precious Lord, take my hand

Be strong and of good courage, do not fear nor be afraid of them; for the Lord your God, He is the One who goes with you. He will not leave you nor forsake you.

Deuteronomy 31:6

Some think this great old gospel song was written by the famous big bandleader Tommy Dorsey. It wasn't; the author was named Thomas Andrew Dorsey, and he was the son of a Black preacher.

Thomas was born in a small town in Georgia in 1899. When he was about eleven, the Dorseys moved to Atlanta where Thomas was quickly enamoured with the blues and began playing the piano as a vaudeville theater. Later the family moved to Chicago where he attended classes at the College of Composition and Arranging. Soon he was on stage under the name "Georgia Tom," playing barrelhouse piano and leading jazz bands.

After being converted in Chicago in 1921, Thomas began writing gospel songs and trying to get them published. It was discouraging at first. He later said, "I borrowed five dollars and sent out 500 copies of my song, 'If You See My Savior,' to churches throughout the country...It was three years before I got a single order. I felt like going back to the blues."

He didn't, and gradually his reputation grew and his work became known.

In August, 1932, while leading music in St. Louis, he was handed a telegram bearing the words, "Your wife just died." He rushed to a phone to call home, but all he could hear over the line was "Nettie is dead! Nettie is dead!" A friend drove him through the night, and he arrived home to learn that his baby boy had also died.

"I began to feel that God had done me an injustice," Thomas later said, "I didn't want to serve Him anymore or write anymore gospel songs." But the next Saturday, while alone in a friend's music room, he had a "strange feeling" inside--a sudden calm and a quiet stillness. "As my fingers began to manipulate over the keys, words began to fall in place on the melody like drops of water falling from the crevice of the rock:

Precious Lord, take my hand

Lead me on, let me stand

I am tired, I am weak, I am worn..."

Today Thomas A. Dorsey is remembered as the "Father of Gospel Music" and the author of hundreds of gospel songs including his equally famous, "Peace in the Valley."

Taken from the book: Then Sings My Soul

little is much when God is in it

 A little one shall become a thousand, and a small one a strong nation. I the Lord, will hasten it in its time.

Isaiah 60:22

 

 

One snow-blanketed night, Canadian Fred Suffield awoke to an urgent pounding on his door. A half-frozen man reported that a train had stalled in the blizzard, and the passengers were in danger of freezing to death. Lighting a lantern, Fred followed the man to the site and led the travelers back to his house. Later one of the passengers, Kittie, wrote a thank you note. Fred replied, and Kittie wrote back. Their correspondence led to courtship and to marriage.

 

Some time later, Fred and Kittie attended a church in Ottawa. The ministers name was A.J. Shea. While there, they obeyed the gospel. As the couple grew in Christ, they became even more "on fire for God." One summer they invited Shea's teenage son, George Beverly, to spend a month with them in Westport, Ontario, holding gospel meetings.

 

One night, while Kittie was playing the piano, Bev attempted to sing, but his voice cracked on the high notes, and he sat down mortified, vowing never to sing again. Kittie wouldn't hear of it, suggesting he sing in a lower key. He did, and he kept on singing, and singing, and singing.

 

Many years passed, and in June 2000, George Beverly Shea, 92, was asked to sing at a concert. His rich baritone voice broke into a song that had been written 73 years before by Fred and Kittie: "Little Is Much When God Is in It."

 

Bev Shea's song was about the littleness of our efforts. Compared to this great mission to untold multitudes, our own individual ministries seemed small and insignificant. But God uses little things in great ways. A tiny acorn may produce a forest. A spark may ignite a flame. A small church may produce the next far-famed preacher.

 

Don't be discouraged if your place seems small. You're doing more good than you know.

 

 

Taken from the book: Then Sings My Soul

 

 



Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus

...let us run with endurance the race set before us, looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith...

Hebrews 12:1, 2

Helen Howarth Lemmel was born in England in 1863, into the same home of a minister who immigrated to America when Helen was a child. She loved music, and her parents provided the best vocal teachers they could find. Eventually Helen returned to Europe to study vocal music in Germany. In time, she married a wealthy European, but he left her when she became blind, and Helen struggled with multiple heartaches during midlife.

At age 55, Helen heard a statement that deeply impressed her: "So then turn your eyes upon Him, look full into His face and you will find that the things of earth will acquire a strange new dimness."

"I stood still," Helen later said, "and singing in my soul and spirit was the chorus, with not one conscious moment of putting word to word to make rhyme, or note to note to make melody. The verses were written the same week, after the usual manner of composition."

