Hymns in Human Experience

CHAPTER XIII
Christmas and Easter Melodies

These two great festivals of the Christian year fittingly celebrate the Incarnation and Resurrection of Christ. Just as hope came with the Saviour of the world, so hope was quickened when He won the signal victory over death. He is indeed the unspeakable gift of God, and the spirit of gratitude for this marvelous blessing is best celebrated in song.

The greatest hymns of the Church are inspired by these two events, which have liberated the human spirit and filled it with faith, joy, enthusiasm, loyalty. All the greatest poets, artists, musicians, were illuminated by the Christmas and Easter messages, and excelled themselves in setting forth the jubilant truths of redemption and eternal life through Christ the Lord of love and light. These productions have enriched the thought, excited the imagination and ennobled the lives of multitudes through all the Christian centuries. This they will continue to do to the end of time.

The fount of poetic and artistic inspiration still flows, and from time to time there are added new contributions to swell the jubilation of these two seasons and to spread peace and goodwill among men.

Bishop F. W. Warne recalls

An Incarnation Hymn that Fires the Imagination

“The Church of the Lord Jesus Christ for two thousand years, on the anniversary of the sinless Incarnation, has sung hymns of joy and praise. Here is a part of the hymn that, when a child, fired my heart and imagination, when I heard it sung on such anniversaries, and it fires them still:

Carols have invariably been sung on Christmas Eve, and the following incident from the Syracuse Post Standard illustrates

The Joy of Christmas

All members of the family were gathered in the cozy living room of a south side home. The lights were out, but the mellow glow from a cheery fireplace illuminated the room with the soft light which seems to symbolize peace and quiet. Children romped on the floor; a playful puppy bounded here and there, yipping joyously; the old cat blinked sleepily and purred with contentment. Father was reading the paper and mother was perusing a magazine.

In the windows hung red bells, and through the window the snow lay white and sparkling under the street lamps. A playful wind whipped up little swirling flurries of snow at intervals. Suddenly it came, clear through the night. Soft music, then a burst of song—“It Came Upon the Midnight Clear.”

All within listened to the music in the night—Christmas music, carols. Then as it came nearer all rushed to the windows and saw a band of boys and men marching bravely by, blowing trumpets, horns—what not? The spirit of Christmas.

Carols are also a part of the celebration on Christmas Day, and how they cheered the patients in a hospital is described when

Nurses Sang Carols

The nurses enjoyed a breakfast served by candle light at 6:30 on Christmas morning at the Faxton Hospital in Utica, New York, and then exchanged greetings. After this, clad in their uniforms, including their blue capes, attractively red-lined, they formed in a procession and marched from floor to floor of the building singing the familiar Christmas songs. Young mothers and their little babies, in the maternity building, were not forgotten. The nurses marched from the main building in the cold morning and sang as they walked along the sidewalk until they reached the maternity department, where they continued their carols.

This self-appointed task conveyed pleasure beyond the power of words to express to the patients, some of whom were far away from loved ones. The act was one of those beautiful touches which unites the whole Christian world in a kindred feeling on Christmas Day.

The thoughtful hospitality of the Maier family in the village of Oberndorf, Germany, led one of the guests, the young priest Joseph Mohr, to write the well-known Christmas song,

“Silent Night”

At this party a festival play was performed in view of the approaching Christmas. It so stirred the young priest that instead of returning home he climbed the Totenberg, Mountain of the Dead, overlooking the village. He stood there in quiet meditation. The silence of the night, the blinking of the stars, the murmur of the Salzach River, all inspired him. Quickly he returned to his parish house and late that night the words of “Stille Nacht” were written. The next day he hastened to his organist, Franz Gruber, and requested that he write the music for this song. He composed the well-known tune. On Christmas Eve of 1818 the priest and organist were ready to offer their contribution for the first time. The organ proved to be out of commission but Gruber was ingenious. He hurried home and brought his guitar and to its accompaniment he and the priest sang “Stille Nacht” as a duet. It touched the congregation deeply and after the service the two friends, with tears of joy in their eyes, embraced on the steps of the church in gratitude for this impressive rendition. Since that evening the song has become one of the Christmas favorites all over the world.

