Hymns in Human Experience

“Perhaps the experience that touched her most deeply of all, and the one she most treasures, is that of the time when a poor condemned man, sentenced to be hanged, asked that her hymn, ‘Face to Face with Christ My Saviour,’ be sung before his execution. As the doomed wretch was led out, and looked for the last time upon what was left him of the world, there came to him the sweet words of her hymn—

The pathos of the situation is recounted by a prison chaplain in England who tells of

Hymns Selected by Prisoners

This chaplain, the Rev. G. A. Metcalfe, found men confined for various crimes. One was convicted of murder, but his sentence of death had been commuted to penal servitude. During the first service this murderer sat alone on the front seat. “There were hardened criminals behind, and here and there some mothers’ lads with fine faces and soulful eyes glistening with tears.” After his address he asked the prisoners to select two or three hymns. One was “Jesus Is Tenderly Calling” and they sang it with the utmost fervor. Then a young fellow called out his choice and there was a sob in the voices as they sang:

An experience of the days before prohibition was recorded in The Youth’s Companion, when

Judge and Criminals Listened To “The Holy City”

Thirty men, red-eyed and disheveled, lined up before a judge of the San Francisco police court. It was the regular morning company of “drunks and disorderlies.” Just as the momentary disorder attending the bringing in of the prisoners quieted down, a strange thing happened. A strong, clear voice from below began singing:

Last night! It had been for them all a nightmare or a drunken stupor. The song was such a contrast to the horrible fact that no one could fail of a sudden shock at the thought the song suggested.

the song went on. The judge had paused. He made a quiet inquiry. A former member of a famous opera company, known all over the country, was awaiting trial for forgery. It was he who was singing in his cell.

Meantime the song went on, and every man on the line showed emotion. At length, one man protested.

“Judge,” said he, “have we got to submit to this? We’re here to take our punishment, but this—” and he began to sob.

It was impossible to proceed with the business of the court, yet the judge gave no order to stop the song. It moved on to its climax:

In an ecstasy of melody the last words rang out, and then there was silence.

The judge looked into the faces of the men before him. There was not one who was not touched by the song; not one in whom some better impulse was not stirred. He did not call the cases singly—a kind word of advice, and he dismissed them all. No man was fined or sentenced to the workhouse that morning. The song had done more good than punishment could have accomplished.

CHAPTER VII
The Music of Submerged Lives

Hope is the great gift of Christianity. It pierces through the darkness and rejoices in the light beyond. It looks through the cloud and is assured that the sun is shining in the heavens. It insists on looking at the bright side even when it knows that there is a dark side. The English artist, George Frederick Watts, painted Hope as a blindfolded figure sitting on the top of a globe above a yawning abyss, playing upon a lyre with only one string, in harmony with the music of the Evangel, while in the distance a star is shining. Fanny Crosby, the blind hymn writer who died at the age of ninety-four, once said: “Hope’s star shines clearer on my pathway today than it did fifty years ago.” It is this same spirit of hope which Gilmour of Mongolia had when he declared that the future is as bright as the promises of God.

So long as we are thus inspired we cannot be soured by cynicism, because we are sweetened by the confidence which insists that “the day must dawn and darksome night be past.” This is the triumph of lives handicapped by harsh circumstances but rising above what would submerge them because of their assurance that hope is the anchor of their soul, sure and steadfast. Here are some illustrations of this truth from unexpected quarters.

A letter giving the impression of a radio service by Dr. S. Parkes Cadman tells how

A Cripple Stood on Crutches

The writer related that he was greatly stirred by the singing of

He then added: “I have been on crutches for more than twelve years but today when you sang ‘Stand up for Jesus’ I got up from my bed and stood on crutches out of respect for the Master.”

Another somewhat like the above is about the

Song of the Man with the Wooden Leg

“Adah Vachell of Bristol” is the story of a brave, gifted, delicate lady who devoted her life to the blind, deaf, crippled poor of the city of Bristol. Her contact with the maimed and halt was made in the ceaseless round of slum visitation, dens of filth and want, sometimes revealing a brave endeavor to triumph over adverse conditions.

