You may have heard of Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, musicians from the late 1960’s through… (I’m showing my age, aren’t I?) Well, they have nothing on this group – Crosby, Steele, Toplady & Lyte, a group of hymnwriters from the 18th and19th centuries. Fanny Crosby, Anne Steele, Augustus Toplady, and Henry Francis Lyte wrote many wonderful hymns, rich in content, and many are still sung in our churches today.
With that in mind, I put together this series of t-shirts to keep me thinking of them, of their songs, but more importantly of the God they honor and worship with their songs. Each shirt has a line or phrase from one of their best-loved hymns. The first set are mine – I’ll be wearing them on a regular basis. It’s possible, if there is anyone interested, that I can have more printed and offered for sale. What do you think – would you like a set?
Fanny Crosby lived from 1820-1915, and died in Bridgeport Connecticut. In fact, her grave is just across from that of P T Barnum, primarily known for his circuses. Fanny, blind since shortly after birth, wrote over 8,000 hymn texts. The actual number is not known because she used a few (200 or so) pseudonyms if you can believe online sources. The song I chose for the shirt is “Praise Him! Praise Him!” with the text displayed “Praise Him! Praise Him! Jesus our blessed redeemer.” The complete text of this exuberant song of praise to our Redeemer reads like this:
Praise Him! praise Him! Jesus, our blessed Redeemer!
Sing, O earth, His wonderful love proclaim!
Hail Him! hail Him! highest archangels in glory;
Strength and honor give to His holy name!
Like a shepherd Jesus will guard His children,
In His arms He carries them all day long:
Praise Him! praise Him!
Tell of His excellent greatness;
Praise Him! praise Him! ever in joyful song!Praise Him! praise Him! Jesus our blessed Redeemer!
For our sins He suffered, and bled and died;
He our Rock, our hope of eternal salvation,
Hail Him! hail Him! Jesus the Crucified.
Sound His praises! Jesus who bore our sorrows;
Love unbounded, wonderful, deep and strong:
Praise Him! praise Him!
Tell of His excellent greatness;
Praise Him! praise Him! ever in joyful song!Praise Him! praise Him! Jesus our blessed Redeemer!
Praise Him! Praise Him! by Fanny Crosby
Heav’nly portals loud with hosannas ring!
Jesus, Savior, reigneth forever and ever;
Crown Him! crown Him! Prophet and Priest and King!
Christ is coming! over the world victorious,
Pow’r and glory unto the Lord belong:
Praise Him! praise Him!
Tell of His excellent greatness;
Praise Him! praise Him! ever in joyful song!
Anne Steele, who lived in the 18th century, from 1717-1778, was another prodigious poet. It’s interesting to note that hymnwriters historically have not been musicians, but poets, and that the music was typically added later. You can see from her writings that she experienced much sadness in her life, but that she knew where her refuge and joy were to be found. There is a compilation of Steele’s texts if you’re interested. It’s titled Refuge Of My Weary Soul. One of my favorite texts is the basis for the title of the book. We know it as “Dear Refuge of My Weary Soul”, but in her writings she titled it “God, the Only Refuge of the Troubled Mind”. Here’s the complete text.
Dear refuge of my weary soul,
On thee, when sorrows rise;
On thee, when waves of trouble roll,
My fainting hope relies.While hope revives, though prest with fears,
And I can say, my God,
Beneath thy feet I spread my cares,
And pour my woes abroad*To thee I tell each rising grief,
For thou alone canst heal;
Thy word can bring a sweet relief
For ev’ry pain I feel.But oh! when gloomy doubts prevail,
I fear to call thee mine;
The springs of comfort seem to fail,
And all my hopes decline.Yet, gracious God, where shall I flee?
Thou art my only trust,
And still my soul would cleave to thee,
Though prostrate in the dust.Hast thou not bid me seek thy face?
And shall I seek in vain?
And can the ear of sov’reign grace
Be deaf when I complain?No, still the ear of sov’reign grace
Attends the mourner’s pray’r;
O may I ever find access,
To breathe my sorrows there.Thy mercy-seat is open still;
God, the Only Refuge of the Troubled Mind (or Dear Refuge of my Weary Soul) by Anne Steele
Here let my soul retreat,
With humble hope attend thy will,
And wait beneath thy feet.
Augustus Toplady, the next on this select list, wrote one of my all-time favorite hymn texts. We know it as “Rock of Ages”, but in earlier writings it was titled “A Prayer, Living and Dying”. It was written around 1763 and first published in 1775, around the time of the American revolution. I have really taken to a more recent tune than what I grew up with, but the words are essentially the same. Is it any wonder that these two texts, written in the late 18th century, reflect themes that are still relevant today? What a great refuge, hiding place, or resting place we find in God. Where better to go?
Rock of ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in thee;
Let the water and the blood
From thy riven side which flow’d
Be of sin the double cure,
Cleanse me from its guilt and pow’r.Not the labours of my hands,
Can fulfil thy law’s demands:
Could my zeal no respite know,
Could my tears for ever flow;
All for sin could not atone,
Though must save and thou alone.Nothing in my hand I bring,
Simply to thy cross I cling;
Naked come to thee for dress,
Helpless, look to thee for grace:
Foul I to the fountain fly,
Wash me, Saviour, or I die.While I draw this fleeting breath,
A Prayer, Living and Dying (or Rock of Ages, Cleft for Me) by Augustus Toplady
When my eye-strings break in death;
When I soar to worlds unknown;
See thee on thy judgement throne,
Rock of ages, cleft for me,
Let me hide myself in thee.
The last of the four is Henry Francis Lyte, and the hymn selected is again one of rest, comfort, peace. “Abide With Me” was written in 1847, the year he died of tuberculosis. Here is a bit of the story, taken from Kevin Twit’s foreword to a book of Lyte’s hymns, Heaven Will Bring Me Sweeter Rest.
“It was during this season that he wrote Abide With Me, his most famous hymn. It was not actually written on his deathbed, but as he felt the end was drawing near… He preached his last sermon on September 5th , 1847, and that evening revised Abide With Me. (He would send the final revision to his wife a little later.) He travelled again to France where he died and was buried in Nice in November 1847. His nurse recorded his words as he neared death, “Oh blessed converse, begun on earth, to be perfected so soon in paradise! Blessed faith! Today piercing through the mist of earth! Tomorrow changed to sight! Abiding ever with the Lord!””
Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;
The darkness deepens; Lord with me abide.
When other helpers fail and comforts flee,
Help of the helpless, O abide with me.Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day;
Earth’s joys grow dim; its glories pass away;
Change and decay in all around I see;
O Thou who changest not, abide with me.Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word;
But as Thou dwell’st with Thy disciples, Lord,
Familiar, condescending, patient, free.
Come not to sojourn, but abide with me.Come not in terrors, as the King of kings,
But kind and good, with healing in Thy wings,
Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea—
Come, friend of sinners, and thus bide with me.Thou on my head in early youth didst smile;
And, though rebellious and perverse meanwhile,
Thou hast not left me, oft as I left Thee,
On to the close, O Lord, abide with me.I need Thy presence every passing hour.
What but Thy grace can foil the tempter’s power?
Who, like Thyself, my guide and stay can be?
Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me.I fear no foe, with Thee at hand to bless;
Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness.
Where is death’s sting? Where, grave, thy victory?
I triumph still, if Thou abide with me.Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes;
Abide With Me by Henry Francis Lyte
Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies.
Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee;
In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.