It was received with delight by the Presbyterians, but the Congregationalists who had sponsored it were thoroughly dissatisfied. As an example of the morbid character of Puritan theology, Edward S. Ninde has called attention to the fact that while Barlow failed to include Wesley's "Jesus, Lover of my soul" or Watts' "When I survey the wondrous cross," he did select such a hymn by Watts as "Hark, from the tombs, a doleful sound," and another beginning with the lines,

My thoughts on awful subjects roll, d.a.m.nation and the dead.

A second attempt to make a complete revision of Watts' "Psalms of David"

was decided upon by the Congregational churches, and this time the task was entrusted to Timothy Dwight, president of Yale College. Dwight, who was a grandson of Jonathan Edwards, was born in 1752. He entered Yale at the age of thirteen and graduated with highest honors in 1769. At the outbreak of the Revolutionary War he was commissioned a chaplain and throughout the conflict he wrote songs to enthuse the American troops. In 1795 he was elected president of Yale College, in which position he served his Alma Mater for twenty years.

Dwight exhibited a spirit of bold independence when he added to the revised "Psalms" by Watts a collection of two hundred and sixty-three hymns. Of these hymns, one hundred and sixty-eight were also by Watts, indicating the hold which that great hymnist retained on the English-speaking world. Other hymn-writers represented in Dwight's book included Stennett, Doddridge, Cowper, Newton, Toplady, and Charles Wesley. Only one of the latter's hymns was chosen, however, and Toplady's "Rock of Ages" was not included!

Dwight himself wrote thirty-three paraphrases of the Psalms, but they were so freely rendered that they are properly cla.s.sified as original hymns. Among these is his splendid version of the 137th Psalm, "I love Thy Zion, Lord," which may be regarded as the earliest hymn of American origin still in common use today. It is usually dated 1800, which is the year when Dwight's work was published.

Dwight, who will always be remembered as the outstanding figure in the beginnings of American hymnody, died in 1817. The story of his life is an inspiring one, ill.u.s.trating how his heroic qualities conquered despite a "thorn in the flesh." A chronicler records that "during the greater part of forty years he was not able to read fifteen minutes in the twenty-four hours; and often, for days and weeks together, the pain which he endured in that part of the head immediately behind the eyes amounted to anguish."

The Hymn of a Wounded Spirit

I love to steal awhile away From every c.u.mbering care, And spend the hour of setting day In humble, grateful prayer.

I love in solitude to shed The penitential tear, And all His promises to plead Where none but G.o.d can hear.

I love to think of mercies past, And future good implore, And all my cares and sorrows cast On Him whom I adore.

I love by faith to take a view Of brighter scenes in heaven; The prospect doth my strength renew, While here by tempests driven.

Thus when life's toilsome day is o'er, May its departing ray Be calm as this impressive hour And lead to endless day.

Phoebe Hinsdale Brown, 1818.

AMERICA'S FIRST WOMAN HYMNIST

Less than twenty years after Timothy Dwight's hymns were published, a very poor and unpretentious American woman began to write lyrics that have been treasured by the Church until this present day, nor will they soon be forgotten. Her name was Phoebe Hinsdale Brown, and the story of her life is the most pathetic in the annals of American hymnody.

"As to my history," she wrote near the end of her life, "it is soon told; a sinner saved by grace and sanctified by trials."

She was born at Canaan, N. Y., May 1, 1783. Both parents died before she was two years old and the greater part of her childhood was spent in the home of an older sister who was married to a keeper of a county jail. The cruelties and privations suffered by the orphaned child during these years were such that her son in later years declared that it broke his heart to read of them in his mother's diary. She was not permitted to attend school, and could neither read nor write. She was eighteen years old before she escaped from this bondage and found opportunity to attend school for three months. This was the extent of her education within school walls.

In 1805, at the age of twenty-two, she married Timothy H. Brown, a house painter. He was a good man, but extremely poor. Moving to Ellington, Ma.s.s., they lived in a small, unfinished frame house at the edge of the village. Four little children and a sick sister who occupied the only finished room in the house added to the domestic burdens of Mrs. Brown.

In the summer of 1818 a pathetic incident occurred that led to the writing of her most famous hymn.

There being no place in her crowded home where she might find opportunity for a few moments of quiet prayer and meditation, she would steal away at twilight to the edge of a neighboring estate, where there was a magnificent home surrounded by a beautiful garden.

