Part 16

It is at once necessary and almost superfluous to say that I know how much has been left unsaid, how many names there are deserving mention, how many hymns that might be referred to, but in such a fruitful land the gleanings are richer than the vintage of former years.

V Nineteenth-century Hymns

II.—Free Church Hymns

The composing of hymns is one of the surest signs of spiritual life, and the use of hymns is a wonderful witness of Christian unity; and the Church of England has been fertile during the last half-century in the production of hymns which are used by all English Christians, whilst the confederate Churches of the same period can hardly point to any additions made by them to the hymns of the Christian world.[190]

As we have seen, the honours of hymn-writing during the period referred to are undoubtedly with the Anglicans, though Heber and Keble belong to an earlier time. But this sweeping assertion of Mr. Llewellyn Davis ought to have been impossible if he had remembered Horatius Bonar, certainly one of the greatest English hymn-writers. There are also George Rawson, T. T. Lynch, T. H. Gill, George Matheson, and, every Methodist would add, William M. Bunting.

It must be remembered also that the Free Churches were already rich in hymns when the nineteenth century dawned, whilst the Tractarians had to make, translate, or borrow from the Nonconformists, hymns for their special needs. Methodism had an ample supply of hymns for such Church festivals as it desired, and the observance of festivals and other ecclesiastical occasions was only gradually adopted in the older Nonconforming Churches. When at length they felt the need for such hymns as form the characteristic portions of Anglican hymnody they were already to hand; and after the first natural prejudice against everything that savoured of the ritualistic movement had passed away, they found hymns intended to be the exclusive property of the Anglicans admirably suited to their own newly awakened Church consciousness. There is something delightful and even amusing in the readiness with which such hymns as ‘The Church’s one Foundation’ and ‘Onward, Christian soldiers’ have been adopted by all the denominations. The Baptist and the Bible Christian sing with as simple confidence as the highest of Anglicans:

Like a mighty army Moves the Church of God; Brothers, we are treading Where the saints have trod; We are not divided, All one body we, One in hope, in doctrine, One in charity.

They may have different thoughts as to Apostolic Succession, but as long as we believe that where Christ is there is the Church such hymns belong to all.

But though Nonconformity was rich in hymns and could take without scruple many of the Anglican songs, the nineteenth century was very far from being altogether barren in regard to the Free Churches.

Two hymn-writers mark the transition from the eighteenth to the nineteenth century—James Montgomery and Thomas Kelly. They lived, it is true, into the second half of the last century, but their hymns are an aftermath of the Evangelical Revival. The later Oxford Movement did not affect them, and their songs might all have belonged to the earlier period, save for the missionary enthusiasm which inspires some of their best efforts.

James Montgomery (1771-1854) was the son of a Moravian minister, who died in the West Indies whilst the poet was at school. He was born at Irvine, Ayrshire, lived for a time in Ireland, and having been educated at the Brethren’s school at Fulneck, after a few unsuccessful experiments, settled to work at Sheffield as assistant to the editor of a local newspaper. He was a man of strong convictions, and did not hide his light under a bushel. He was rewarded by two terms of imprisonment, which he turned to profitable account by writing poems. His was the usual fate of honest men persecuted for righteousness’ sake. Montgomery’s name is one of the chief glories of this city,[191] where he wrought with head and heart and hand for freedom and for righteousness. ‘The Climbing Boy’ is a memorial of his part in the great philanthropic movements of which Lord Shaftesbury was the leader. ‘The West Indies’—a poem which has lines here and there which Cowper or even William Watson might have written—celebrates the time

When Wilberforce, the minister of grace, The new Las Casas of a ruined race, With angel-might opposed the rage of hell, And fought like Michael, till the dragon fell.