A guild was formed with a startling motto, Lætus sorte mea, “Happy is my lot.” Indissolubly linked with it was the tug of war hymn, “The Son of God Goes Forth to War.” “I can picture him so well, sitting close to the fire ... the wooden leg stretched out, his rough rugged old face softened as he sang in husky voice:

Here is a story of a famous hymn which was

Sung for the Scrub Woman

While the choir was waiting for the delayed organist, a celebrated soprano recounted one of her experiences. She said: “I have sung before all the greatest folk in America. I sang before a company of titled folks from Europe who were visiting here in this country. But the greatest thrill I ever got in my life was singing before one lone woman, and she a scrubwoman.” “Tell us about it,” said the tenor. “We were getting ready for a great musical event, and had been in the church rehearsing. As I passed out on my way home, the scrubwoman, with duster in hand, stopped me and said, ‘Lady, you sing so beautifully—I wonder if some day you would sing “Face to Face” for me,—it isn’t asking too much, is it, lady?’ I told her I would be glad to do so some day. When I got to the doorstep something said to me, ‘Do it now,’ so I turned back. The organist was still there, and I asked him to play. When the scrubwoman heard the strains of the organ on the familiar tune, she came into the church and sat on the very front seat with the duster in her lap, and her eyes intensely upon me with a strange light in them. I never had such a thrill in all my life of song. I never felt so lifted up, for there in that front seat sat the Lord Jesus Himself listening to me sing to Him.

Another of the annals of the poor is

What the Washerwoman Sang

During his early ministry, Bishop William Burt was a pastor in Brooklyn. From that period he carried the memory of a woman who earned her living by taking in washing. Sometimes when making his round of pastoral calls the young pastor would hear the woman, as she was working at her daily task at the washtub, singing snatches of hymns which were used at the services of the church and the prayer meeting. But one which particularly impressed him was the day when he was approaching her humble rooms and heard her voice, as she sang:

Assurance was in her voice, and there was a note of triumphant certainty on the part of this humble daughter of toil that she was the King’s child, and therefore heir to all the promises made in the Bible.

Billy Bray, the Cornish miner, had the same happy consciousness. Frequently he would exclaim, “I’m the King’s son!”

The ability to rise above depressing circumstances is seen in this incident

Before Worship

A few had gathered at the Goodwill Chapel service fifteen minutes before the time to begin. The leader often allowed his audience to select the opening hymn. And these early comers were making their choices.

“Here’s a hymn I like,” said one. “It’s ‘We’re Marching to Zion.’” “I like it, too,” said another, “but why do you like it?”

“Well,” replied the first speaker, “there’s nothing uncertain about that hymn. It knows where it’s going. A person can stand a whole lot of hardship if she knows the end is worth it. Yes, I like that hymn. If Mr. Dawson asks us what we want to sing, this morning, I am going to ask for this one.” And so they talked happily among themselves.

Others came in and took their seats, a motley company of depressed old age wearing the marks of poverty and sorrow. The leader entered and this time he gave out the hymn. “I don’t care. I like this just as well,” observed the one who had chosen “We’re Marching to Zion.” Well might she and the others, for it expressed faith and hope in the lines:

Thus encouraged they went from that service to the humdrum routine of daily drudgery.

The power of the Gospel to reach those on the outskirts of civilization is evidenced

When Lumberjacks Sang “Jesus, Lover of My Soul”

Thomas D. Whittles tells of many an interesting incident in his book, The Parish of the Pines[19]—the story of Frank Higgins, the Lumberjacks’ Sky Pilot.

One morning after breakfast the men went to the bunkhouse to wait for the word of the “push” ordering them to “the works.” While they waited a rich tenor struck up the hymn,

One by one the men joined in and the solo passed into the chorus of a hundred voices. Out through the twilight the melody rolled, waking the sleeping pines, crossing the frozen lakes. The men in the stables, harnessing their horses, heard the song and softly whistled it; the cook, busy with the pots and pans, hummed it in unison and the swearing cookee closed his profane mouth and listened in astonished silence. Over in the office where the officials slept, the song caused silent amazement, for it was unlike the morning hour when oaths and curses break the stillness.

sang the men, unconscious of aught save the song.

and it came from the hearts of those who knew the weight of lonely weeks and months. The Sky Pilot in the office turned his face to the wall and prayed while they sang this hymn which the men had sung at the service the night before.

“All out,” cried the “push.”

From the shack streamed forth the men, singing the song of comfort. Into groups they separated, each going his appointed way, but the hymn continued in all parts of the forest until the sweet melody died to tender murmurs and was lost in the distant evergreens. In all that North Star State no happier body of men went forth to toil, for with them went the spirit of song.