"As there was seldom any one pa.s.sing that way after dark," she afterwards wrote, "I felt quite retired and alone with G.o.d. I often walked quite up to that beautiful garden ... and felt that I could have the privilege of those few moments of uninterrupted communion with G.o.d without encroaching upon any one."

But her movements had been watched, and one day the lady of the mansion turned on her in the presence of others and rudely demanded: "Mrs. Brown, why do you come up at evening so near our house, and then go back without coming in? If you want anything, why don't you come in and ask for it?"

Mrs. Brown tells how she went home, crushed in spirit. "After my children were all in bed, except my baby," she continues, "I sat down in the kitchen, with my child in my arms, when the grief of my heart burst forth in a flood of tears. I took pen and paper, and gave vent to my oppressed heart in what I called 'My Apology for my Twilight Rambles, addressed to a Lady.'" The "Apology," which was sent to the woman who had so cruelly wounded her began with the lines:

Yes, when the toilsome day is gone, And night, with banners gray, Steals silently the glade along In twilight's soft array.

Then continued the beautiful verses of her now famous "Twilight Hymn:"

I love to steal awhile away From little ones and care, And spend the hours of setting day In grat.i.tude and prayer.

Seven years later, when Dr. Nettleton was preparing his volume of "Village Hymns," he was told that Mrs. Brown had written some verses. At his request she brought forth her "Twilight Hymn" and three other lyrics, and they were promptly given a place in the collection. Only a few slight changes were made in the lines of the "Twilight Hymn," including the second line, which was made to read "From every c.u.mbering care," and the fourth line, which was changed to "In humble, grateful prayer." Four stanzas were omitted, otherwise the hymn remains almost exactly in the form of the "Apology."

One of the omitted stanzas reveals a beautiful Christian att.i.tude toward death. Mrs. Brown wrote:

I love to meditate on death!

When shall his message come With friendly smiles to steal my breath And take an exile home?

One of the other hymns by Mrs. Brown included in "Village Hymns" is a missionary lyric, "Go, messenger of love, and bear." This was written a year earlier than her "Twilight Hymn." Her little son Samuel was seven years old at the time, and the pious mother's prayer was that he might be used of the Lord in His service. It was the period when the English-speaking world was experiencing a tremendous revival of interest in foreign missions, and in her heart she cherished the fond hope that her own boy might become a messenger of the gospel. Then came the inspiration for the hymn:

Go, messenger of love, and bear Upon thy gentle wing The song which seraphs love to hear, The angels joy to sing.

Go to the heart with sin oppressed, And dry the sorrowing tear; Extract the thorn that wounds the breast, The drooping spirit cheer.

Go, say to Zion, "Jesus reigns"-- By His resistless power He binds His enemies with chains; They fall to rise no more.

Tell how the Holy Spirit flies, As He from heaven descends; Arrests His proudest enemies, And changes them to friends.

Her prayer was answered. The son, Samuel R. Brown in 1838 sailed as a missionary to China, and eleven years later, when j.a.pan was opened to foreigners, he was transferred to that field. He was the first American missionary to the j.a.panese.

Mrs. Brown died at Henry, Illinois, October 10, 1861. She was buried at Monson, Ma.s.s., where some thirty years of her life had been spent. Her son, the missionary, has written this beautiful tribute to her memory:

"Her record is on high, and she is with the Lord, whom she loved and served as faithfully as any person I ever knew; nay, more than any other.

To her I owe all I am; and if I have done any good in the world, to her, under G.o.d, it is due. She seems even now to have me in her hands, holding me up to work for Christ and His cause with a grasp that I can feel. I ought to have been and to be a far better man than I am, having had such a mother."

A Triumphant Missionary Hymn

Hail to the brightness of Zion's glad morning!

Joy to the lands that in darkness have lain!

Hushed be the accents of sorrow and mourning, Zion in triumph begins her glad reign.

Hail to the brightness of Zion's glad morning, Long by the prophets of Israel foretold!

Hail to the millions from bondage returning!

Gentiles and Jews the blest vision behold.

Lo, in the desert rich flowers are springing, Streams ever copious are gliding along; Loud from the mountain-tops echoes are ringing, Wastes rise in verdure, and mingle in song.