Part 17

George Rawson (1807-89) has won a wider recognition than any other English Nonconformist hymn-writer of the century, except Montgomery. He was a solicitor in Leeds, and took part in the preparation of the _Leeds Hymn-book_. His Communion hymn, ‘By Christ redeemed, in Christ restored,’ his Evening hymn, ‘God the Father, be Thou near,’ and his Litany of the Holy Spirit, ‘Come to our poor nature’s night,’ are his most beautiful contributions to our hymnals, but several of his less-known poems are bright, simple, and melodious. His version of Ps. lxxxiv. would have been better known if Lyte’s had not been written.

Thomas Hornblower Gill’s (b. 1819) is a very distinct voice in the choir. He will, I fear, have but a small place in the hymn-books of the future, though there is an individuality and force in many of his hymns which make them singularly attractive. Unfortunately, he often uses an unusual word or phrase which diverts the worshipper’s mind from what is said to the form in which it is expressed. Again, he is too fond of the epithets ‘dear’ and ‘sweet,’ which is the more to be regretted, as his hymns are never what Wesley called ‘namby-pambycal,’ but have a fine, robust tone, and often a stirring rhythm. He has much of the Puritan spirit. One of his best hymns, ‘Lord, in the fulness of my might,’[196] has for its text Cromwell’s saying, ‘How good it is to close with Christ betimes.’ In the Congregational and Baptist books Mr. Gill is largely represented. I hope the inclusion of a few of his hymns in the _Methodist Hymn-book_ will make him known to a still wider circle. I have marked many of his hymns for quotation, for they have been dear to me from my boyhood, when I made acquaintance with them through George Dawson’s hymn-book. Those I quote are chosen, not because they are specially suitable for use in public worship, but because there is so much of force and freshness in both thought and expression. The hymn on ‘Free Grace’ has also a motto from Cromwell—‘I have had plentiful wages beforehand, and I am sure I shall never earn the least mite.’

Lord! dost Thou ne’er Thy servants bless Until their work is done? Dost Thou withhold Thy tenderness Till they the meed have won?

Lord! dost Thou reckon with Thine own Like taskmasters below? First must the handiwork be shown? Wilt Thou the wages owe?

Nay, Lord! to Thy dear servants fall The wages long before; The Taskmaster Celestial Hath paid them o’er and o’er.

How can they reckon up the grace Each hour, each minute brings? How store Thy gifts? how find a place For all their precious things?

Hath not the Son their ransom paid, And brought them near to God? Yes! hath not the sweet Spirit made Their souls His dear abode?

O boundless treasure all unearned! O wages given for nought! Bestowed ere once their hearts have yearned, Ere once their hands have wrought.

With eager love these souls may burn, These hands their utmost strain; Still, Lord, one mite they cannot earn; Thy love doth grace remain.

O! mourn Thy servants that there fall No earnings to their lot? Because Thy grace hath given them all, Lord, can they give Thee nought?

Thine own no heavenly burden spare! Withhold no task divine, And let our eager love declare The unbought grace of Thine.

My last quotation is made for the sake of its quaint, sturdy, half-humorous Independency. The text is, ‘Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s.’

Lord! Thy gracious voice hath spoken, Lord! Thy faithful ones obey; Not by us be rudely broken Christ’s command or Caesar’s sway! God too greatly cannot task us, Tribute glad we bring the Lord; Service slight must Caesar ask us, Tribute small can we afford.

Yet each holier soul desireth Nobler Caesars to appear; Each diviner hour requireth Powers and thrones more glorious here. All our tribute, all our treasure, We would spend where we can love; Jesus! come and be our Caesar! Sovereign here as Lord above.

Low before Thy kingdom’s splendour Make the world’s poor kingdoms bow! Lord, to Thee our all we render— Thou our gracious Caesar, Thou! Thy mild monarchy victorious Half Thy word shall needless make, Our least service shall be glorious— All our tribute God shall take.