Here is an instance of gratitude expressively shown in the words,

“Pass It On”

Henry Burton’s famous hymn, “Pass It On,” was inspired by a story relating to the early life of the Rev. Mark Guy Pearse, noted as a preacher and a writer, and who died just a few months before Dr. Burton. The latter married a sister of Mr. Pearse. How he came to write this hymn was related in The British Weekly.

“Returning from school in Holland, Pearse once found himself on a steam packet bound from Bristol to Hayle in Cornwall, having had a hearty supper, and later finding that he had reached the limit of his finances. The steward was inclined to be severe, but on hearing the lad’s name he changed his tone. Pearse’s father had recently helped the steward’s mother in a difficulty, now the opportunity had come for the old debt to be repaid. The steward paid the supper bill with the remark, ‘Now pass this on to some one else.’”

This furnished the inspiration for the appealing lines:

CHAPTER VIII
Songs of Salvation

It has been rightly observed that the three ideas most frequently expressed by Jesus are translated by the words lost, last, least. He constantly repeated the message that the lost shall be found, that the last shall be the first, that the least shall be the greatest. This is the Gospel of the World’s Saviour who saw possibilities in what others called hopeless lives. He appealed to what was latent in them and secured a response from the despised, the outcast, the depraved. To all appearances they were incapable of better things but Jesus knew better and He was not disappointed.

These unfortunate individuals belong to the “broken earthenware” of humanity. Scarred by sin, hurt by temptation, haunted by fear, torn by passion, repressed by prejudice, their lives have been redeemed by the Saviour, and transformed. So much so that their present has not the slightest resemblance to their past, and their future has the glow of greater progress toward holiness and happiness. As long as such results are obtained by the Gospel it is certainly good news to all classes and conditions, and should be broadcast to earth’s remotest bounds. Here are some recent proofs of the glory of the divine grace.

There are no hopeless cases as seen in the instance of one who was

Saved by Sankey’s Singing

Mrs. Emily Sullivan Oakey was a well-known writer but she is best remembered by her hymn, “Sowing the Seed by the Daylight Fair.” In the winter of 1876, W. O. Lattimore, who had been separated from his wife and child by drink and had become a miserable drunkard, stumbled in an intoxicated condition into Moody’s Tabernacle in Chicago. When he came to, he realized his mistake and was about to leave when Sankey’s solo held him. He was singing the stanza:

These lines followed Lattimore even to the saloon and he returned to the Tabernacle and was converted. He went back to his family, engaged in active work at the Moody meetings, accepted the call to the ministry and was pastor of a flourishing church in Evanston, Illinois, for twenty years.

This hymn was doubtless suggested by the Apostle’s words: “Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.”

The insight of Jesus is finely illustrated by

Hymns from the Bowery Mission

Fanny Crosby was a friend and devoted worker at the Bowery Mission for several years and many of her hymns were inspired by experiences at this center of aggressive evangelism. Few hymns by any writer show deeper sympathetic insight than “Rescue the Perishing,” especially the lines:

The circumstances under which this hymn was written are worth recounting in her own words:

“I recall the period of more than sixteen years ago when it was my privilege to be a humble worker in the Bowery Mission. The world is still, and I am holding communion with the past; sweet, hallowed communion, carrying me back to the fervent heartfelt testimonies of those who, evening after evening, told of the peace flowing like a river which had entered their stained lives, had washed away their sins, and made them clean through the precious blood of our Lord’s atonement.

“One evening a man for whom we had been praying, said, his face radiant with joy, ‘Now I can meet mother in heaven, for I have found her God.’ That night I wrote my hymn, ‘Rescue the Perishing.’”

Here is a remarkable case of one who, while

Singing of Christ, She Accepted Him

In the absence of the organist at East Northfield, Massachusetts, at one of the meetings during the summer gathering, a woman stepped forward and volunteered her services. She made a deep impression by her playing and also by the sweetness of her singing, with the result that she was in constant demand at the other services. When urgently requested she related her experience.

She used to be one of the leading singers of New York, going from place to place, singing classical and operatic music, but hymns she disliked. One evening, while attending a mission service, she was invited to sing a solo, which she did with pleasure. Then someone asked her to sing a Gospel hymn. She first laughed at the idea, and refused. Later she consented. Opening the book at random, she began:

The words caused her to think of her past life. She continued:

These words struck her forcefully, and she began to wonder if she really meant them. The last verse followed:

It was enough. She arose from her seat at the organ a Christian woman, and henceforth served Christ whole-heartedly.

