Rensselaer Republican, Volume 23, Number 9, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 October 1890 — HYMNS THAT HELP. [ARTICLE]

HYMNS THAT HELP.

Detroit Free Press. ’ When Etmaa Abbott was In Detroit she visited the newsboys’ rooms on Sunday 'evening before going to church and Was asked by one of the little fel-> lows for a song. . . ■ ’7/ “A song? ’ echoed the popular singer, as she looked on the mass of bright, - eager faces, and wondered what she could sing that would enter into all those good hearts and do a good work. They waited and the hall was as silent as if void and-dark. Then the sweet notes of the ’’song” asked for rang out in melodious tones and the singer looked at the boyish faces to see if any disappointment wei;e there, but she saw only rapt attention, delight and appreciation, as the boys drank in every word. This was the song Emma Abbott had chosen from her repertoire: “Guide me, O Ttrou great Jehovah, Pilgrim through this barren land, I am weak, but Thou art mighty. Hold me with'Thy powerful hand. Bread of Heaven Feed me nofr and evermore.” Miss Abbott sang every line of the 1 grand old hymn, and when she had finished a mighty chorus of applause told her how well her song had been appreciated: Miss Abbott said afterwards: “I could have sung something thut would have pleased ,the boy better, perhaps, but in whatever I do I aim to make an impression for good that will be helpful and lasting.” Some years ago a ship foundered within sight of land, but beyond help. The distracted spectators on the shore listened for the wail of anguish that would be borne to them across the angry billows as the doomed passengers went down. But it was a different sound that saluted tfieir strained and agonized senses as the ship slowly settled into the engulfing waves. Every voice was raised in a parting song, and they caught the strains of mu.-ic that was almost eelestiab-as the winds waited to them these precious words: “Rock of Ages! cleft for me Let me hide myself in thee.” Instantly the peace that passeth understanding fell upon those sorrowing listeners, as the help of Heaven reached the singers who were already oa the portals 6f release. / A great actress left the stage in the zenith of her Success to devote her time and power to a religious life. Her manager pleaded for one last appearance. but she steadfastly refused until worn out with, his importunities she consented to appear once for a farewell engagement There was an immense audience of fashionable people, who had assembled to do her honor. The play began and was received indifferently until the scene in which the favorite was to appear. She came on the stage superbly dressed and amid the wildest applause stepped to the front, whore she stood every night, to sing the rollicking songs of the people. At once there was perfect silence. Then the first lines of the song rang out in crystal clearness. These were I the words:

“Depth of mercy, can there be Mercy still reserved for me!” She Bung the whole hymn through and paused only with the last words of Che chprus: , *. ‘ ‘God it lore, I do believe, He is waiting to forgive.” The effect was electrical, men and women sobbed aloud, and she made her farewell appearance an event to be remembered ior a lifetime. When the Pemberton mills fell many years ago and then took fire, a great many lives were lost and a terrible scene of anguish and confusion ensued. When all hope of rescue was over, a voice rang out from among the doad and dying, and it had almost a jubilant sound as it sung loud and clear: “I’m going home to die no more.” On the wings of the hymn the singer rose to God. When P. P. Bliss, the evangelist, and his devoted wife went down to death together at Ashtabula these who saw him last and heard for the last time the sound of his voice heard no wail of despair, bat the victorious notes of his favorite hymn, sung by the husband and wife as they clasped in a brief farewell. These were the words of that song: “I know not the hour when my Lord will COme To take me away to His own dear home. But I know that His presence will brighten tho gloom, Apd that will be glory for me.” Innumerable examples could, be given of hymns that have helped, not the dying alone, but the living. With all the songs that have been written for the fireside or the concert room there comes a time when the voices that have the most culture and sweetness turn to the old hymns and melt all hearts to tears with that heavenly love songt “Jesus, lover c f my soul, Let me to thy bosom fly.” It is true that the songs have not all been written, the stories not all told, but there is a sad suggestion that the hymns have all been sung. The spirit of absolute faith is dormant to a nation of doubters. Genius does not visit Calvary and Gethsemane to-day; it is the era of the materialist. So we cling to the dear old hymns so abundant in the history of the past, and they help us over many a stile of doubt, and we teach them to the little child and all unconsciously assimilate <<ome portions of them into our lives. Keep them, cherish them, ting them, those hymns that help.