I have already referred to Mr. Gill’s national hymn

Lift thy song among the nations, England of the Lord beloved,

which is based on the text, ‘He hath not dealt so with any nation. Praise ye the Lord.’[197]

A few other hymns by English Nonconformist writers may be found, some, e.g. Thomas Binney’s ‘Eternal Light,’ being of a very high order. Mr. Spurgeon wrote a good many hymns and psalm-versions, but they are not likely to be widely used. One, intended as a paraphrase of Ps. xli., might, perhaps, find a place among hymns of Philanthropy, where our hymnals are still weak.

Jesus, poorest of the poor, Man of sorrows, Child of grief! Happy they whose bounteous store Ministered to Thy relief.

Jesus, though Thy head is crowned, Crowned with loftiest majesty, In Thy members Thou art found Plunged in deepest poverty.

Happy they who wash Thy feet, Visit Thee in Thy distress; Honour great and labour sweet, For Thy sake the saints to bless.

Thou wilt deeds of love repay; Grace shall generous hearts reward Here on earth, and in the day When they meet their reigning Lord.[198]

Bernard Barton (1784-1849), the Quaker poet, is best known by his hymn on the Holy Scriptures—‘Lamp of our feet, whereby we trace.’ To my mind his best hymn is the bright song of the Christian soldier.

He who would win a warrior’s fame Must shun, with ever-watchful aim, Entangling things of life; His couch the earth, heaven’s arching dome His airy tent, his only home The field of martial strife.

Unwearied by the battle’s toil, Uncumbered by the battle’s spoil, No dangers must affright; Nor rest seduce to slothful ease, Intent alone his chief to please, Who called him forth to fight.

Soldier of Christ, if thou wouldst be Worthy that epithet, stand free From time’s encumbering things; Be earth’s enthralments feared, abhorred, Knowing thy leader is the Lord, Thy chief the King of kings.

Methodism has not in later days been rich in hymn-writers. After Thomas Olivers there is but one great name, that of William M. Bunting (1805-66). Little as he is known outside his own Church, his hymns are amongst the best loved and best used in Wesleyan Methodism. I cannot but think that some day he will be recognized as one of the glorious choir of the universal Church. He was an extremely delicate man, and his natural bent was pensive and self-depreciatory. He once said to a friend, ‘There is one thing I shall miss in heaven, the mystic joys of penitence.’ His great penitential hymn,

Holy Spirit! pity me, Pierced with grief for grieving Thee,

even if it be thought too personal for use in public worship—I do not think it is—might well be placed among hymns for private devotion. In the services of a minister’s ‘quiet day’ it would be most impressive.

Blessèd are the pure in heart, They have learned the angel art, While on earth in heaven to be, God, by sense unseen, to see,

though not a direct prayer, is a long meditation, the kind of spiritual song which ought to be in all our hymn-books. His Baptismal hymn is very fine.

O crucified, triumphant Lord! Thy sceptre and Thy cross we own; And, taught by Thine apostle’s word, Repose our faith on Thee alone.

The sign of faith ordained by Thee We Thy confessors scorn to shun; All men our fellowship shall see, Our Lord, our faith, our symbol, one.

It is one of the strongest if not the tenderest of hymns for infant baptism, and will bear comparison with Dean Alford’s, ‘In token that thou shalt not fear,’ with this advantage, that it is not addressed to the infant, but to Him whose Name is named upon it.

William Morley Punshon’s (1824-81) _Sabbath Chimes_ suffered from comparison with the _Christian Year_, but his hymns for Sunday morning and evening—especially the latter—are not unworthy of a place amongst the many good hymns we include under this heading. Both are wisely shortened in hymn-books. Some readers will be glad to see the following verses from the Sabbath Evening hymn as they were originally published, though I do not suggest that the familiar cento is not better for use in the congregation.

We woke to-day with anthems sweet To sing before the mercy-seat, And, ere the darkness round us fell, We bade the grateful vespers swell.

Whate’er has risen from heart sincere, Each upward glance of filial fear, Each litany, devoutly prayed, Each gift upon Thine altar laid;

Each tear, regretful of the past, Each longing o’er the future cast, Each brave resolve,—each spoken vow,— Jesus, our Lord! accept them now.

Whate’er beneath Thy searching eyes Has wrought to spoil our sacrifice; Aught of presumption, over bold, The dross we vainly brought for gold;

If we have knelt at alien shrine, Or insincerely bowed at Thine, Or basely offered blind and lame, Or blushed beneath unholy shame;

Or,—craven prophets,—turned to flee When duty bade us speak for Thee;— ’Mid this sweet stillness, while we bow, Jesus, our Lord! forgive us now.

Oh, let each following Sabbath yield For our loved work an ampler field, A sturdier hatred of the wrong, A stronger purpose to grow strong.[199]

The _Methodist Hymn-book_ contains contributions from several Methodist writers new to our authorized hymnal. Of those still living I will say nothing, but I cannot pass over the name of James Smetham (1821-89), whose tender, solemn lines, ‘While ebbing nature grieves,’ though they may rarely be sung in public, will be prized by many. Another of his hymns is in a different key. It is, perhaps, more suitable for congregational use—

Show me, Lord, that Thou art love In confirmed tranquillity, Like the silent sky above, Let my craving spirit be; Dwell in life as vast and still, In the sunlight of Thy will.

Thou who fillest all in all, Knowing that I wander here, Thou wilt hearken when I call, I will wait till Thou appear. Angels in Thy smile are blest; Smile, and Thou wilt give me rest.

See the lilies of the field! They are all endued by Thee: Thou their innocence wilt shield; But Thou carest more for me: For like summer verdure, I Live and grow, but cannot die.

Since on me Thou hast conferred This dread gift of endless life, Let my spirit walk prepared For its brief and mortal strife; Rushing then into Thy breast, Thou wilt smile, and I shall rest.

The weakness of this hymn lies in the word ‘rushing’ in the fourth verse, which breaks in upon the quietness and confidence of the poem.

Mark Guy Pearse has written several good hymns for children. They are, as Dr. Julian says, ‘of exceptional merit.’ Four are in the _Methodist Sunday School Book_. His Christmas carol, ‘The fierce wind howls about the hills,’ has a quaint, old-world simplicity and ruggedness that is both picturesque and affecting. His most carefully wrought hymn is a beautiful song of praise. The first two lines in each verse are its special charm. Many readers will be glad to see it here, though it is well known in Methodist Sunday schools.

Saviour, for Thy love we praise Thee, Love that brought Thee down to earth; Like the angels we would praise Thee, Singing welcome at Thy birth; Let Thy star, through all our gloom, Guide us to Thy manger home.

Saviour, for Thy life we praise Thee, Life that brings us from the dead; Like the children we would praise Thee: Lay Thine hands upon our head. Call us, as Thou didst of old, Little lambs into Thy fold.

Saviour, for Thy death we praise Thee, Death that is our hope of life; Like the ransomed we would praise Thee, Who have passed beyond the strife. Wash us in Thy cleansing blood, Make us kings and priests to God.

Saviour, for Thy love we praise Thee, Love that lifts us up to Thee; With the angels let us praise Thee, Joining in their minstrelsy; All our love for ever telling, And the mighty chorus swelling, Praise the Lord!

Benjamin Gough (1805-77) was a local preacher and a very minor poet, yet he is not the least of Methodist hymn-writers. He was an echo, not a voice, but won much wider acceptance than most of the later Methodist poets. Dr. Littledale included a number of his hymns in the _People’s Hymnal_, and he is represented in several good hymn-books both in this country and America. His best hymns are ‘Awake, awake, O Zion’ and ‘Uplift the blood-stained banner.’

Though the English Free Churches are poor in hymn-writers, the balance is amply redressed in Scotland. Horatius Bonar (1801-89) is one of the great singers of the century, and some of his hymns, e.g. ‘I heard the voice of Jesus say,’ are surely immortal. He rightly named his poems ‘hymns of faith and hope’; they look for and haste unto the coming of the Day of Christ. His Communion hymn, ‘Here, O my Lord, I see Thee face to face,’ and ‘A few more years shall roll,’ with some others, are in all great collections. Few modern books have less than ten of his hymns, and many have from twelve to twenty. He was also a successful translator, though his fame rests on his original hymns. If I quote few of his verses, it is only because they are so well known. The Second Advent filled a large place in his thought and teaching. The following lines, to which he prefixed a quotation from St. Augustine, ‘The world has grown old,’ are very characteristic—

Come, Lord, and tarry not, Bring the long-looked-for day; Oh, why these years of waiting here, These ages of delay?

Come, for Thy saints still wait, Daily ascends their sigh; The Spirit and the Bride say, Come: Dost Thou not hear the cry?

Come, for creation groans, Impatient of Thy stay, Worn out with these long years of ill, These ages of delay.

Come, for Thy foes are strong; With taunting lip they say, ‘Where is the promised advent now, And where the dreaded day?’

Come, for love waxes cold, Its steps are faint and slow; Faith now is lost in unbelief, Hope’s lamp burns dim and low.

Come, for the corn is ripe; Put in Thy sickle now, Reap the great harvest of the earth, Sower and reaper Thou!

Come, and make all things new, Build up this ruined earth; Restore our faded Paradise, Creation’s second birth.

Come, and begin Thy reign Of everlasting peace; Come, take the kingdom to Thyself, Great King of righteousness.[200]

Fewer and less easily adapted to congregational use are the sacred songs of Dr. George Matheson, whose best-known hymn is probably the most widely appreciated of any written in the last quarter of a century. It must be familiar to most readers, but as it is not found in the _Methodist Hymn-book_, I give it here—

O Love that wilt not let me go, I rest my weary soul on Thee; I give Thee back the life I owe, That in Thine ocean depths its flow May richer, fuller be.

O Light that followest all my way, I yield my flickering torch to Thee; My heart restores its borrowed ray, That in Thy sunshine’s blaze its day May brighter, fairer be.

O Joy that seekest me through pain, I cannot close my heart to Thee; I trace the rainbow through the rain, And feel the promise is not vain That morn shall tearless be.

O Cross that liftest up my head, I dare not ask to fly from Thee; I lay in dust life’s glory dead, And from the ground there blossoms red Life that shall endless be.

Very different are his verses on Brotherhood, which are not on the ordinary lines of a hymn, but make an excellent song for a gathering of working-men, for a temperance meeting, or for ‘united’ gatherings of many kinds. It is at least thoroughly modern.

Come, let us raise the common song— Day’s beams are breaking; Shadows have parted hearts too long, Light in the east is waking.

Come, let us clasp united hands— Love’s rays are falling; Sea too long divides the lands, Kindred claims are calling.

Come, let us lift a common prayer— One hope combines us; We are made hard by selfish care, Mutual grief refines us.

Come, let us lift our brother’s load— Christ’s cross is o’er us; Ours shall fall upon the road When Heaven’s is seen before us.

Come, let us win our brother’s love; Love’s warm revealing Melts the ice that will not move By the frost’s congealing.

Come, let us lift our brother’s stain; Hope’s power shall cherish Dreams of daysprings not in vain Wherein the spot shall perish.

Dr. Walter C. Smith’s is not a familiar name in our hymn-books. Only editors who are willing to leave the beaten track will find his poems ‘true hymns.’ The _Baptist Church Hymnal_, which is perhaps the most catholic and the most literary of our modern books, gives six of his hymns, while the Presbyterian and the Methodist have none. But many of his poems are good hymns, though perhaps they appeal to a limited circle. His _Thoughts and Fancies for Sunday Evenings_ has long stood close to my study chair, and I do not think there is any book (except George Herbert) I have so often read after the day’s work is done. His hymns have the true patience and the happy trustfulness which are the strength and inspiration of Christian service. Here are three verses from the poem on Ps. cxviii. 1—

Why should I always pray, Although I always lack? Were ’t not a better way Some praise to render back? The earth that drinks the plenteous rain Returns the grateful cloud again.

We should not get the less That we remembered more The truth and righteousness Thou keep’st for us in store: In heaven they do not pray—they sing, And they have wealth of everything.

And it would be more meet To compass Thee with song, Than to have at Thy feet Only a begging throng, Who take Thy gifts and then forget Alike Thy goodness and their debt.

My next quotation is well worthy of a place beside Bishop Bickersteth’s ‘Come ye yourselves apart,’ and with the most impressive and consoling of hymns for Christian workers.

Oft, Lord, I weary in Thy work, But of Thy work I do not tire, Although I toil from dawn till dark, From matins of the early lark Until his even-song expire.

