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BTCHARLES S. NUTTER, D.D.

AUTHOR OF " HTMN STUDIES," " HISTORIC HTMNISTS," ETC.

AND

WILBUR F. TILJLETT, D.D., UL..D.DEAN OF THE THEOLOGICAL FACULTY OF VANDERBILT UNIVERSITY

AUTHOB OF "OUR HYMNS AND THEIR AUTHORS," "STUDIES IN CHRISTIAN DOCTRINE," ETC.

THE METHODIST BOOK CONCERNNew York Cincinnati

262 ANNOTATED HYMNAL.

3 Restraining prayer, we cease to fight ;Prayer keeps the Christian's armor bright ;And Satan trembles when he seesThe weakest saint upon his knees.

4 Were half the breath that's vainly spent,To heaven in supplication sent,Our cheerful song would oftener be,"Hear what the Lord has done for me."

William Cowper.

' Exhortation to Prayer" is the title tothis in the Olney Hymns, 1779. The fourthand fifth stanzas of the original are omitted:

4 While Moses stood with arms spread wide,Success was found on Israel's side ;But when through weariness they failed,That moment Amalek prevailed.

5 Have you no words? Ah! think again:Words flow apace when you complain,And fill your fellow-creature's earWith the sad tale of all your care.

Cowper was noted for his power In public prayer. Said one who knew him well:"Of all the men I ever heard pray, no oneequaled Mr. Cowper." One who knew thesweetness of closet prayer, as he did, andwho was always in his place at the week-night cottage prayer meetings of his pastor, as he was, might be expected to havepower in public prayer.

497 C. M.

PRAYERis the soul's sincere desire,

Uttered or unexpressed;The motion of a hidden fireThat trembles in the breast.

2 Prayer is the burden of a sigh,The falling of a tear,

The upward glancing of an eye,When none but God is near.

3 Prayer is the simplest form of speechThat infant lips can try;

Prayer the sublimest strains that reachThe Majesty on high.

4 Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice,Returning from his ways ;

While angels in their songs rejoiceAnd cry, "Behold, he prays !"

5 Prayer is the Christian's vital breath,The Christian's native air,

His watchword at the gates of death ;He enters heaven with prayer.

6 O Thou, by whom we come to God,The Life, the Truth, the Way ;

The path of prayer thyself hath trod :Lord, teach us how to pray !

James Montgomery.

This fine didactic hymn was written in1818, at the request of the Rev. E. Bicker-steth, for his Treatise on Prayer. Twostanzas, the sixth and seventh, have beenomitted:

6 In prayer, on earth the saints are one,In word, in deed, and mind ;

While with the Father and the SonSweet fellowship they find.

7 Nor prayer is made by man alone,The Holy Spirit pleads.

And Jesus, on the eternal throneFor sinners intercedes.

This is Montgomery's masterpiece. Hesaid himself: "The most attractive hymnI ever wrote is that on prayer." The firstpart is an elaborate description of the nature of prayer in its various forms. Thelast stanza is itself a magnificent prayerwhich illustrates the whole poem.The authorship of valuable poems is fre

quently claimed by unprincipled or irresponsible parties. Some years ago a woman claimed this poem on prayer, not knowing its date. It was published in Englandbefore she was born.

498 C. M.

I LOVE to steal awhile awayFrom every cumbering care.And spend the hours of setting dayIn humble, grateful prayer.

2 I love in solitude to shedThe penitential tear,

And all his promises to pleadWhere none but God can hear.

3 I love to think on mercies past,And future good implore,

And all my cares and sorrows castOn him whom I adore.

HYMNS ON THE CHRISTIAN LIPE. 2634 I love by faith to take a view

Of brighter scenes in heaven ;The prospect doth my strength renew,While here by tempests driven.

5 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 H. Brown.Few hymns have a more interesting and

pathetic history than this "TwilightHymn." It was not originally written asa hymn. The authoress, heset by the limitations of poverty, and having no place oropportunity for retirement in her humblelittle house, crowded as it was with littlechildren, was accustomed at the twilighthour to retire to a grove near by for religious meditation and prayer. A wealthylady neighbor, near whose garden thiswooded place of retirement was located,and who totally misinterpreted the objectof these visits, meeting Mrs. Brown, accused her of having some evil intent inthus daily prowling about her premises atthe twilight hour. Stinging under the accusation, Mrs. Brown went home and.wrote the following:An Apology for Mt Twilight Rambles,

Addressed to a Lady.(Ellington, August, 1818.)

Yes, when the toilsome day is gone,And night with banners gray.

Steals silently the glade alongIn twilight's soft array,

I love to steal awhile awayFrom little ones and care,

And spend the hours of setting dayIn gratitude and prayer.I love to feast on Nature's scenesWhen falls the evening dew,

And dwell upon her silent themes,Forever rich and new.I love in solitude to shedThe penitential tear,

And all God's promises to pleadWhere none can see or hear.

I love to think on mercies past,And future ones implore.

And all my cares and sorrows castOn him whom I adore.

I love to meditate on death !When shall his message come,

With friendly smiles to steal my breath,And take an exile home?