The initiative is always taken by God, as seen in the story where

God Was the Seeker

“How long since ye sought and found God, Jamie?” said some of the friends of an old Scotch elder as he lay dying.

“Oh, Robin, Robin, I never sought and found him,” answered the dying man.

“Oh, his mind is gane, and he will never recognize us again,” remarked the friend sadly.

But the old saint opened his lips, and faintly said: “Listen! Not I—not I—I never sought Him:

The old Scotchman had grasped the fundamental fact of Christianity, that Christ came to seek and to save the lost.

Dr. Charles A. Blanchard once related the conversion of a friend of his through

A Song at Midnight

This friend was for many years an infidel, a hard drinker, a Sabbath breaker, unkind to his wife. One day, after a debauch, he went out on a stringer belonging to a wharf in process of building, drank two bottles of whisky, and lay down on the stringer, expecting to fall asleep, and roll over into the water in his sleep. He wanted to end his miserable existence, but had not the courage to do it in any other way. He did fall asleep, but did not turn over, and awoke with the stars shining in his face. He went home at midnight, saw his wife through the window still at work ironing, and heard her singing, “What a Friend we have in Jesus.” The thought came to him, “If Jesus can make my wife sing at midnight, He can make me stop drinking whiskey.” He never touched a drop of intoxicating liquor after that, and he became a sincere, trusting Christian.

The truth of the words, “Cast thy bread upon the waters and thou shalt find it after many days,” finds an illustration in this story of a writer who was

Handed a Copy of Her Own Hymn

Charlotte Elliott first published her famous hymn,

in a volume entitled The Invalid’s Hymn Book. The sister of the author related this incident:

“A lady was so struck with it that she had it printed as a leaflet and widely circulated without any idea by whom it was composed. It happened rather curiously that while we were living at Torquay, our valued Christian physician came to us one morning, having in his hand this leaflet. He offered it to my sister, saying, ‘I am sure this will please you;’ and great indeed was his astonishment on finding that it was written by herself, though by what means it had been thus printed and circulated she was utterly ignorant. Shortly after we became acquainted with the lady who had printed it.”

Mr. Sankey saved many hymns from obscurity by singing them at the Moody meetings. Here is the story of

“Throw Out the Lifeline”

This hymn and the tune were written by the Rev. E. S. Ufford of Springfield, Massachusetts, although it was greatly popularized by Mr. Sankey’s singing of it with such signal results. Mr. Ufford relates that he lived for many years near the seashore in a little village thirteen miles from Boston. In the summer he would often stroll along the beach and see an old wreck half hidden in the sands and rubbish and wonder whether such a wreck might have been avoided if a life line had been thrown out to the passengers and crew. He wished that he might write a hymn with a searching message. After a meeting held on the sands by the old wreck, he offered the help of the Gospel to the wrecks of manhood who were present.

The inspiration of this service so stirred him that he sat down and in fifteen minutes wrote four stanzas of the hymn which has justly become famous. Sankey got hold of this hymn and at once began to sing it. It was Moody’s favorite. When Mr. Ufford later took a trip round the world the fact that he was the author of this hymn gave him a welcome everywhere. It was his privilege to hear it sung by the natives of Honolulu in their own tongue.

Mr. Sankey also popularized another hymn which he casually came across

In a Newspaper

It was in 1874 that he discovered “The Ninety and Nine” in a weekly newspaper which he bought at the Glasgow railway station. He cut out this poem, hoping to use it if he could get a suitable tune. After an address on “The Good Shepherd,” Mr. Moody turned to him with the request for an appropriate solo. To quote his own words: “At this moment I seemed to hear a voice saying, ‘Sing the hymn you found in the train.’ I thought this impossible as no music had been written for the hymn. Again the impression came strongly upon me that I must sing the beautiful appropriate words I had found the day before, and placing the little newspaper slip on the organ, I lifted my heart in prayer, asking God to help me to sing that the people might hear and understand. Laying my hands on the organ, I struck the chord of A flat and began the song. Note by note the tune was given, which has not been changed from that day to this. Mr. Moody was greatly moved. Leaning over the organ, he looked at the little newspaper slip, and with tears in his eyes said, ‘Sankey, where did you get that hymn? I never heard the like of it in my life.’”