Bishop Phillips Brooks was the friend of children as well as adults. His popularity as rector of the Church of the Advent in Philadelphia was unbounded and it continued when he went to Trinity Church, Boston. It was during a year’s vacation that he had an experience which later resulted in his writing the well-known hymn,

“O Little Town of Bethlehem”

In the course of his travels during this vacation he went to the Holy Land. On Christmas Eve he was in Bethlehem. He walked in the fields where the shepherds had heard the angelic chorus. He listened to the hymns of praise that kept ringing out upon the clear air. He saw the children of Bethlehem getting ready for Christmas. Two years later when he was back home his mind went back to his experiences in Bethlehem. He recalled the dark streets, the clear blue sky with stars, the quiet shepherds’ fields; and under the spell of these memories, in 1868, he wrote this Christmas hymn especially for the children of his Sunday School. His organist, Lewis H. Render, wrote the music for this much beloved song.

This graphic description by Annemarie Ewing in The Christian Herald tells of

Carols Sung by Children

“I can’t think of any holier sound for Christmas Eve than that of young voices, clear and sweet in the cold, singing the simple, tuneful melodies that can’t grow old. Last year it was my pleasure and privilege to know a small group of youngsters who wanted to go caroling Christmas Eve. They didn’t mind the cold or the long walk or the wind and snow. They wanted to sing!

“I can see those bobbing little heads now, all sizes and shapes—from Rose Marie’s tall, smartly hatted elegance to Babe’s roly-poly woolen cap, just under my arm. How eager they were, and what stories I had to tell them to keep them quiet till we got to each place! We planned to sing under the windows of all our special friends.

“And how we did sing! I do not know whether it was sweeter to stand there holding my hand before Babe’s candle while her big blue eyes were lifted up to see the book (she had to stand on her very tip-toes!), or whether it would have been more exquisite pleasure to have been sitting in my warm living-room, when the shrilly sweet voices of the children began with their own enthusiasm:

“I know that there were tears in my own eyes when we reached ‘Silent Night,’ and that from the tight closed window of old Mr. Simmons, crotchety and bad-tempered, there fell a shower of walnuts and pecans! In the big house across the way where a little child lay ill the windows were softly raised, and I could not help but stoop and kiss chubby Babe, who pulled my arm to whisper that ‘she hoped Margaret-who-was-sick heard.’

“Christmas Carols! Whether they are sung aloud or whether they buzz and chime through your heart—it is the same. Let them ring out!”

One of the well-known celebrations is that on

Easter Morning in America’s Bethlehem

The Moravians celebrate Easter with impressive ceremonies in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania. Early in the morning the trombonists walk through the quiet streets of the city and awaken the people with their inspiring anthem. Soon lights appear in the windows of the homes and the people join the procession towards the old church, greeting each other with gladsome salutations. The Easter service in the church continues till sunrise when the congregation march out, led by the trombonists, to the ancient burying-ground.

At this place of sacred memories the people stand in a large semicircle looking towards the eastern hill, as a symbol of their devout faith. The ministers and trombone choir stand apart, and the service proceeds with song and responsive readings. The atmosphere of reverence and hope pervades this company on the chilly morning of early spring, as they confess their faith in the glorious resurrection and celebrate the triumph of their loved ones in Christ. The appearance of the sun over the hill is the signal for the outburst of a hymn of adoration and praise, to the accompaniment of the trombones. This Easter service, begun in the church and concluded in the cemetery, is a memorable occasion, attended by thousands from all parts of the country, as has been done for many years. It is a testimony to a virile and victorious Christianity which sings, “Christ the Lord is risen today, Hallelujah!”

Here is a fine Easter anthology from a sermon by Dr. George Elliott in The Methodist Review, which reminds us of what

Hymn Writers Tell of Heaven

“Listen to Cardinal Newman, the Roman Catholic, as in the delicately beautiful poem, ‘Lead, Kindly Light,’ he dreams and speaks about the time when:

“And then Isaac Watts, the Nonconformist, has no gloomy view when he says:

“And John Fawcett, the Baptist, who has written the very finest hymn of Christian fellowship, ‘Blest Be the Tie That Binds,’ sings for us:

“And Muhlenberg, the Episcopalian, joins in the chorus that the poet-choir are singing, and lifts his gaze to that heavenly country, and exultantly sings:

“And Bonar, the Presbyterian, will not be left behind as he sings of the land

“And best of all, Charles Wesley, who doubtless has been appointed to lead the choirs of heaven when the angel chorister is tired, sings for us, and with us:

It was a great open-air service when we were favored with

Salvation Army Music on Easter Morning

Brooklyn’s Easter Dawn Service in 1930 found ten thousand people assembled at Prospect Park Plaza for a community gathering under the auspices of the Brooklyn Federation of Churches. The first in the order of worship was a selection by the Salvation Army Band.

