Hen and Chicks

* 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.

* come, thou fount of every blessing *

Robert Robinson, the writer of this hymn, lived a life with many ups and downs.  His father died when he was very young and at the age of 14 his mother sent him to London to learn the trade of a barber.  His master soon learned that young Robinson liked to read more than work, but he did adequately well in his training.  Robinson also fell in with a rougher crowd and the young men he associated with were prone to troublemaking.    One such incident at the age of 17 made an impression on him and he determined to change.  A few days later he heard a sermon by George Whitefield which left him in dread of the wrath of God.  He finally made his peace with God and turned his life around at the age of 20.  He was soon a Methodist preacher and he wrote Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing when he was only 22 years old.     (click on the hymn title to hear the music for this hymn.)

Come, Thou Fount of Every Blessing

Come, Thou Fount of every blessing,
Tune my heart to sing Thy grace;
Streams of mercy, never ceasing,
Call for songs of loudest praise.
Teach me some melodious sonnet,
Sung by flaming tongues above.
Praise the mount! I’m fixed upon it,
Mount of Thy redeeming love.

Sorrowing I shall be in spirit,
Till released from flesh and sin,
Yet from what I do inherit,
Here Thy praises I’ll begin;
Here I raise my Ebenezer;
Here by Thy great help I’ve come;
And I hope, by Thy good pleasure,
Safely to arrive at home.

Jesus sought me when a stranger,
Wandering from the fold of God;
He, to rescue me from danger,
Interposed His precious blood;
How His kindness yet pursues me
Mortal tongue can never tell,
Clothed in flesh, till death shall loose me
I cannot proclaim it well.

O to grace how great a debtor
Daily I’m constrained to be!
Let Thy goodness, like a fetter,
Bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it,
Prone to leave the God I love;
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it,
Seal it for Thy courts above.

O that day when freed from sinning,
I shall see Thy lovely face;
Clothed then in blood washed linen
How I’ll sing Thy sovereign grace;
Come, my Lord, no longer tarry,
Take my ransomed soul away;
Send thine angels now to carry
Me to realms of endless day.

If you are interested in reading more of Robert Robinson, try Here, and Here, or Here.

* faith is the victory *

Written in 1891 by Baptist minister John Yates of New York, this is one of the few hymns he wrote and a most famous one at that.   (Click on the hymn title and you'll be taken to CyberHymnal and hear the tune for this great hymn.)

I've heard and sung this hymn many times but hadn't heard it or thought about it for years - but as I was reading the last pages of Uncle Tom's Cabin and witnessing on the written page the death of Tom, the release of his soul from this torment, and the peace and glory that he knew was waiting for him - this immediately came to mind.  He truly was able to overcome the world and all of its' troubles by his faith in the LORD.  It was a perfect picture of Matthew 10:28  "Fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul;"

Faith is the Victory

Encamped along the hills of light,
Ye Christian soldiers, rise.
And press the battle ere the night
Shall veil the glowing skies.
Against the foe in vales below
Let all our strength be hurled.
Faith is the victory, we know,
That overcomes the world.

Faith is the victory! Faith is the victory!
O glorious victory, that overcomes the world.

His banner over us is love,
Our sword the Word of God.
We tread the road the saints above
With shouts of triumph trod.
By faith, they like a whirlwind’s breath,
Swept on o’er every field.
The faith by which they conquered death
Is still our shining shield.

Faith is the victory! Faith is the victory!
O glorious victory, that overcomes the world.

On every hand the foe we find
Drawn up in dread array.
Let tents of ease be left behind,
And onward to the fray.
Salvation’s helmet on each head,
With truth all girt about,
The earth shall tremble ’neath our tread,
And echo with our shout.

Faith is the victory! Faith is the victory!
O glorious victory, that overcomes the world.

To him that overcomes the foe,
White raiment shall be giv’n.
Before the angels he shall know
His name confessed in Heav’n.
Then onward from the hill of light,
Our hearts with love aflame,
We’ll vanquish all the hosts of night,
In Jesus’ conqu’ring Name.

Faith is the victory! Faith is the victory!
O glorious victory, that overcomes the world.

"For whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world: and this is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith."    1 John 5:4

* i am thine, O Lord *

At the age of 15,  Fanny Crosby went off to the New York School for the Blind.  During her seven years there as a student, she learned to sing, and play the piano and the guitar.   She loved all of her studies except for one, of which she wrote:

I loathe, abhor, it makes me sick, to hear the word Arithmetic!  ;-)

I share this hymn today because it is one of the hymns that I was singing in my head yesterday after my visit at the dentist. 

