* whispering hope *

Most every night when I go to bed, I grab a small hymnal that belonged to my Grandmother.  Once I’m settled and snuggled in, I open in it up and see what new treasures I can find or what old friends await me.  It is a wonderful way to direct my thoughts before reading my Bible and then going to sleep. Last night I found this hymn, which I have never seen or noticed before.  It ministered to my heart immediately. 

Let me share a bit about its’ author.  Septimus Winner, born May 11, 1827 in Philadelphia, and died Nov. 22, 1902, was a well known po­et, com­pos­er and vi­o­lin­ist. A self taught mu­si­cian, he al­so ran a mu­sic store, gave les­sons on var­i­ous in­stru­ments, and played in the Phil­a­del­phia Brass Band and Ce­ci­lian Mu­sic­al So­ci­ety. He wrote or ed­it­ed over 200 vol­umes of music, for more than 20 in­stru­ments, and pro­duced 2,000 ar­range­ments for vi­o­lin and pi­a­no. He wrote the song List­en to the Mock­ing Bird, but sold the rights to it for the grand sum of five dol­lars; in the next few years, it sold 20,000,000 co­pies. He wrote songs, both Christian and Popular, under such pseudonyms as: Alice Hawthorne, Percy Guyer, Mark Mason, and Paul Stenton.   In 1868, he wrote Whispering Hope.   You are familiar with another of his songs, I’m sure.  He also wrote “Where, O Where Has My Little Dog Gone?”

Whispering Hope

Soft as the voice of an angel,
Breathing a lesson unheard,
Hope with a gentle persuasion
Whispers her comforting word:
Wait till the darkness is over,
Wait till the tempest is done,
Hope for the sunshine tomorrow,
After the shower is gone.

Whispering hope, oh how welcome thy voice,
Making my heart in its sorrow rejoice.

If, in the dusk of the twilight,
Dim be the region afar,
Will not the deepening darkness
Brighten the glimmering star?
Then when the night is upon us,
Why should the heart sink away?
When the dark midnight is over,
Watch for the breaking of day.

Whispering hope, oh how welcome thy voice,
Making my heart in its sorrow rejoice.

Hope, as an anchor so steadfast,
Rends the dark veil for the soul,
Whither the Master has entered,
Robbing the grave of its goal.
Come then, O come, glad fruition,
Come to my sad weary heart;
Come, O Thou blest hope of glory,
Never, O never depart.

Whispering hope, oh how welcome thy voice,
Making my heart in its sorrow rejoice.

“Hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and steadfast.” Hebrews 6:19

Information about Mr. Winner and this hymn were found on Cyberhymnal.org.