It was so appealingly appropriate that every listener seemed to be touched, and men quietly lifted their hats even though the morning was cool.

The band led the various hymns, the closing one of which was—

What proved to be the climax of this exhilarating service was reached when the Salvation Army band left the scene playing their favorite marching song of conquest, “Onward, Christian Soldiers!”

How the good we do comes back to us is seen in a familiar hymn,

Sung by and for Sankey

When lying in weakness and the darkness of blindness the musical genius of the evangelistic world, Ira D. Sankey, was visited by Dr. F. B. Meyer, of London, a long-time friend. “Would you like me to sing something for you?” asked Sankey as Meyer was about to leave. Then he began: “There’ll be no dark valley when Jesus comes.”

Though weak, he continued through all four stanzas, ending with

On an Easter morning a group of young people went to the home of Sankey in Brooklyn, when he was in his last illness, and outside the window amid the morning sunshine sang the hymn which he had sung to thousands of others, and which he greatly cherished: “There’ll Be No Dark Valley When Jesus Comes.”

The thoughtfulness of these young people was greatly appreciated by the great evangelistic singer. It was an inspiringly appropriate message for a sunrise song service on an Easter morning.[29]

CHAPTER XIV
Funeral Music

The Christian assurance of immortality brings its message of consolation most appropriately in life’s darkest hours when death invades the family circle. No one has pierced the veil between the present and the future life, but there is a sense of the fitness of things which has convinced men of divers creeds that a life beyond is a reality. It is the desire for completion and not merely for continuance which quickens in our breast the hope of life everlasting. It is moreover certified to us by the fact of the living Christ through whom we commune with God. This experience convinces us that our earthly pilgrimage is the prelude to the heavenly life of spiritual attainment and satisfaction.

Thus when the physical remains of our loved ones are consigned to the earth, we have the assured confidence of a reunion in the land that is fairer than day. Since Jesus Christ has brought life and immortality to light through the Gospel, we know that death does not sever the ties which bind us to those who have crossed the flood. We shall meet again when the day dawns and these shadows flee away. This is the outlook of faith which comforts and cheers us.

The thought deepest in the soul often finds expression at a crisis. This fact is what led to the

Hymn of Martyred President Sung by the Nation

“Good-bye, good-bye, all,” said President William McKinley as he lay dying in Buffalo, a few days after he was shot on September 6, 1901. “It is God’s way. His will, not ours, be done,” he added soon afterwards. Toward the end in the presence of his wife and intimate friends, his lips moved again and with a light on his worn face, his inner soul expressed itself in the lines of his favorite hymn:

A moment of silence followed and then in a whisper he said, “That has been my inextinguishable prayer.”

The funeral services at the Capitol began with “Lead, Kindly Light,” sung by the choir, and concluded with “Nearer, My God, to Thee.” The final service was held in the First Methodist Episcopal Church, Canton, Ohio, of which he was a member.

During those days of sadness the nation sang this familiar hymn which profoundly moved the popular heart. Possibly in all the history of the United States, the nation has never so unitedly joined in singing a particular hymn as during those days. It was a national tribute to a fallen leader.

In the City of Utica, New York, the home of Vice-President James S. Sherman, as soon as word was received of his death, October 30, 1912, the leader of the orchestra in the chief hotel asked the company in the dining room to stand, while “Nearer, My God, to Thee” was played. Thus the song which was sung for a fallen President was likewise rendered in his home town when a Vice-President passed thence.

It is a hallowed custom to sing a person’s favorite hymn at his funeral. Thus it was that there was sung at his funeral,

President Wilson’s Favorite Hymn

Visitors at the Chautauqua Assembly, especially in the days of its founder, Bishop J. H. Vincent, can never forget the Sunday evening vesper services. One hymn in particular was always sung: “Day is Dying in the West,” written by Mary A. Lathbury, at Bishop Vincent’s request.