                                        I am thine, O Lord

I am thine, oh Lord, I have heard thy voice,

And it told thy love to me;

But I long to rise in the arms of faith,

And be closer drawn to thee.

*

Draw me nearer, nearer, blessed Lord,

To the cross where thou hast died;

Draw me nearer, nearer, blessed Lord,

To thy precious bleeding side.

*

Consecrate me now to thy service, Lord

By the power of grace divine;

Let my soul look up with a steadfast hope,

And my will be lost in thine.

*

Draw me nearer, nearer, blessed Lord,

To the cross where thou hast died;

Draw me nearer, nearer, blessed Lord,

To thy precious bleeding side.

*

O the pure delight of a single hour

That before thy throne I spend;

When I kneel in prayer, and with thee, my God,

I commune as friend with friend!

*

Draw me nearer, nearer, blessed Lord,

To the cross where thou hast died;

Draw me nearer, nearer, blessed Lord,

To thy precious bleeding side.

*

There are depths of love that I cannot know

Till I cross the narrow sea;

There are heights of joy that I may not reach

Till I rest in peace with thee.

*

Draw me nearer, nearer, blessed Lord,

To the cross where thou hast died;

Draw me nearer, nearer, blessed Lord,

To thy precious bleeding side.

For a very well written mini-biography of Fanny Crosby, see THIS.

* blessed assurance *

Frances Jane Crosby, known to the world as Fanny, was a most prolific hymn writer and a lovely example of how the LORD uses those who are weak and feeble, seemingly with nothing to offer, and proves how marvelous is His strength.

Fanny was born in 1920.  At about six weeks of age, she caught a cold which then became an inflammation of the eyes.  The Doctor who came in place of the family Doctor recommended hot poultices as treatment for the inflammation.  This treatment left her blind in both eyes.  At the age of one, her father died and she was raised by her mother and grandmother who firmly grounded her with a strong faith in God and encouraged her to memorize long passages from the Bible.

She began writing prose at a very young age; when she was nine years old she wrote:

"Oh, what a happy soul I am, although I cannot see; I am resolved that in this world contented I will be.  How many blessings I enjoy that other people don't, to weep and sigh because I'm blind, I cannot and I won't."

I will be adding many more of her hymns, and each time I do I will add a little more about her interesting life also.

Blessed Assurance

Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine!  Oh, what a foretaste of glory divine! Heir of salvation, purchase of God,  Born of his Spirit, washed in his blood.

This is my story, this my song,  Praising my Savior all the day long; This is my story, this my song,  Praising my Savior all the day long.

Perfect submission, perfect delight,  Visions of rapture now burst on my sight: Angels descending bring from above  Echoes of mercy, whispers of love.

This is my story, this my song,  Praising my Savior all the day long; This is my story, this my song,  Praising my Savior all the day long.

Perfect submission, all is at rest,  I in my Savior am happy and blessed: Watching and waiting, looking above,  Filled with his goodness, lost in his love.

This is my story, this my song,  Praising my Savior all the day long; This is my story, this my song,  Praising my Savior all the day long.

* sweetly resting *

A photo from our first trip to Hawaii a few years ago goes along perfectly with the hymn that I've been singing all week, "In the Rifted Rock I'm Resting."    A small nook worn away in this rock wall was the perfect place for these little plants to sprout and grow.  Sheltered within this cleft, safe from storms and winds, its roots are secure.

Too frequently lately, I have not been seeking the shelter of the Rock that was cleft for me, Jesus.  I have been distracted and hurried.  I've felt there was no point to my day.  I've felt there was no way I could do all that needed doing.    Hopeless about our progress with school,  swayed and bent by any frustrations, I was just plain tired of feeling not in control and at the whim of whatever circumstances happened to appear that day, that hour, that moment.