‘Greenland’ commemorates his inherited love of missions, and the curious ‘Thoughts on Wheels’—a satire upon State lotteries—reminds us that Montgomery anticipated the _Daily News_ in refusing to insert advertisements of a ‘national nuisance.’ We are accustomed to think of Montgomery as a gracious Moravian poet, whose most appropriate place was the platform of a Methodist missionary meeting, but he passed through storm and tempest, through privation and struggle, to the peaceful haven of his later years. Montgomery was a Moravian all his life, a Methodist the greater part of it, and a Churchman toward the end. Once again, we may say, ‘Such he was as every Christian Church would rejoice to have adopted.’ Indeed, through its hymn-book, every Church has adopted him, and in some of the best modern collections Montgomery is more often heard than Watts.[192]

Montgomery cherished no illusion as to his poetic powers. He hoped that his _Poems_ might be read for a generation, but that his _Hymns_ would be his lasting memorial. ‘The World before the Flood’ and ‘The Wanderer in Switzerland’ are forgotten, and little likely to be revived; but such hymns as ‘Hail to the Lord’s Anointed’ and ‘For ever with the Lord’ will be sung through the centuries.

The first of these is not only Montgomery’s finest psalm-version, but an unsurpassed rendering of a triumphant Messianic psalm. It owes something to the instinctive wisdom with which the best verses have been selected, and to a few editorial touches.[193] One can well imagine the thrill with which it was heard in Pitt Street Chapel, Liverpool, when the author recited the hymn at the close of a missionary speech, and how Adam Clarke rejoiced to add this magnificent rendering of the 72nd Psalm to his _Commentary_. It is, I think, a finer and a much closer rendering of the ‘Psalm for Solomon’ than Watts’s great version. When urged by Dr. Clarke to attempt a complete version of the Psalms, Montgomery said that he feared to touch the harp of Zion. He did, however, paraphrase about fifty or sixty psalms with more than average success.

It is sometimes said that ‘Prayer is the soul’s sincere desire’ is not ‘in the true sense’ a hymn, but this is to take too narrow a view of the term. It excellently illustrates the way in which devout meditation ends in prayer. Had the last verse been omitted, it would have been a religious poem, not a hymn, but this throws upon all that precedes it the light of devotion. Each verse looks forward to the last—

O Thou by whom we come to God, The Life, the Truth, the Way! The path of prayer Thyself hast trod: Lord! teach us how to pray.

It is superfluous to refer to all Montgomery’s contributions to our hymn-books, but we must ever gratefully remember such pieces as his Communion hymn

According to Thy gracious word,

and the solemn prayer

In the hour of trial, Jesus, pray for me, Lest by base denial I depart from Thee.

It is remarkable that editors should have thought it necessary to meddle (as indeed Montgomery himself did) with the second line of this verse, thinking it ‘unscriptural,’ although the very word ‘pray’ is taken from the lips of our Lord.

Montgomery has also given us a fine Christmas carol—

Angels, from the realms of glory;

and a solemn meditation on the Passion, Death, and Resurrection, rising at the last into actual prayer—

Early hasten to the tomb Where they laid His breathless clay: All is solitude and gloom; Who hath taken Him away? Christ is risen! He seeks the skies: Saviour, teach us so to rise.

In Montgomery, as in all great hymn-writers, the word of Christ dwelt richly, and his songs are full of the thoughts and phrases of the Psalter and the New Testament. Some of his sacred poems, though unsuitable for congregational singing, are good devotional reading. I quote one such, which seems to me to deserve something better than the place he gave it in the Appendix to his _Poetical Works_.

CHRIST THE PURIFIER

(Mal. iii. 2, 3.)

He that from dross would win the precious ore Bends o’er the crucible an earnest eye, The subtle, searching process to explore, Lest the _one_ brilliant moment should pass by When in the molten silver’s virgin mass He meets his pictured face as in a glass.

Thus in God’s furnace are His children tried; Thrice happy they who to the end endure! But who the fiery trial may abide? Who from the crucible come forth so pure, That He, whose eyes of flame look through the whole, May see His image perfect in the soul?

Not with an evanescent glimpse alone, As in that mirror the refiner’s face, But, stampt with heaven’s broad signet, there be shown Immanuel’s features, full of truth and grace— And round that seal of love this motto be, ‘Not for a moment, but eternity!’

Thomas Kelly (1769-1854), who was in Ireland what Williams of Pantycelyn was in Wales, wrote nearly 800 hymns, the vast majority of which belong to the same class as the masses of the forgotten hymns of pious Dissenting pastors in the eighteenth century. They are often redeemed from absolute dullness only by his love for curious rhymes, e.g. ‘hers is’ and ‘mercies.’ He illustrates abundantly how easy it is to have rhyme and rhythm without a suggestion of poetry, as in this verse—

Spread abroad the joyful sound, Fly in all directions; Speak to all the world around, Men of all complexions.

It is amazing that a man who could at times write so well should, as a rule, write so feebly. Yet Kelly’s hymns have had a great popularity, and a few are firmly fixed in all our hymn-books. His best are—‘Look, ye saints, the sight is glorious,’ ‘Through the day Thy love hath spared us,’ ‘We sing the praise of Him who died,’ ‘The Head that once was crowned with thorns,’ and that most inspiring and comforting missionary valediction, ‘Speed Thy servants, Saviour, speed them.’

Josiah Conder (1789-1855) was a poet and an expert editor. His _Congregational Hymn-book_ (1836) marks a new era in the devotional service of Nonconformity. He was in some cases a grievous sinner in regard to alterations, and was often very unhappy in his emendations.[194] Some of his original poems are very beautiful, especially his short hymns and his versions of Prayer-book collects, e.g. ‘Bread of heaven on Thee I feed,’ and the beautiful paraphrase of the Collect for the Fifth Sunday after Trinity, with which the _Methodist Hymn-book_ closes. Conder belongs to both centuries. His hymns are often of the dull didactic type of the earlier time, but he caught something of the spirit of the later day. Of his longer hymns the following is a good specimen. It is found in many hymnals.

How shall I follow Him I serve? How shall I copy Him I love? Nor from those blessèd footsteps swerve, Which lead me to His seat above?

Privations, sorrows, bitter scorn, The life of toil, the mean abode, The faithless kiss, the crown of thorn,— Are these the consecrated road?

’Twas thus He suffered, though a Son, Foreknowing, choosing, feeling all; Until the perfect work was done, And drunk the bitter cup of gall.

Lord! should my path through suffering lie, Forbid it I should e’er repine; Still let me turn to Calvary, Nor heed my griefs, remembering Thine.

Oh, let me think how Thou didst leave Untasted every pure delight, To fast, to faint, to watch, to grieve, The toilsome day, the homeless night:—

To faint, to grieve, to die for me! Thou camest not Thyself to please: And, dear as earthly comforts be, Shall I not love Thee more than these?

Yes! I would count them all but loss, To gain the notice of Thine eye: Flesh shrinks and trembles at the cross, But Thou canst give the victory.

Thomas Toke Lynch (1818-71), an Independent minister, whose delicate health often interrupted his labours, published in 1855 a little book of poems which roused an extraordinary storm. It is difficult to understand how such an inoffensive book as _The Rivulet_ could make any great sensation, but the theological mind was more sensitive, if not more restless, than it is to-day. The ‘Rivulet Controversy,’ in which the redoubtable Dr. John Campbell was the prime mover, is long forgotten, but a few of the hymns survive. The best known is, ‘Gracious Spirit, dwell with me.’[195] Lynch is an important contributor to Congregational and Baptist hymnals, but he is practically unknown to Anglican books, and is not represented in the _Presbyterian Church Hymnary_.

Lynch was of the new and broader school of thought, and his hymns, which he is said to have designed as a supplement to Watts, are of an entirely different cast from those of the earlier day, though their teaching is familiar enough in our time. I make a brief quotation, which is more likely to be welcome to-day than it was half a century ago.

If love in any heart arise, And stir the tongue, and light the eyes, And speed the foot, and fill the hand; Then, Christian, thou must understand That, though unthought of, God is there; So of denying Him beware.

If Little-more makes haste to bless His troubled neighbour Little-less, And poor men to the poorer give, Weak ones the weaker help to live, The sad those sadder still console; Then God is working in the soul.

If the grown man forgoes his bread That little mouths may first be fed; And patient women serve the men Who care for them but now and then, And love keeps warm without a fire; O, then, the grace of God admire.

Two strangers ocean may divide Who yet shall bridegroom be and bride, And God unknown to souls may be Who love Him will eternally; But all true hearts our Father knows, And will to them His truth disclose.

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]