Part 34 (1/2)

Dutton's ”Woodstock” and Bradbury's ”Brown,” which often replaces it, are worthy rivals of each other, and both continue in favor as fit choral interpretations of the much-loved hymn.

Deodatus Dutton was born Dec. 22, 1808, and educated at Brown University and Was.h.i.+ngton College (now Trinity) Hartford Ct. While there he was a student of music and played the organ at Dr. Matthews' church. He studied theology in New York city, and had recently entered the ministry when he suddenly died, Dec. 16, 1832, a moment before rising to preach a sermon. During his brief life he had written several hymn-tunes, and published a book of psalmody. Mrs. Sigourney wrote a poem on his death.

”THERE'S A WIDENESS IN G.o.d'S MERCY.”

Frederick William Faber, author of this favorite hymn-poem, had a peculiar genius for putting golden thoughts into common words, and making them sing. Probably no other sample of his work shows better than this his art of combining literary cleverness with the most reverent piety. Cant was a quality Faber never could put into his religious verse.

He was born in Yorks.h.i.+re, Eng., June 28, 1814, and received his education at Oxford. Settled as Rector of Elton, in Huntingdons.h.i.+re, in 1843, he came into sympathy with the ”Oxford Movement,” and followed Newman into the Romish Church. He continued his ministry as founder and priest for the London branch of the Catholic congregation of St. Philip Neri for fourteen years, dying Sept. 26, 1863, at the age of forty-nine.

His G.o.dly hymns betray no credal s.h.i.+bboleth or doctrinal bias, but are songs for the whole earthly church of G.o.d.

There's a wideness in G.o.d's mercy Like the wideness of the sea; There's a kindness in His justice Which is more than liberty.

There is welcome for the sinner And more graces for the good; There is mercy with the Saviour, There is healing in His blood.

There's no place where earthly sorrows Are more felt than up in heaven; There's no place where earthly failings Have such kindly judgment given.

There is plentiful redemption In the blood that has been shed, There is joy for all the members In the sorrows of the Head.

For the love of G.o.d is broader Than the measure of man's mind, And the heart of the Eternal Is most wonderfully kind.

If our love were but more simple We should take Him at His word, And our lives would be all suns.h.i.+ne In the sweetness of the Lord.

No tone of comfort has breathed itself more surely and tenderly into grieved hearts than these tuneful and singularly expressive sentences of Frederick Faber.

_THE TUNE._

The music of S.J. Vail sung to Faber's hymn is one of that composer's best hymn-tunes, and its melody and natural movement impress the meaning as well as the simple beauty of the words.

Silas Jones Vail, an American music-writer, was born Oct., 1818, and died May 20, 1883. Another charming tune is ”Wellesley,” by Lizzie S.

Tourjee, daughter of the late Dr. Eben Tourjee.

”HE LEADETH ME! OH, BLESSED THOUGHT.”

Professor Gilmore, of Rochester University, N.Y., when a young Baptist minister (1861) supplying a pulpit in Philadelphia ”jotted down this hymn in Deacon Watson's parlor” (as he says) and pa.s.sed it to his wife, one evening after he had made ”a conference-room talk” on the 23d Psalm.

Mrs. Gilmore, without his knowledge, sent it to the _Watchman and Reflector_ (now the _Watchman_).

Years after its publication in that paper, when a candidate for the pastorate of the Second Baptist Church in Rochester, he was turning the leaves of the vestry hymnal in use there, and saw his hymn in it. Since that first publication in the _Devotional Hymn and Tune Book_ (1865) it has been copied in the hymnals of various denominations, and steadily holds its place in public favor. The refrain added by the tunemaker emphasizes the sentiment of the lines, and undoubtedly enhances the effect of the hymn.

”He leadeth me” has the true hymn quality, combining all the simplicity of spontaneous thought and feeling with perfect accent and liquid rhythm.

He leadeth me! Oh, blessed thought, Oh, words with heavenly comfort fraught; Whate'er I do, where'er I be, Still 'tis G.o.d's hand that leadeth me!

Lord, I would clasp Thy hand in mine, Nor ever murmur nor repine-- Content, whatever lot I see, Since 'tis my G.o.d that leadeth me.