Why did I not recognize it sooner?  Why did I not see that I was being blown and tossed about by circumstances and emotions, with doubts and worries, because I was not seeking the refuge of my Rock, the Lord Jesus.   All throughout scripture we are given the promise of shelter:

• "For thou hast been a shelter for me, and a strong tower from the enemy.  I will abide in thy tabernacle for ever; I will trust in the covert of thy wings."  Psalm 61
• "The eternal God is thy refuge"  Deut.  33:27
• "The LORD is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; the God of my rock; in him will I trust: he is my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my high tower, and my refuge, my saviour."   2 Samuel 22:2-3
• "The LORD also will be a refuge for the oppressed, a refuge in times of trouble."  Psalm 9:9
• "God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble."  Psalm 46:1
• " . . in the shadow of thy wings will I make my refuge."  Psalm 57:1
• "In God is my salvation and my glory: the rock of my strength, and my refuge, is in God.  Trust in him at all times; ye people, pour out your heart before him: God is a refuge for us."   Psalm 62:7-8
• Psalm 71, 91, 94, 104, 142, Proverbs 14,  Isaiah 4, 25, 28,  Jeremiah 16,  Hebrews 6 and so much more!
• In Numbers 35 and Joshua 20& 21 the Israelites are told how to set up the Cities of Refuge for those in need of shelter and protection.  The rules were specific that as long as they were in the Cities of Refuge, they were safe from harm and those seeking to destroy them.  If they set foot outside of the City, then they were vulnerable to attack.  What a perfect picture of the Lord Jesus. 

Abiding in the shadow of his wings, resting within the rock, my days have an order and a peace that passeth understanding.   

I have this hymn printed and placed in my kitchen so that I am able to sing and focus on what is true and pure while I go about my chores.  It was written by Mary D. James in 1875 at the age of 65 years old.  She must have known about hiding within the Rock.  She started teaching Sunday School to younger children at the age of 13 years old, and visiting them at their homes during the week also, taking gifts and baked goods that her mother had made.   What a life of service she must have had.

If you are not familiar with this hymn, then I hope you are blessed by these words.  If you've heard it before, I hope the remembrance of it brings the sweet peace that only sheltering in the LORD can give.

                                                              Sweetly Resting

In the rifted Rock I’m resting;
Safely sheltered, I abide.
There no foes nor storms molest me,
While within the cleft I hide.

Now I’m resting, sweetly resting,
In the cleft once made for me.
Jesus, blessèd Rock of Ages,
I will hide myself in Thee.

Long pursued by sin and Satan,
Weary, sad, I longed for rest.
Then I found this heav’nly shelter,
Opened in my Savior’s breast.

Now I’m resting, sweetly resting,
In the cleft once made for me.
Jesus, blessèd Rock of Ages,
I will hide myself in Thee.

Peace which passeth understanding,
Joy the world can never give,
Now in Jesus I am finding;
In His smiles of love I live.

Now I’m resting, sweetly resting,
In the cleft once made for me.
Jesus, blessèd Rock of Ages,
I will hide myself in Thee.

In the rifted Rock I’ll hide me
Till the storms of life are past;
All secure in this blest refuge,
Heeding not the fiercest blast.

Now I’m resting, sweetly resting,
In the cleft once made for me.
Jesus, blessèd Rock of Ages,
I will hide myself in Thee.

* this is my father's world *

One of our favorites (we have several, as you'll eventually learn ;-) which was brought to mind on our outdoor excursion yesterday.

This was written by Maltbie D. Babcock, a physically active man who loved to be outdoors, he also played several instruments, and might have become a musician if he had not entered the ministry.  He had the habit of taking early morning walks to the top of a hill north of Lockport, New York where he was pastoring at the time.  From the hill he had a full view of Lake Ontario and the surrounding countryside. He would tell his wife, "I'm going out to see my Father's world."  It was on one of these early morning walks that Mr. Babcock was inspired to write the words to this hymn, although he never heard it sung.  He died on a trip to the Holy Land at the age of 43.  His wife published many of his writings after his death, and a volume of his poems contained this treasure.

This Is My Father's World      

This is my Father's world, and to my listening ears all nature sings and round me rings the music of the spheres.  This is my Father's world: I rest me in the thought of rocks and trees of skies and seas; His hand the wonders wroght.

This is my Father's world, the birds their carols raise, the morning light, the lily white, declare their Maker's praise.  This is my Father's world:  he shines in all that's fair; in the rustling grass I hear Him pass, He speaks to me everywhere.

This is my Father's world. Oh, let me ne'er forget that though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet.  This is my Father's world: the battle is not done: Jesus who died shall be satisfied and earth and Heav'n be one.

This is my Father's world, dreaming I see His face.  I ope my eyes, and in glad surprise cry "The Lord is in this place."  This is my Father's world, from the shining courts above, The Beloved One, His Only Son, came -- a pledge of deathless love.

This is my Father's world, should my heart be ever sad? The Lord is King -- let the heavens ring. God reigns -- let the earth be glad. This is my Father's world. Now closer to Heaven bound, for dear to God is the earth Christ trod.  No place but is holy ground.

This is my Father's world. I walk a desert lone. In a bush ablaze to my wondering gaze God makes His glory known.  This is my Father's world, a wanderer I may roam.  Whate're my lot, it matters not, my heart is still at home. 

"Christianity is not a voice in the wilderness, but a life in the world.   It is not an idea in the air but feet on the ground going God's way.   It is not an exotic to be kept under glass, but a hardy plant to bear twelve months of fruits in all kinds of weather.   Fidelity to duty is its root and branch.   Nothing we can say to the Lord, no calling Him by great or dear names, can take the place of the plain doing of His will.   We may cry out about the beauty of eating bread with Him in His kingdom, but it is wasted breath and a rootless hope unless we plow and plant in His kingdom here and now.   To remember Him at His table and to forget Him at ours, is to have invested in bad securities. There is no substitute for plain, every-day goodness."

Maltbie Davenport Babcock, 1858-1901

* i am resolved *

Something my family  (except for husband and children :-) may not know about me is that I love hymns.  I collect hymnals, picking them up wherever I happen to find them:  garage sales, thrift shops or used book stores.  I have seven so far.  They all have a story. 

I got my first one from the church we were attending at the time, when they were updating to newer hymnals.  Our oldest son, an Angelman baby who was probably 6 or 7 at the time, got it off the shelf one day, and decided to "read it" - meaning he tore out some of the pages and chewed on the book.  I still have it and those torn pages are tucked into the back, a remembrance of days past every time I open it.

A few hymnals I inherited from my Grandma when her things were finally all cleaned out before moving to the full-time assisted living.  Among those were hymnals from 1945, 1940 and even one from 1934.  (Can you tell that I like old books?)

The oldest one I have so far is a much loved and used copy that I found at the bottom of a box at a yard sale.  It is very worn and the end pages have been thumbed through so much that the paper feels almost like velvet.  The original cloth cover is barely hanging on by the three large staples that hold the book together, and the title page has fallen out.  I am thankful, though, that the previous owner thought to save it and I found it neatly tucked in the center of the hymnal.  The date on it is from 1918 and its' original purchase price wa 40 cents!

Why do I love hymns?  Because music is a powerful medium, able to reach straight to our souls with no need for words.  Sadly, so much music today, especially that which is labeled as "Christian," is simply the music of the world repackaged;  music that weighs us down and creates disharmony within ourselves, distracts us from higher things, without us even being aware of it.  We may be singing words that speak of the LORD and our Savior, Jesus, but the music is speaking a different message to our bodies, and it is the music which leaves the more lasting impression.

Hymns are music, for the most part, where the words and the tune are in perfect harmony, uplifting the mind and the soul.  The children and I sing hymns at various times during the day - as a way to quiet things down, to focus on what is true and pure and right, and just as a way to praise our LORD while our hands are busy with chores.

A wonderful resource that I use when we are trying to learn a new hymn is CyberHymnal which lists hymns by Title or by the People who wrote them and plays a Midi of the hymns' tune.

The hymn that I started singing this morning as I was making our treats to take to Park Day was:

I Am Resolved  (by Palmer Hartsough and J. H. Fillmore, c. 1924)

I am resolved no longer to linger, charmed by the world's delight; Things that are higher, things that are nobler, these have allured my sight.

I will hasten to Him, hasten so glad and free, Jesus, greatest highest, I will come to Thee. 

I am resolved to go to the Saviour, leaving my sin and strife; He is the true one, He is the just one, He hath the words of life.

I will hasten to Him, hasten so glad and free, Jesus, greatest highest, I will come to Thee. 

I am resolved to follow the Saviour, faithful and true each day;  Heed what he sayeth, do what He willeth, He is the living way.

I will hasten to Him, hasten so glad and free, Jesus, greatest highest, I will come to Thee. 

I am resolved to enter the kingdom, leaving the the paths of sin;  Friends may oppose me, foes may beset me, still will I enter in.

I will hasten to Him, hasten so glad and free, Jesus, greatest highest, I will come to Thee. 

I am resolved, and who will go with me?  Come, friends, without delay,  Taught by the Bible, led by theSpirit, we'll walk the heavenly way.

I will hasten to Him, hasten so glad and free, Jesus, greatest highest, I will come to Thee.