This happened to be President Wilson’s favorite hymn. His remains were carried to Bethlehem Chapel on the cathedral grounds in Washington, D. C. Over the outer door of this chapel the inscription in the stone work is “The Way of Peace.” During the service the men’s voices of the choir led by a clear tenor gave the favorite hymn an infinitely sweet appeal, especially the lines:

It has been well said that some tunes and hymns are so closely united that one recalls the other. Thus it was that

Bells Played Hymns When Taft Was Buried

The service was held in the quaint little Unitarian Church in Washington, D. C. Floral wreaths and sprays abounded, representing the deep affection and high respect for a former President of the United States and later the Chief Justice. The dirge notes of Chopin’s Funeral March, a flourish of trumpets saluting a President, and the tolling of the great bell of All Souls’ Church, as has been the practice since 1822 at the passing of Presidents, constituted parts of this impressive service. No hymns were sung but there was the soft music of the bells which pealed forth the strains of “Abide With Me.” The words were not spoken but the familiar verses ran through the minds of the congregation:

Few hymns have had so many remarkable associations as, “Peace, Perfect Peace,” written by Bishop Edward H. Bickersteth. It has brought comfort to many and on one occasion, as stated below, the author himself was

Comforted by His Own Hymn

An informed contributor to The Churchman writes as follows of this hymn’s vogue: “It has been sung at the obsequies of princes and statesmen as well as at the funerals of the poor. It has afforded consolation to the mourner in the palace as well as to the grief-stricken peasant in the cottage. It was a favorite hymn with the good old Queen of England, and it was sung in her death chamber at Osborne. It has sustained the lonely soul of Bishop Hannington when he was a caged prisoner in Central Africa awaiting execution from the hand of a heathen king. They were the sweet stanzas that bound up the broken heart of General Roberts when his only son was placed in a soldier’s grave in South Africa. It has been sung at the interment of authors, actors and statesmen in Westminster Abbey and St. Paul’s. When in the cemetery of the village of Chislebon, Wiltshire, England, the early harvest was being gathered and shepherds were folding their flocks, the venerable prelate stood at the head of his eldest son’s open grave as this hymn, so often quoted in the hour of death and sung on the day of burial, struck a note of Christian hope to the bereaved spirit of its author. On this side of the Atlantic the hymn is sung at almost every funeral service conducted in church, and Mr. Coldbeck’s appropriate tune, ‘Pax Tecum,’ is singularly adapted to its soothing and inspiring strains.”

“A good hymn is the most difficult thing to write,” said Alfred, Lord Tennyson. It was not until his eighty-first year that he succeeded in writing his single great hymn, “Crossing the Bar,” although stanzas from his In Memoriam are sung as hymns. It was, therefore, most fitting that its first public use was as an anthem at the poet’s funeral in Westminster Abbey on October 12, 1892. The description of the scene, written by the daughter of the Dean of Westminster, is here quoted in part of the singing of

Tennyson’s Hymn at His Funeral

“In the intense and solemn silence which followed the reading of the lesson were heard the voices of the choir singing in subdued and tender tones Tennyson’s ‘Crossing the Bar’—those beautiful words in which the poet, as it were, prophetically foretold his calm and peaceful deathbed. In the second line the clear, thrilling notes of a boy’s voice sounded like a silver trumpet call amongst the arches, and it was only at intervals that one distinguished Dr. Bridge’s beautiful organ accompaniment, which swelled gradually from a subdued murmur as of the morning tide into a triumphant burst from the voices, so blended together were words and music.”

One of the best hymns of fervent devotion is

Illness and suffering had been the lot of its author. She worked under difficulties and might well have said with the Apostle Paul, “Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” Her characteristic confidence was, however, expressed in the

Text Selected by Miss Havergal for Her Tombstone

Her last days found her at Caswell Bay, Swansea, Wales, where she had gone for a rest. When informed that she was approaching the end of her sufferings, she is said to have answered, “If I am going, it is too good to be true.” Death came on June 3, 1879, in the forty-third year of her age; and she was laid to rest in the Astley churchyard beside her father, and close to the church and home of her childhood. By her own desire her favorite text was carved on her tombstone: “The Blood of Jesus Christ His Son Cleanseth Us From All Sin.”

It was an unusual scene, according to The Standard, that comforted the bereaved mother as well as the few persons present

When Parepa Sang at Annie’s Funeral

This famous singer, through a friend, attended the funeral of Annie, the only daughter of a poor widowed mother, in the East End of London. This friend’s description is worth quoting:

“The undertaker came and bustled about. He looked at myself and Parepa, as if to say, ‘It’s time to go. The wretched funeral service is over.’

