HYMNS.

New Zealand Herald, Volume LXV, Issue 20088, 27 October 1928, Page 1 (Supplement)

HYMNS.

CHANGING OUR HYMNAL.

BY ELSIE K. MORTON.

Tho great white tent stretched away into dim aisles of lights and shadows beneath tho lamps; I sat alono on a narrow, hard, wooden form, with my feet dangling abovo tho sawdust floor, and all around mo were men and women singing, singing what seemed to me to bo the most lovely music I had ever heard: —

When Peace like a river attendoth my way. When Sorrows like sea-billows roll. Whatever my lot, Thou hast taught mo to say. It ia well, it is well, with my soul.

I could not have been more than six or seven years old, yet to this day I remember the feeling of entrancing happiness, of childish awo, that swept over mo as I listened to that wonderful volume of sound, the voices of hundreds of men and women uplifted in praise. . . , And

then I heard tho voice of the missioner, telling tho peoplo to sing it again, but this tnno only thoso who were "saved," who could say with truth that all was well with their souls." That puzzled and disturbed mo. What did " Well with thoir souls" mean ? Was 1 "saved" ? Could 1 join in ?. . . A man came down the long aisles, I heard him saying earnestly to the man in front, " Brother, are you saved ?" And then I grew frightened—what if ho came and asked mo ? A kind of panic came over me; tho rest is all hazy, so probably I ran away, or found my people and was taken home. . . And that was tho first hymn I ever really heard. I have loved hymns ever since. In childhood, my mother held a little Sunday school for the children of tho bushmen, mill hands and farmers of a country district, and every Sunday wo sang the real sturdy stuff that all children lovo, the good "old Sankey hymns, full of pilgrims, gospel bells, jasper seas, foaming billows, crystal fountains, pearly gates, shining robes. glUtering strands, golden harps and lianpy lands. Then again tho beautiful "Star of Peace," and " I think when I read that sweet story of old". . .yes, there was sound teaching, lessons that have lasted over a life time, in the hymns we sang as children in that little Sunday school in tho wide hall of that happy country homo in days gone by! " I Should Like to Die, Said Willie." It is because of that early love of hyinn3 that I was more than casually interested to read last week of a proposal made in Synod that certain changes should bo made in our Anglican hymn book. I think there aro hymns that we could well do without, both in the Sankey and Ancient and Modern Hymnal, and certain verses could well bo removed from other hymns. These aro what I may perhaps bo permitted to call the " weakening" hymns, thoso with lines like: Free from the blight of sorrow. Free from my doubts and feara. Again, who in theso brisk and busy days, wjuld wish littlo children to drono out tho maudlin sentiment of: " I Bhould like to die," said Willie, If my papa could die, too, But he says ho isn't ready, 'Cause he has bo much to do." And how many of you, I ask in all sincerity, could sinß these verses with any honesty of heart:— Take my silver and my gold, Not a mite would I withhold. Take my intellect and uso Every power as Thou shalt chooae. or Choose thou for mo my friends. My sickness or my health, C'hooso thou my cares for me, Aiy poverty or wealth. Wo all know perfectly well we want to choose our own friends, wo all want to bo healthy and well, wo want to uso our silver and gold for ourselves and give the Church a shilling each Sunday, and use such intellect as God Las blessed us with for tho purpose of getting on in the world. , . . All of which, of

course, tears sad rents in tho veil of idealism that these hymns would cast over life, but, after all, we have to take life as wo find it and do tho best we can from day to day, fuiding help and strength and inspiration not in contemplation of our own weakness and sins, but in God's gracious goodness and His promises of strength and comfort to all who seek him "iri'spirit and in truth." The Majesty of Praise. So by all means let us have a judicious thinning out of our hymnal, but let it bo done not by scholars and pedants, not bv musicians who object to " sugary" tunes, but by men—yes, and women, too —of spiritual understanding, who know something of tho true joy and inspiration that the singing of hymns can rouse in tho soul of even Ihoso who have strayed far from tho paths of tho Gentle Shepherd, thoso who have known sorrow, and loneliness, and tho heartacho of unanswered prayer. There is an uplifting power in some of tho old hymns, a majesty of praise, a fervour of prayer, that is too sacred for any touch of tho reformer's hand—- " Rock of Ages," " Abido With Me," " For all the Saints," " When I Survey tho Wondrous Cross." "The Old Hundredth," " Sun of My Soul," " Lead Kindly Light"—these aro but a few that como immediately to thought, when one talks of alterations in our Anglican Hvmnal. To chant hymns of praise to an Unseen God is one of (he deop. primeval instincts that man has borno with him right down the apes. Even as the ancient worshippers chanted their paens in the groves of the pagan gods, so wo to-day in our aisled •churches sing: Oh worflhin tho Kinc, All-clorious nbove. Oil gmtpfi'lly sing TTis Power and irin love: Our Shipld and Defender, the Ancient of days, Pavilion'rl in Bplendour, and girded with praise. " Pavilion'd in splendour, girded with praise"—the beautv of tho words, the lofty imagery of thought—beautiful lines in ono of the most beautiful in all hymns of praise! A Soldier's Last Christmas Eve. All through life wo havo known and loved the old hymns. They came to us with sweet breathings of consolation and hope when strength and courage ebb, and the world presses all too closely. Go gently, you who want to improve our hymnal! Remember what tho old hymns havo meant to thoso who aro with us no more, tho undying associations that havo hallowed for all timo tho great hymn's of our faith.

Listen to tho brief extract from tho diary of a soldier, written just after the last Christmas Evo ho was to spend on earth. Within a few short months, ho had passed to an unknown gravo on Gallipoli. The diary was found when his papers were sent home.

" I shall never forget that Christmas Evo. I was staying tho night with W—at the Pyramids. It was a brilliant moonlight night. Through my open tent door, the Pyramids showed out clearly against the starlit sky. In tho early morning, just before dawn, T was roused by tho sound of beautiful music. It was ono of tho Ansf ralian bands playing " Hark, tho Herald Angels Sing." As I lay thoro, listening to that dear old tune, which always brings such a flood of memories to me, and looking out at thoso wonderful monuments that were standing thoro thou, sands of years before tho angels sang, T thought, of nil tho times wo had aunt? that hvmn together at homo. . * T shall never forget that Christmas morn. Whatover the futuro holds, I feel that to havo had theso exporicncos is worth it all."