This hymn was written by Miss Elizabeth C. Clephane of Melrose, Scotland, who died in 1869. Her sister was present at this noon meeting at the Free Assembly Hall, and later wrote to Mr. Sankey, thanking him for singing the hymn.

Here is another story by Andrew Stewart in The British Weekly about these same meetings and how the hymn

“Jesus of Nazareth” Made an Extraordinary Impression

“I remember Mr. Sankey in Edinburgh in 1874. Mr. Moody and he were conducting meetings in Broughton Place Church. It was their first visit to Scotland, and Dr. Andrew Thomson had bravely opened the great church to the strangers. A small boy, sitting in our family pew, facing the pulpit, I can recall the effect of the great crowds and the intense impression. One of the hymns used was ‘Jesus of Nazareth Passeth By.’ My father told long afterwards how he met a commercial traveler one morning on the ferry steamer that crossed from Granton before the Forth Bridge was built. The traveler spoke of having attended the evangelistic services the previous night. He said: ‘I am not a religious man and not easily moved, but when that man sang “Jesus of Nazareth Has Passed By” it made an extraordinary impression on me.’ The fact is that the success of the evangelists had more connection with Sankey’s singing than most people realize. He had a powerful baritone voice and sang with deep feeling.”

The first verse of the hymn is:

From far-off China comes this striking incident in connection with

“One Sweetly Solemn Thought”

Dr. Russell H. Conwell was traveling in China and one day he entered a gambling house in a Chinese city. Two Americans were there, betting and drinking; the older one frequently using the filthiest profanity. The younger man had lost in two games and the third game had just begun. While the winner was shuffling the cards his companion sat lazily back in his chair. There was delay in dealing out the cards and while waiting, the other looked carelessly about the room and began to hum a tune and then to sing almost unconsciously. The words were:

While the young man sang, his fellow gambler stopped dealing out cards, stared at the singer and exclaimed: “Harry, where did you learn that song?” “What song?” “Why, the one you have been singing.”

He said he did not know what he had been singing. The other repeated the words, with tears in his eyes, and the younger man said he had learned them in the Sunday School in America.

“Come,” said the elder gambler, getting up; “come, Harry, here’s what I have won from you; go and use it for some good purpose. As for me, as God sees me, I have played my last game and drunk my last bottle. I have misled you, Harry, and I am sorry. Give me your hand, my boy, and say that for old America’s sake, if for no other, you will quit this infernal business.”

This hymn was written by Miss Phoebe Cary while visiting a friend. She had attended church and was deeply stirred, and on returning to her friend’s house she retired to “the little back third-story bedroom” and wrote this expression of her experience. This incident in China gave her much happiness. After her death the older man in the above story wrote to Dr. Conwell saying that he was now a “hard working Christian” and that Harry had renounced his evil ways.

CHAPTER IX
“The Old Rugged Cross”

The Cross is the triumphant symbol of a militant and puissant Christianity. It tells of “love divine, all loves excelling.” It sustains hope in the final victory of good. It establishes faith in the persistent reality of truth. The Gospel of the Cross proclaims redemption from sin, reconciliation with God, realization of goodwill to all people. There is absolutely nothing else to equal the appeal of the Cross in its power to produce the most desirable changes in the individual and in society. Wherever it has been preached with the conviction of experience and the constraint of passion, the Holy Christ has won trophies in lives recovered from the waste of sin, renewed by the power of grace, enriched by the practices of purity and peace.

Indeed, the only cure for our distracted age is found in the Atoning Christ. This is endorsed by the voices of redeemed multitudes of every age and land. The testimony from life is conclusive. It holds us by a resolute determination to announce its message of pardon and joy to everyone. In the words of John Oxenham,

The Cross makes a universal appeal, as in this incident related by Miss Margaret Sangster[22] when

All Wanted the Same Song

“I was in a radio studio, the other night, listening to the broadcast of a program. Naturally I was interested. Interested in what the performers did and how they were handled and the precision with which the timing was accomplished. But the one thing that interested me more than the actual happenings in the studio, was something quite apart from the especial broadcast that was taking place. For, as I sat there, I was conscious of a great flurry going on in an outer office. I could see, as I sat there, a constant stream of messenger boys—and I was conscious of an equally constant answering of telephones. I couldn’t help feeling that some great event was taking place—or was about to take place.