“Without a word, Parepa rose and walked to the head of the coffin. She laid her white scarf on an empty chair, threw her cloak back from her shoulders, where it fell in long, soft, black lines from her noble figure like the drapery of mourning. She laid her soft, fair hand on the cold forehead, passed it tenderly over the wasted, delicate face, looked down at the dead girl a moment, and moved my flowers from the stained box to the thin fingers, then lifted up her head, and, with illumined eyes, sang the glorious melody:

“Her magnificent voice rose and fell in all its richness and power and pity and beauty. She looked above the dingy room and the tired faces of the men and women, the hard hands and the struggling hearts. She threw back her head and sang till the choirs of paradise must have paused to listen to the music of that day. She passed her hand caressingly over the girl’s soft, dark hair, sang on and on; ‘Take, oh, take her to Thy care.’

“The mother’s face grew rapt and white. I held her hands and watched her eyes. Suddenly she threw my hands off and knelt at Parepa’s feet, close to the wooden trestles. She locked her fingers together, tears and sobs breaking forth. She prayed aloud that God would bless the angel singing for Annie. A patient smile settled about her lips, and the light came back into her poor, dulled eyes, and she kissed her daughter’s face with a love beyond all interpretation of human speech. I led her back to her seat as the last glorious notes of Parepa’s voice rose triumphant over all earthly pain and sorrow.

“And I thought that no queen ever went to her grave with a greater ceremony than this young daughter of poverty and toil, committed to the care of angels.”

An unusual funeral service was held when, instead of the family sitting in silence,

Each Member of the Family Sang a Verse

The description must be quoted in full as it appeared in The Christian Advocate:

“When I was in Rome a friend came to me asking if I would be a pallbearer at the funeral of a young American girl. Her family wished only Americans present at the little service. I went to the room where the casket stood and presently the family entered—a noble lady, evidently the mother, a daughter and two sons, the eldest leading a little girl. They surrounded the casket and softly repeated the Apostles’ Creed. Then the mother’s voice, uncertain and trembling, began:

“All joined her in the chorus. Then the eldest son, a grown man, sang:

“After the chorus there was silence—a choking silence that benumbed me. Then my friend whispered, ‘It is their family prayer service and it is her verse.’ Then the little girl was lifted in her father’s arms, and sweet and clear and wonderingly came:

“I do not know how I endured it, the emotion of that moment. In a broken manner they sobbed through the chorus and then the younger brother, a lad of fourteen, sang:

“His voice was so confident that it steadied all present and the chorus rang out clearly. Then all together they sang:

“And the chorus was strong, clear and almost exultant. After repeating the Lord’s Prayer, the minister read the service and we went to the grave. On the way my friend told me of the many times he had been present at this same little family service in the Michigan home when each sang his verse in the old hymn. ‘The last verse was father’s, and after his death they all sang it for him, and now the little granddaughter had picked up the broken thread of song for her sweet young auntie.’

‘What a wonderful glorification of a poor little hymn!’

“‘Truly so,’ he agreed. ‘I never before had much respect for that piece.’”

The faith and loyalty of a noble Christian were remembered when his daughter

Played Her Father’s Favorite Hymn at a Memorial Service

This service conducted by the North Dakota Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church for Judge Charles S. Pollock was impressively beautiful. Held for a layman, it yet followed the ordination of young men for the ministry. Judge Pollock, a faithful follower of Jesus Christ and a courageous advocate of civic righteousness, had dutifully carried heavy responsibilities at the session of the General Conference in May, 1928, and not long thereafter was summoned into the courts of heaven. On that autumn day at this service the judge’s daughter played on the organ her father’s favorite hymn:

The assurance of reunion was well advertised by

Songs at a Missionary’s Grave

The great missionary, James Gilmour, of Mongolia, lost his beloved wife at Peking. In a letter to his children’s uncle in Scotland, to whom Mr. Gilmour had decided to entrust the two boys after their mother’s death, he wrote: “Oh, it is hard to think of them going off over the world in that motherless fashion! We were at mamma’s grave yesterday for the first time since September 21. We sang ‘There’s a Land That Is Fairer Than Day,’ in Chinese, and also a Chinese hymn we have here with a chorus, which says, ‘We’ll soon go and see them in our heavenly home,’ and in English, ‘There is a happy land.’ The children and I have no reluctance in speaking of mamma, and we don’t think of her as here or buried, but as in a fine place, happy and well.”