I love by faith to take a viewOf blissful scenes in Heaven:

The sight doth all my strength renew.While here by storms I'm driven.

I love this silent twilight hourFar better than the rest;

It is, of all the twenty-four.The happiest and the best.

Thus, when life's toilsome day is o'er.May its departing ray

Be calm as this impressive hour.And lead to endless day.

The following is Mrs. Brown's own account of the origin of this beautiful andpopular hymn:It was in Ellington that I wrote the "Twi

light Hymn." My baby daughter was in myarms when I wrote it. I had been out on avisit to Dr. Hyde's, and several were present.After tea one of my neighbors, who I hadever felt was my superior in every way, cameand sat down near me, chatting with another lady without noticing me. Just as I wasrising to go home, she turned suddenly uponme and said: "Mrs. Brown, why do you comeup at evening so near our house and then goback without coming in? If you want anything, why don't you come in and ask for it?I could not think who it was, and sent mygirl down to the garden to see ; and she said itwas you that you came to the fence, but,seeing her, turned quickly away, mutteringsomething to yourself." There was something in her manner, more than her words,that grieved me. I went home, and thatevening was left alone. After my childrenwere all in bed except my baby, I sat downin the kitchen with my child in my arms,when the grief of my heart burst forth in aflood of tears. I took pen and paper andgave vent to my oppressed heart in what Icalled "My Apology for My Twilight Rambles, Addressed to a Lady." It will be foundin its original form in an old manuscriptamong my papers. In preparing it (someyears after) for Nettleton's Village Hymns(1824), some three or four verses were suppressed and a few expressions altered. Inthe original the first stanza was :

"I love to steal awhile awayFrom little ones and care."

264 ANNOTATED HYMNAL.

This was strictly true. I had four little children, a small, unfinished house, a sick sisterin the only finished room, and there was nota place, above or below, where I could retire for devotion without a liability to be interrupted. There was no retired room, rock,or grove where I could go as in former days,but there was no dwelling between our houseand the one where that lady lived. Her garden extended down a good way below herhouse, which stood on a beautiful eminence.The garden was highly cultivated, with frultaand flowers. I loved to smell the fragranceof both (though I could not see them), when Icould do so without neglecting duty ; and Iused to steal away from all within doors,and, going out of our gate, stroll along under the elms that were planted for shade oneach side of the road. And as there was seldom any one passing that way after dark, Ifelt quite retired and alone with God. I often walked quite up that beautiful garden,and snuffed the fragrance of the peach, thegrape, and the ripening apple, if not theflowers. I never saw any one in the garden,and felt that I could have the privilege ofthat walk and those few moments of uninterrupted communion with God without encroaching upon any one ; but after once knowing that my steps were watched and madethe subject of remark and censure, I nevercould enjoy it as I had done. I have oftenthought Satan had tried his best to preventme from prayer by depriving me of a placeto pray.

For this hymn her son wrote the tunecalled "Monson," and William B. Bradbury the tune called "Brown." One ofthese "little ones" became Rev. S. R.Brown, D.D., the first Christian missionary from America to Japan. Two of Mrs.Brown's grandchildren are now (1911)missionaries in Japan.

499 c. M.

TALKwith us, Lord, thyself reveal.

While here o'er earth we rove ;Speak to our hearts, and let us feelThe kindling of thy love.

2 With thee conversing, we forgetAll time, and toil, and care ;

Labor is rest, and pain is sweet,If thou, my God, art here,

t Here, then, my God, vouchsafe to stay,And bid my heart rejoice ;

My bounding heart shall own thy sway,And echo to thy voice.

4 Thou callest me to seek thy face'Tis all I wish to seek ;

To attend the whispers of thy grace,And hear thee inly speak.

5 Let this my every hour employ.Till I thy glory see ;

Enter into my Master's joy,And find my heaven in thee.

Charles Wesley.

A recent writer quaintly and trulysays: "He that talks with God will hearsomething worth while."Author's title: "On a Journey." The

first stanza of the original has beenomitted:

1 Saviour, who ready art to hear,(Readier than I to pray,)

Answer my scarcely uttered prayer,And meet me on the way.

Verses one and two were written in thesingular number: "Talk with me," etc.In the second stanza the author, per

haps unconsciously, quoted Milton:"With thee conversing, I forget all time,"

is what Eve says to Adam in ParadiseLost, Book iv., line 639.From Hymns and Sacred Poems, 1740.

500 7s. D.

SAVIOUR,when, in dust, to thee

Low we bend the adoring knee ;When, repentant, to the skiesScarce we lift our weeping eyes ;O by all thy pains and woeSuffered once for man below,Bending from thy throne on high,Hear our solemn litany !

2 By thy helpless infant years ;By thy life of want and tears;By thy days of sore distress,In the savage wilderness ;By the dread mysterious hourOf the Insulting tempter's power;Turn, O turn a favoring eye,Hear our solemn litany !

3 By the sacred griefs that weptO'er the grave where Lazarus slept;By the boding tears that flowedOver Salem's loved abode ;By the anguished sigh that toldTreachery lurked within thy fold ;From thy seat above the sky.Hear our solemn litany I