Ah! who that tends the altar fire, Or ministers the incense due, Or sings Thy praises in the choir, Or publishes good news, could tire Of that he loves so well to do?

Sweet is the recompense it brings— The work that with good-will is done; For all the heart with gladness sings, And all the fleeting hours have wings, And all the day is full of sun.

And if he labour not in vain, If souls are by his message stirred, If he can comfort grief and pain, Or bring repentant tears like rain By force of his entreating word,

The hand may weary at its task, And weary he may drag his feet; The weary frame may long to bask In needful rest; but do not ask The heart to weary of its beat.

To these quotations—and they are few compared with those I would like to make—I must add Dr. Smith’s singularly solemn and beautiful prayer, which in the _Baptist Church Hymnal_ is appointed for the close of the Communion Service. It is unique among sacramental hymns.

If any to the feast have come Who were not bidden, Lord, forgive; They were not of our Father’s home, Yet in Thy mercy let them live.

If any came in doubt or fear, O may they carry peace away; Let heaven to them be calm and clear, Still brightening to the perfect day.

And who in Zion mourning were, O give them songs of praise to Thee; And who were full of anxious care, O set them from their burden free.

All those who never sat before At this dear table of Thy grace, O may they love Thee more and more, And serve Thee in Thy Holy Place.

And they who ne’er again shall see The day of our communion dawn, Prepare them, Lord, to feast with Thee At tables which are never drawn.

Forgive us all our wandering thought, Our little love, our feeble faith; And may we meet, our battle fought, Beyond the realms of sin and death.

From these great Scotch hymn-writers I turn for a moment to the Unitarian contribution to the Church’s hymn-book. Here it must be said that the best comes to us from America, where the Unitarians claim Oliver Wendell Holmes, James Russell Lowell, Samuel Longfellow, and Samuel Johnson. In England we have Sir John Bowring (1792-1872); and Sarah Flower Adams (1805-48), whose ‘Nearer, my God, to Thee’ has a sure place among the best-loved hymns. Mrs. Adams also wrote two beautiful little hymns suited for the close of service, each beginning, ‘Part in peace,’ and was an important contributor to W. J. Fox’s _Hymns and Anthems_ for the use of the South Place Religious Society, one of the most curious of modern hymnals. Mr. Page Hopps has written some good hymns, which are widely used. His child’s prayer, ‘Father, lead me day by day,’ is beautiful in its strong simplicity. Dr. James Martineau wrote a few hymns which I cannot but think are included in evangelical hymn-books more out of respect for their author than for their actual devotional or poetic value. The best known is ‘Thy way is in the deep, O Lord.’ I quote one less often found—

‘Where is your God?’ they say: Answer them, Lord most holy! Reveal Thy secret way Of visiting the lowly: Not wrapped in moving cloud, Or nightly-resting fire; But veiled within the shroud Of silent high desire.

Come not in flashing storm, Or bursting frown of thunder: Come in the viewless form Of wakening love and wonder;— Of duty grown divine, The restless spirit, still; Of sorrows taught to shine As shadows of Thy will.

O God! the pure alone,— E’en in their deep confessing,— Can see Thee as their own, And find the perfect blessing: Yet to each waiting soul Speak in Thy still small voice, Till broken love’s made whole, And saddened hearts rejoice.

V Nineteenth-century Hymns

III.—Roman Catholic Hymns

English Romanism has shared in the revival of hymnody, and has been greatly enriched by the men who, to quote Mr. Moorsom’s delightful record of Faber, ‘left the Church of England for the Roman schism in England.’ From Austin to Faber, Romanism has hardly any English hymn-writers. Some of the Latin hymns by English writers have an alluring rhythm, the ideal tone of a Christmas carol. It is easy to understand how popular they might be in the vernacular. Here is a bright lilting verse from a thirteenth-century hymn:

Gabriel to Mary went, A mighty message bare he; Deep in awe the maiden bent To hear the first Hail Mary![201]

Richard Crashaw (d. 1650) was a poet, but scarcely a hymn-writer, though from his ‘Hymn of St. Thomas’ a good cento may be made.

With all the powers my poor heart hath Of humble love and loyal faith, Thus low, my hidden Life, I bow to Thee, Whom too much love hath bowed more low for me.