure.

On that island throne have sate Alfred’s goodness, Edward’s state; Princely strength and queenly grace, Lengthened line of royal race: Round that throne have stood of old Seers and statesmen, firm and bold; Burleigh’s wisdom, Hampden’s fire, Chatham’s force in son and sire.

Let us with a gladsome mind Praise the Lord, for He is kind: Him, in homely English tongue, Epic lay and lyric song, Shakespeare’s myriad-minded verse, Milton’s heavenward strains, rehearse: For His mercies aye endure, Ever faithful, ever sure.

Hither in our heathen night Came of yore the gospel light; By the Saviour’s sacred story, ‘Angles’ turned to angels’ glory. Breaking with a gracious hand Ancient error’s subtle band; Opening wide the sacred page, Kindling hope in saint and sage.

Give us homes serene and pure, Settled freedom, laws secure; Truthful lips and minds sincere; Faith and love that cast out fear. Grant that light and life divine Long on England’s shores may shine; Grant that people, Church, and throne May in all good deeds be one.[182]

Of the eighteenth century, Miss Steele and Mrs. Barbauld are almost the only women whose hymns survive to-day. In the nineteenth century, however, there are not a few women whose songs are likely to endure. Charlotte Elliott, Cecil Frances Alexander, Anna Lætitia Waring, have written immortal hymns, and it will be long ere Frances Ridley Havergal is absent from the songs of the Church. It is safe to prophesy that ‘Just as I am,’ ‘There is a green hill far away,’ and ‘Father, I know that all my life,’ will be sung through many generations—as long, indeed, as English Christianity endures.

Charlotte Elliott (1791-1871), who belonged to a famous evangelical Church family, is one of many who learnt in suffering what she taught in song. Her greatest hymn, ‘Just as I am,’ was first published in the _Invalid’s Hymn-book_ (1836), and, without her knowledge, was reprinted and widely circulated. In no other hymn has the sinner’s way to the Saviour been made more plain. Through the penitential self-despair of its earlier verses countless numbers of the weary and heavy-laden have found rest unto their souls, and entered into the joyous confidence of its closing lines. Wordsworth’s daughter, Dora, received the hymn in her last illness, and her husband wrote to the authoress, ‘At least ten times that day she asked me to repeat it to her,’ and every morning she asked for it again till the end came. After her death it formed part of her mother’s ‘daily solitary prayer.’

Miss Elliott is the truest and the best representative of the early evangelical Church hymn-writers. Many of her little-known hymns are very beautiful. I quote two pieces, notwithstanding a breath of Calvinism in them both, for it is a Calvinism that has good Scripture warrant.

‘My soul followeth hard after Thee’ (Ps. lxiii. 8).

I look to Thee, I hope in Thee, I glory in Thy name! I make Thy righteousness my plea, Thou all-atoning Lamb! Methinks even death will welcome be, That I, through death, may pass to Thee.

Thou art my portion, saith my soul, My all in earth or heaven; None but Thyself can make me whole, No name but Thine is given At which the gates of pearl fly wide— The passport of the justified.

I know Thy voice—I strive to keep Thy word within my heart; Though the most worthless of Thy sheep, Still Thou my Shepherd art; Firm as a rock that word shall stand, None, none shall pluck me from Thy hand.

Without repentance are Thy gifts; This thought my hope sustains, In deep distress my soul uplifts, When sin the victory gains; My faith, though weak, shall never fail, Thy prayer shall even for me prevail.

When I Thy glory shall behold, And see Thee face to face, Sheltered in Thy celestial fold, A sinner saved by grace. What will it be Thy love to adore, Assured I shall go out no more?