As the Rev. Mark Guy Pearse approached the end of his great career as minister and author he said to a brother minister concerning his funeral service: “There must be no mourning, no tears, no misery, no gloom. I go not into the gloom but into the dawn. Start the service with ‘Praise God.’ Take all the stops out of the organ and let everybody thunder it out.” Thus it was that there were sung the

Hallelujah Chorus and Doxology at the Funeral Service

His wishes were met, and the memorial service at Kingsway Hall, the headquarters of the West London Mission, was unusual. The organist played “I Know That My Redeemer Liveth” as the people assembled. Then came, “Praise God, From Whom All Blessings Flow.” The triumphant “Hallelujah Chorus” pealed forth at the close.

The hymns were:

The last lines of the fourth hymn were a powerful wish which the saint had realized:

CHAPTER XV
Hymns on Patriotic Occasions

The impelling motives of patriotism are best expressed in the national anthems of the nations and in songs which breathe the spirit of loyalty to country. Devotion to the ideals and institutions of the land of one’s birth or adoption is the indispensable qualification for the intelligent appreciation of what other peoples hold sacred among their national possessions. Such patriotism is neither of the hoot owl or spread eagle type. It faces all the facts without evasion and frankly acknowledges errors and omissions, with the determination to improve conditions. The patriot thus has no occasion to apologize or defend because he shows reason for his faith in the nation to which he has consecrated his best powers.

The greatness of any nation is evidenced in the quality of its citizenship. So judged, we have cause for gratitude because the hymns which voice our sentiment impressively advertise the idealism which has inspired our activities. The same test can be satisfactorily met by other nations. It is, therefore, quite fitting that reference should be made to their use of hymns on those special occasions when the heart is stirred with gratitude and thanksgiving.

Indeed, the incidents related in this volume are taken from the annals of different nations. The chief interest is their testimony from experience to what hymns have meant to them in the varied crises of life. Such a consideration disregards racial barriers and denominational differences. Hymns speak the universal language of the heart, which penetrates deeper and travels farther than the formalities of customs peculiar to various peoples.

In these days of international appreciation and co-operation it is well to remind ourselves that the higher unity of all peoples is practicable only through Jesus Christ. There is truly no stronger reminder than hymns of the unity of faith, the stability of hope, the harmony of love.

Since it was first published on July 4, 1895, in The Congregationalist,[30] multitudes of people have sung

America, the Beautiful

One hundred thousand persons, it has been estimated, each day sing the patriotic poem of Miss Katherine Lee Bates, who was a teacher of English literature in Wellesley College. Some schools make it a practice to have the children sing it daily. At the commencement of Syracuse University in 1930, a strange thrill swept the company of over one thousand young men and women who were assembled to receive their degrees, and the four thousand persons who were present to witness the graduation exercises, as they sang this hymn. Mighty was the volume of song as the words were reached:

The source of the inspiration of this poem was related by Beatrice York Houghton. In an interview Miss Bates said that she and some friends had gone up Pike’s Peak and the vision from that great height exalted her soul into poetic fervor. The wide reaches of country—her country—the dizzy height which set her above it all, gave her a god-like inspiration, and the lines which came into her mind were remembered, afterwards to be set down.

The origin of a nation’s life was strikingly evidenced in

A Praise Service

St. Paul’s Cathedral, London, is “the Parish Church of the British Empire.” When the repairs were completed after seventeen years in 1930, a memorable thanksgiving service was held under the renovated dome which was Sir Christopher Wren’s masterpiece. This famous architect was the son of a clergyman and such was his consuming devotion to his work that he could have said with Michael Angelo: “It is enough to have bread and to live in the faith of Christ.”

The Thanksgiving service was attended by one hundred and sixty bishops of the Anglican Church, assembled from all parts of the Empire. It was broadcast to New York, Melbourne, Calcutta, Toronto and other cities. Dean Inge, of St. Paul’s, standing on the chancel steps, exhorted everyone to “give praise to God that he hath called us to take part in the joy and adventure of his glorious Kingdom.” The feelings of the occasion were voiced by seven thousand people through Henry Lyte’s hymn: