He served long tyme in chappel with grete prayse, Fower sovereygnes reignes, (a thing not often seene); I mean King Henry and Prince Edward's dayes, Quene Marie, and Elizabeth our quene.

He maryed was, though children he had none, And lyv'd in love full three and thirty yeres With loyal spowse, whose name yclept was Jone, Who, here entombed, him company now bears.

As he dyd lyve, so also dyd he dy, In myld and quyet sort, O happy man!

To G.o.d ful oft for mercy did he cry; Wherefore he lyves, let Deth do what he can.

"THE G.o.d OF ABRAHAM PRAISE."

This is one of the thanksgivings of the ages.

The G.o.d of Abraham praise, Who reigns enthroned above; Ancient of everlasting days, And G.o.d of love.

Jehovah, Great I AM!

By earth and heaven confessed, I bow and bless the sacred Name, Forever blest.

The hymn, of twelve eight-line stanzas, is too long to quote entire, but is found in both the _Plymouth_ and _Methodist Hymnals_.

Thomas Olivers, born in Tregynon, near Newtown, Montgomeryshire, Wales, 1725, was, according to local testimony, "the worst boy known in all that country, for thirty years." It is more charitable to say that he was a poor fellow who had no friends. Left an orphan at five years of age, he was pa.s.sed from one relative to another until all were tired of him, and he was "bound out" to a shoemaker. Almost inevitably the neglected lad grew up wicked, for no one appeared to care for his habits and morals, and as he sank lower in the various vices encouraged by bad company, there were more kicks for him than helping hands. At the age of eighteen his reputation in the town had become so unsavory that he was forced to shift for himself elsewhere.

Providence led him, when shabby and penniless, to the old seaport town of Bristol, where Whitefield was at that time preaching,[4] and there the young sinner heard the divine message that lifted him to his feet.

[Footnote 4: Whitefield's text was, "Is not this a brand plucked out of the fire?" Zach. 3:2.]

"When that sermon began," he said, "I was one of the most abandoned and profligate young men living; before it ended I was a new creature. The world was all changed for Tom Olivers."

His new life, thus begun, lasted on earth more than sixty useful years.

He left a shining record as a preacher of righteousness, and died in the triumphs of faith, November, 1799. Before he pa.s.sed away he saw at least thirty editions of his hymn published, but the soul-music it has awakened among the spiritual children of Abraham can only reach him in heaven. Some of its words have been the last earthly song of many, as they were of the eminent Methodist theologian, Richard Watson--

I shall behold His face, I shall His power adore, And sing the wonders of His grace Forevermore.

_THE TUNE._

The precise date of the tune "Leoni" is unknown, as also the precise date of the hymn. The story is that Olivers visited the great "Duke's Place" Synagogue, Aldgate, London, and heard Meyer Lyon (Leoni) sing the Yigdal or long doxology to an air so n.o.ble and impressive that it haunted him till he learned it and fitted to it the sublime stanzas of his song. Lyon, a noted Jewish musician and vocalist, was chorister of this London Synagogue during the latter part of the 18th century and the Yigdal was a portion of the Hebrew Liturgy composed in medieval times, it is said, by Daniel Ben Judah. The fact that the Methodist leaders took Olivers from his bench to be one of their preachers answers any suggestion that the converted shoemaker _copied_ the Jewish hymn and put Christian phrases in it. He knew nothing of Hebrew, and had he known it, a literal translation of the Yigdal will show hardly a similarity to his evangelical lines. Only the music as Leoni sang it prompted his own song, and he gratefully put the singer's name to it. Montgomery, who admired the majestic style of the hymn, and its glorious imagery, said of its author, "The man who wrote that hymn must have had the finest ear imaginable, for on account of the peculiar measure, none but a person of equal musical and poetic taste could have produced the harmony perceptible in the verse."

Whether the hymnist or some one else fitted the hymn to the tune, the "fine ear" and "poetic taste" that Montgomery applauded are evident enough in the union.

"O WORSHIP THE KING ALL GLORIOUS ABOVE."

This hymn of Sir Robert Grant has become almost universally known, and is often used as a morning or opening service song by choirs and congregations of all creeds. The favorite stanzas are the first four--

O worship the King all-glorious above, And gratefully sing His wonderful love-- Our Shield and Defender, the Ancient of Days, Pavilioned in splendor, and girded with praise.

O tell of His might, and sing of His grace, Whose robe is the light, whose canopy, s.p.a.ce; His chariots of wrath the deep thunder-clouds form, And dark is His path on the wings of the storm.

Thy bountiful care what tongue can recite?

It breathes in the air, it shines in the light, It streams from the hills, it descends to the plain, And sweetly distils in the dew and the rain.

Frail children of dust, and feeble as frail, In Thee do we trust, nor find Thee to fail.

Thy mercies how tender! how firm to the end!

Our Maker, Defender, Redeemer, and Friend!

This is a model hymn of worship. Like the previous one by Thomas Olivers, it is strongly Hebrew in its tone and diction, and drew its inspiration from the Old Testament Psalter, the text-book of all true praise-song.

Sir Robert Grant was born in the county of Inverness, Scotland, in 1785, and educated at Cambridge. He was many years member of Parliament for Inverness and a director in the East India Company, and 1834 was appointed Governor of Bombay. He died at Dapoorie, Western India, July 9, 1838.

Sir Robert was a man of deep Christian feeling and a poetic mind. His writings were not numerous, but their thoughtful beauty endeared him to a wide circle of readers. In 1839 his brother, Lord Glenelg, published twelve of his poetical pieces, and a new edition in 1868. The volume contains the more or less well-known hymns--

The starry firmament on high.

Saviour, when in dust to Thee,

and--

When gathering clouds around I view.

Sir Robert's death, when scarcely past his prime, would indicate a decline by reason of illness, and perhaps other serious affliction, that justified the poetic license in the submissive verses beginning--

Thy mercy heard my infant prayer.

And now _in age_ and grief Thy name Does still my languid heart inflame, And bow my faltering knee.

Oh, yet this bosom feels the fire, This trembling hand and drooping lyre Have yet a strain for Thee.

_THE TUNE._

Several musical pieces written to the hymn, "O, Worship the King," have appeared in church psalm-books, and others have been borrowed for it, but the one oftenest sung to its words is Haydn's "Lyons." Its vigor and spirit best fit it for Grant's n.o.ble lyric.

"MAJESTIC SWEETNESS SITS ENTHRONED."

Rev. Samuel Stennett D.D., the author of this hymn, was the son of Rev.

Joseph Stennett, and grandson of Rev. Joseph Stennett D.D., who wrote--

Another six days' work is done, Another Sabbath is begun.

All were Baptist ministers. Samuel was born in 1727, at Exeter, Eng., and at the age of twenty-one became his father's a.s.sistant, and subsequently his successor over the church in Little Wild Street, Lincoln's Inn Fields, London.

Majestic sweetness sits enthroned Upon the Saviour's brow; His head with radiant glories crowned, His lips with grace o'erflow.

To Him I owe my life and breath And all the joys I have; He makes me triumph over death, He saves me from the grave.