“And so the moment that the broadcast was over, I went into that outer office and began to ask questions. ‘Why the excitement?’ I asked of a pretty stenographer. ‘I’ve never seen such a bustling about.’ The girl smiled as she replied: ‘A very popular singer is going to broadcast tonight,’ she told me, ‘and people are sending in requests that he sing their favorite song. Curiously enough, with hardly an exception, it’s the same song!’

“‘What song is it?’ I asked. And I was both amazed and stirred to learn that the radio audience was asking for one of the splendid old revival hymns—‘The Old Rugged Cross!’”

Thomas D. Whittles tells this story in his book, The Parish of the Pines,[23] about

Gospel Music in the Lumber Camps

An upturned barrel serves for pulpit, and a horse blanket, bearing the manufacturer’s name in large letters, is the embroidered altar cloth. No Genevan gown lends grace to the minister, but coatless he stands—a shirt-sleeved messenger of God.

The opening of a service conducted by Frank Higgins, the Sky Pilot, is thus described:

“‘Sing No. 31, boys; it’s easy and it’s a good one. Let her go!’

“The hymn is old and the boys welcome it lustily. The music lacks in sweetness: in volume it abounds.

“‘You can do better. Hit it harder on the next verse.’

“They do; they shout it forth in full voice, pleased with the song, glad for the privilege of singing. Then the chorus: ‘At the cross, at the cross, where I first saw the light,’ shakes the bunkhouse and wanders over the far reaches of the night-bound forest. In our fashionable churches, trained voices blend in superb harmony; but this is the music of songless lives.”

However different may be our views on many questions of religion, most of us agree that

The Cross Remains

Matthew Arnold was visiting his brother-in-law, Mr. Cropper, and went with him to a service at Seton Park Church, Liverpool, England. The minister, Dr. John Watson (“Ian Maclaren”), preached on “The Shadow of the Cross,” and the congregation afterwards sang the familiar hymn:

At lunch that day Mr. Arnold referred to the hymn, which he said he considered the finest in the English language. Appreciative reference was also made to the sermon; and the poet mentioned especially an illustration which the preacher had drawn from a Riviera earthquake.

“In one village,” said Dr. Watson, “the huge crucifix above the altar, with a part of the chancel, remained unshaken amid the ruins, and round the cross the people sheltered.”

“Yes,” remarked Arnold in speaking of this, “the cross remains, and in the straits of the soul makes its ancient appeal.”

This recalls an incident mentioned in a lecture, when the speaker described a scene in Paris in which a number of men, when a cathedral was dedicated on a hill, attempted to blot out the illumination of the cross on the spire by raising large clouds of smoke with chemicals. “Instead of blotting it out,” said the lecturer, “the cross stood out in greater magnificence and splendor.”

Never does the Cross fail men in their need; but

The truth of reliance upon the Christ of the Cross is well brought out in

“Rock of Ages”

The original title of this hymn was “A Living and Dying Prayer for the Holiest Believer in the World.” But, as a matter of fact, the hymn is a favorite of the best saint and the worst sinner. It can be used appropriately in every condition of life. In a shipwreck off the Bay of Biscay, the last man who left the ship said he heard the passengers singing,

The glory of the Cross found an impressive testimony in

Henry Drummond’s Hymn on His Last Sunday

Death called the brilliant Henry Drummond hence while he was still in the prime of life. On the afternoon of the last Sunday he spent on earth this noble Scotchman, with his scientific mind and evangelical spirit, heard his friend, Dr. Barbour, play to him the music of the hymn, “Art Thou Weary, Art Thou Languid?” and other hymn tunes. There was no response. Then he tried the old Scots melody of “Martyrdom,” to which Drummond beat time with his hand, and joined in the words:

When they finished singing this hymn by Isaac Watts, Drummond said, “There’s nothing to beat that, Hugh.” The following Thursday he passed to greet his Lord of whom he had been a radiant follower.

The everlasting Gospel of the Cross is assuredly

The Only Word for Discord and Distress

How truly it meets our needs is finely suggested in one of the best hymns, “My Faith Looks Up to Thee.” It was written by Dr. Ray Palmer at the age of twenty-two while still a theological student, suffering from poor health, laboring under many discouragements and realizing that God was his only help. During the Civil War some soldiers met in a tent for prayer before a great battle; they decided to draw up and sign a paper, expressing their trust in that stern hour. One of the men knew this hymn and he wrote it out and each man signed his name. Only one of them lived through the battle to tell of this death covenant and to send the precious document to the loved ones of those who fell. Well might each of them have prayed: