The Story of the Hymns and Tunes Part 47

_THE TUNE._

Though George Kingsley's "Heber" has in some books done service for the Bishop's lines, "Siloam," easy-flowing and finely harmonized, is knit to the words as no other tune can be. It was composed by Isaac Baker Woodbury on shipboard during a storm at sea. A stronger ill.u.s.tration of tranquil thought in terrible tumult was never drawn.

"O Galilee, Sweet Galilee," whose history has been given at the end of chapter six, was not only often sung in Sunday-schools, but chimed (in the cities) on steeple-bells--nor is it by any means forgotten today--on the Sabbath and in social singing a.s.semblies. Like "Precious Jewels," it has been, in many places, taken up by street boys with a relish, and often displaced the play-house ditties in the lips of little newsboys and bootblacks during a leisure hour or a happy mood.

"I AM SO GLAD"

This lively little melody is still a welcome choice to many a lady teacher of fluttering five-year-olds, when both vocal indulgence and good gospel are needed for the prattlers in her cla.s.s. It has been as widely sung in Scotland as in America. Mr. Philip P. Bliss, hearing one day the words of the familiar chorus--

O, how I love Jesus,

--suddenly thought to himself,--

"I have sung long enough of my poor love to Christ, and now I will sing of His love for me." Under the inspiration of this thought, he wrote--

I am so glad that our Father in heaven Tells of His love in the book He has given Wonderful things in the Bible I see, This is the dearest--that Jesus loves me.

Both words and music are by Mr. Bliss.

The history of modern Sunday-school hymnody--or much of it--is so nearly identified with that of the _Gospel Hymns_ that other selections like the last, which might be appropriate here, may be considered in a later chapter, where that eventful series of sacred songs receives special notice.

CHAPTER IX.

PATRIOTIC HYMNS.

The ethnic anthologies growing out of love of country are a mingled literature of filial and religious piety, ranging from war-like paeans to lyric prayers. They become the cherished inheritance of a nation, and, once fixed in the common memory and common heart, the people rarely let them die. The "Songs of the Fathers" have perennial breath, and in every generation--

The green woods of their native land Shall whisper in the strain; The voices of their household band Shall sweetly speak again.

--_Felicia Hemans_.

ULTIMA THULE.

American pride has often gloried in Seneca's "Vision of the West," more than eighteen hundred years ago.

Venient annis Saecula seris, quibus Ocea.n.u.s Vincula rerum laxet, et ingens Pateat tellus, Typhisque novos Detegat orbes, nec sit terris Ultima Thule.

A time will come in future ages far When Ocean will his circling bounds unbar.

And, opening vaster to the Pilot's hand, New worlds shall rise, where mightier kingdoms are, Nor Thule longer be the utmost land.

This poetic forecast, of which Washington Irving wrote "the predictions of the ancient oracles were rarely so unequivocal," is part of the "chorus" at the end of the second act of Seneca's "Medea," written near the date of St. Paul's first Epistle to the Thessalonians.

Seneca, the celebrated Roman (Stoic) philosopher, was born at or very near the time of our Saviour's birth. There are legends of his acquaintance with Paul, at Rome, but though he wrote able and quotable treatises _On Consolation_, _On Providence_, _On Calmness of Soul_, and _On the Blessed Life_, there is no direct evidence that the savor of Christian faith ever qualified his works or his personal principles. He was a man of grand ideas and inspirations, but he was a time server and a flatterer of the Emperor Nero, who, nevertheless, caused his death when he had no further use for him.

His compulsory suicide occurred A.D. 65, the year in which St. Paul is supposed to have suffered martyrdom.

"THE BREAKING WAVES DASHED HIGH."

Sitting at the tea-table one evening, near a century ago, Mrs. Hemans read an old account of the "Landing of the Pilgrims," and was inspired to write this poem, which became a favorite in America--like herself, and all her other works.

The ballad is inaccurate in details, but presents the spirit of the scene with true poet insight. Mr. James T. Fields, the noted Boston publisher, visited the lady in her old age, and received an autograph copy of the poem, which is seen in Pilgrim Hall, Plymouth, Ma.s.s.

The breaking waves dashed high, on a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky, their giant branches tossed, And the heavy night hung dark, the hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moored their bark on the wild New England sh.o.r.e.

Not as the conqueror comes, they, the true-hearted, came; Not with the roll of stirring drums, and the trumpet that sings of fame; Not as the flying come, in silence and in fear,-- _They_ shook the depths of the desert's gloom with their hymns of lofty cheer.

Amidst the storm they sang, and the stars heard, and the sea!

And the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang to the anthem of the free!

The ocean eagle soared from his nest by the white waves' foam, And the rocking pines of the forest roared,--this was their welcome home!

There were men with h.o.a.ry hair amidst that pilgrim band,-- Why had _they_ come to wither there, away from their childhood's land?

There was woman's fearless eye, lit by her deep love's truth; There was manhood's brow, serenely high, and the fiery heart of youth.

What sought they thus afar? bright jewels of the mine?

The wealth of seas? the spoils of war?--They sought a faith's pure shrine!

Ay, call it holy ground, the soil where first they trod; They left unstained what there they found,--freedom to worship G.o.d!

Felicia Dorothea Browne (Mrs. Hemans) was born in Liverpool, Eng., 1766, and died 1845.

_THE TUNE._

The original tune is not now accessible. It was composed by Mrs. Mary E.

(Browne) Arkwright, Mrs. Hemans' sister, and published in England about 1835. But the words have been sung in this country to "Silver St.," a choral not entirely forgotten, credited to an English composer, Isaac Smith, born, in London, about 1735, and died there in 1800.

"WESTWARD THE COURSE OF EMPIRE."

Usually misquoted "Westward the _Star_ of Empire," etc. This poem of Bishop Berkeley possesses no lyrical quality but, like the ancient Roman's words, partakes of the prophetic spirit, and has always been dear to the American heart by reason of the above line. It seems to formulate the "manifest destiny" of a great colonizing race that has already absorbed a continent, and extended its sway across the Pacific ocean.

Not such as Europe breeds in her decay; Such as she bred when fresh and young, When heavenly flame did animate her clay, By future poets shall be sung.

Westward the course of empire takes its way; The four first acts already past, The fifth shall close the drama of the day: Time's n.o.blest offspring is the last.

George Berkeley was born March 12, 1684, and educated at Trinity College, Dublin. A remarkable student, he became a remarkable man, as priest, prelate, and philosopher. High honors awaited him at home, but the missionary pa.s.sion seized him. Inheriting a small fortune, he sailed to the West, intending to evangelize and educate the Indians of the "Summer Islands," but the ship lost her course, and landed him at Newport, R.I., instead of the Bermudas. Here he was warmly welcomed, but was disappointed in his plans and hopes of founding a native college by the failure of friends in England to forward funds, and after a residence of six years he returned home. He died at Cloyne, Ireland, 1753.

The house which Bishop Berkeley built is still shown (or was until very recently) at Newport after one hundred and seventy-eight years. He wrote the _Principles of Human Knowledge_, the _Minute Philosopher_, and many other works of celebrity in their time, and a scholarship in Yale bears his name; but he is best loved in this country for his _Ode to America_.

Pope in his list of great men ascribes--

To Berkeley every virtue under heaven.