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Doug Goins of Palo Alto, California, and his parents, Paul and Kathryn Goins, both 82, of Sun City, Arizona, knew Helen in Seattle. "She was advanced in years and almost destitute, but she was an amazing person," said Doug. "She made a great impression on me as a junior high child because of her joy and enthusiasm. Though she was living on government assistance in a sparse bedroom, whenever we'd ask how she was doing, she would reply, 'I'm doing well in the things that count.'"

One day, the Goins invited her to supper. "We had never entertained a blind person before," recalled Kathryn, "and it was interesting. Despite her infirmities, she was full of life. I remember how amused we were when, following supper, she said, 'Now if you will lead me to the bathroom, I'll sit on the throne and reign.'"

"But she was always composing hymns," said Kathryn. "She had no way of writing them down, so she would call my husband at all hours and he'd rush down and record them before she forgot the words."

Helen had a small plastic keyboard by her bed. There she would play, sing, and cry.

Helen Lemmel, who wrote nearly 500 hymns during her lifetime, died in Seattle in 1961, thirteen days before her 98th birthday.

Taken from the book: Then Sings My Soul

The Love of God

Praise the Lord! Oh, give thanks to the Lord, for He is good! For His mercy endures forever.

Psalm 106:1

This hymn was written in a citrus packing house in Pasadena, California, by a German-born man named Frederick M. Lehman. At age four, Frederick and his family had immigrated to America, settling down in Iowa. Frederick's greatest love was gospel music, and he compiled five songbooks and published hundreds of songs.

In 1917, his finances had gone sour, and he found himself working in a packing factory in Pasadena, moving thirty tons of lemons and oranges a day. One morning as he arrived at work, a song was forming in his mind. He had been thinking about the limitlessness of God's love, and during breaks he sat on an empty lemon crate and jotted down words with a stubby pencil.

Arriving home that evening, he went to the old upright piano and began putting notes to his words. He finally had a melody and two stanzas, but almost all gospel songs of that era had at least three stanzas. At length, he thought of some lines he had recently heard in a sermon:

Could we with ink the ocean fill and were the skies of parchment made,

Were every stalk on earth a quill, and every man a scribe by trade,

To write the love of God above would drain the ocean dry,

Nor could the scroll contain the whole though stretched from sky to sky.

That verse perfectly formed the third stanza, but who had written it? As Frederick heard the story, it was composed on the wall of an insane asylum by an unknown inmate. Perhaps someone did find it there, but we now know the words originally came from the pen of an eleventh-century Jewish poet in Germany named Meir Ben Isaac Nehorai.

Frederick lived the rest of his life in California, writing a number of hymns before his death in 1953. One of his most popular gospel songs, now outdated and forgotten, was based on the wonder of a new-fangled invention that was sweeping over America. It was called "The Royal Telephone."

Central's never "busy," always on the line;

You may hear from heaven almost any time....

Telephone to glory, O what joy divine!

I can feel the current moving on the line....

Taken from the book: Then Sings My Soul

 

Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee

For I know the thoughts I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.

Jeremiah 29:11

The author of the hymn, Henry Jackson van Dyke, was born in Pennsylvania in 1852, and became a minister of a church in New York City. Henry later became professor of English literature at Princeton, and the author of a number of books, including the still popular "The Other Wise Man." He went on to occupy a number of eminent positions, including:

-American Ambassador to the Netherlands and Luxenbourg (appointed by his friend, Woodrow Wilson)

-Lieutenant Commander in the United States navy Chaplains Corps during World War I

-President of the National Institute of Arts and Letters

In 1907, Henry van Dyke was invited to preach at Williams College in Massachusetts. At breakfast one morning, he handed the college president a piece of paper, saying, "Here is a  hymn for you. Your mountains (the Berkshires) were my inspiration."

When he was later asked about this hymn, van Dyke replied, "These verses are simple expressions of common Christian feelings and desires in this present time--hymns of today that may be sung together by people who know the thoughts of the age, and are not afraid that any truth of science will destroy religion, or any revolution on earth overthrow the kingdom of heaven. Therefore this is a hymn of trust and joy and hope."

Taken from the book: Then Sings My Soul

This Is My Father's World

...For the world is Mine, and all it's fullness.

Psalm 50:12b

Maltbie Babcock was arguably the most remarkable student Syracuse University had ever seen. Hailing from an aristocratic family, he was a brilliant scholar with a winning personality. Tall and steel-muscled, he was an outstanding athlete, expert swimmer, and captain of the baseball team. he also directed the university's orchestra, played several instruments, and composed original compositions. A proficient vocalist, he directed the university glee club. He entertained other students by drawing and doing impersonations. On the side, he was an avid fisherman.

He would have been successful in any profession, but he decided to be a minister. After going to school, he became the minister at a church in Lockport, New York. It was a beautiful area--midway between  Lake Erie and Lake Ontario, not far from Niagara Falls--and Maltbie enjoyed hiking and running in the hills outside town. Telling his secretary, "I'm going out to see my Father's world," he would run or hike a couple of miles into the countryside where he'd lose himself in nature.

It was while preaching at Lockport that he wrote a sixteen-stanza poem, each verse beginning with the words, "This Is My Father's World."

In 1886, Maltbie became a minister in Baltimore. While there, he traveled widely and was in great demand on college campuses. He was a fresh, engaging speaker who never failed to stimulate students. In 1899, he moved to another church to serve in New York City. Here he found it more difficult to take off on his hikes. The work load was enormous, but Maltbie faced it stoically, writing:

Be strong! We are not here to play, to dream, to drift,

We have hard work to do and loads to lift;

Shun not the struggle. Face it. 'Tis Gods gift. Be strong!

When he was 42, his church presented him with a special gift--a trip to the "Holy Land." With great excitement, Maltbie departed by ship. While en route at Naples, Italy, he was seized with a deadly bacterial fever and died at the International Hospital on May 18, 1901.

After his death, his wife compiled his writings into a book entitled Thoughts for Everyday Living, published in 1901. Included was Maltbie's "This Is My Father's World."

*Don't forget to scroll down to the bottom of the blog and pause the playlist, ok? ;)

When We All Get to Heaven

"And I will give you the keys of the kingdom, and whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven.:

Matthew 16:19

Eliza Edmunds Hewitt was one of the premier women hymnwriters of the late 1800s and the early 1900s. She wrote the popular hymn, "Singing I Go Along Life's Road," which was to have such a profound influence of George Beverly Shea. She is also the author of "Will There Be Any Stars in My Crown?" "My Faith Has Found a Resting Place," "Sunshine in My Soul," "More About Jesus," and this hymn, "When We All Get to Heaven."

It came to her as she studied John 14, where Jesus told His disciples, "Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in Me. In My Father's house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you."

But this wasn't Eliza's only hymn about heaven. Though now seldom-sung, one of her most unique songs is entitled,"The Everlasting Hymn," in which she imagines the majesty of worshipping the Lord as we gather around Him in the heavenly places, vibrantly echoing the biblical song of the angels:

Holy, Holy, Holy; Angels voices singing;

Holy, Holy, Holy, through high heaven ringing.

From that temple, pure and bright, Bathes in streams of crystal light,

Hear the everlasting hymn, Holy, Holy, Holy.

Holy, Holy, Holy; Grandest music swelling;

Holy, Holy, Holy, All sweet notes excelling,

Those who conquered by His might, Wearing now their crowns of light,

Join the everlasting hymn, Holy, Holy, Holy.

Holy, Holy. Holy; Come let us adore Him;

Holy, Holy, Holy, Humbly bow before Him.

Wisdom, glory, love, and might, With the seraphim unite

In the everlasting hymn, Holy, Holy, Holy.

That's what we'll be singing--when we all get to heaven.

*don't forget to pause the playlist at the bottom of the blog. :)

FYI, this is just a video that I found on YouTube......

Count Your Blessings

Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow of turning.

James 1:17

It's impossible to be thankful and, at the same time, grumpy, cantankerous, critical, or ill-tempered. That's a lesson Johnson Oatman wanted to teach young people in his song, "Count Your Blessings."

Johnson was born in New Jersey just before the Civil War. His father had a powerful voice which some people claimed was the best singing voice in the East. That's why, as a boy, Johnson Jr., always wanted to stand beside his father in church.

When Johnson was a young man, he stood alongside his father in another way. He became a partner in Johnson Oatman & Son, his dad's mercantile business. At age 19, Johnson was an active part in his church. He often preached, but never was a full-time minister, for he enjoyed the business would and found it paid his bills, giving him freedom to minister without cost.

In 1892, with his father's voice undoubtedly ringing in his memory, Johnson began writing hymns. He averaged 200 hymns and gospel songs a year--5,000 during the course of his lifetime, among them: "Higher Ground," "No Not One," "The Last Mile of the Way," and this one, "Count Your Blessings," which was published in a song book for young people in 1897. It reflected Johnson's optimistic faith, and has been a lesson to many ever since.

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Martin Luther wrote in his book, Table Talk: "The greater God's gifts and works, the less they are regarded." We tend to exhibit a degree of thanksgiving in reverse proportion to the amount of blessings we've received. A hungry man is more thankful for his morsel than a rich man for his heavily-laden table. A lonely woman in a nursing home will appreciate a visit more than a popular woman with a party thrown in her honor.

If the birds only burst into song once a year, we'd all pay close attention. But because they are singing every morning, we scarcely bother to listen.

Now is a good time to lay this book aside and deliberately thank God for something you've never before mentioned in thanksgiving. Count your blessings. Name them one by one.

And it will surprise you what the Lord has done.

Taken from the book: Then Sings My Soul  



Jesus Loves the Little Children

Let the little children come to Me, and do not forbid them; for of such is the kingdom of God.

Luke 18:16

Almost everyone knows "Jesus Loves the Little Children," but few of us have sung the three verses that go along with the chorus. Nor do many people realize this was originally a Civil Way ballad.

George Frederick Root was born into a large family in Sheffield, Massachusetts, in 1820, and showed signs of musical genius. By age thirteen, he boasted that he could play thirteen different instruments. As a young adult, he taught music in Boston and New York. He also composed music.

In 1855, he offered a song called "Rosalie, the Prairie Flower" to his publisher for the hefty sum of $100. Root's publisher, not thinking it worth that much, offered Root a royalty plan instead. In time, Root grossed thousands of dollars from "Rosalie," which helped establish him financially.

The outbreak of the Civil War deeply affected George, and he immediately began using his gifts to advance the Union war effort, writing a host of patriotic songs to rally the moral of the North. As a serious, classical composer, he was embarrassed at the simple martial music coming from his pen, so he signed them with the name "Wurzel," the German word for "Root." Among his most popular pieces was a ballad entitled, "Tramp! Tramp! Tramp!"

In the prison cell I sit,

Thinking, mother, dear of you,

And our bright and happy home so far away,

And the tears, they fill my eyes,

'Spite of all that I can do,

Tho' I try to cheer my comrades and be gay.

Chorus:

Tramp! Tramp! Tramp! The boys are marching,

Cheer up, comrades, they will come,

And beneath the starry flag

We shall breathe the air again

Of the free land in our own beloved home.

After the Civil War, the melody remained popular but the words were dated. A minister named Clare Herbert Woolston, a lyricist whom Root occasionally used, wrote new verses and a chorus. And that's how a Civil War ballad about a soldier in prison became one of the most popular children's choruses in history.

Taken from the book: Then Sings My Soul

When the Roll is Called Up Yonder

I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in Me, though he may die, shall live.

John 11:25

This old favorite was inspired by disappointment. James Black was calling roll one day for a youth meeting at his church in Williamsport, Pennsylvania. One name didn't answer--young, Bessie, the daughter of an alcoholic. Crestfallen at her absence, James commented, "O God, when my own name is called up yonder, may I be there to respond!" Returning home, a thought struck him while opening the gate. Entering the house, he went to the piano and wrote the words and music effortlessly.

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Years later, this song comforted a group of traumatized children in a Japanese concentration camp. In his book, A Boy's War, David Mitchell, tells of being in boarding school in Chefoo, China, during the Japanese invasion. On November 5, 1942, the students and faculty were marched from their campus and eventually ended up in Weihsien Concentration Camp.

Among the students was Brian Thompson, a lanky teenager. One evening about a year before the war ended, Brian was restless, waiting for the evening roll call which was long overdue. A bare wire from the searchlight tower was sagging low, and some of the older boys were jumping up and touching it with their fingers. "Whew, I got a shock off that," said one.

Brian decided to try. Being taller than the others, his hand was drawn into the wire, and it came down with him. When his bare feet hit the damp ground, the electricity shot through him like bolts of lightning. his mother, who had been interred with the students, tried to reach him, but the others held her back or she, too, would have been electrocuted. Finally someone found an old wooden stool and managed to detach the electrical wire, but it was too late.

At roll call that night, when the name "Brian Thompson" was called, there was no answer. David Mitchell later wrote: "Our principal and Mr. Houghton led a very solemn yet triumphant funeral service the next day. The shortness of life and the reality of eternity were brought home to us with force as Paul Bruce related that Brian had missed roll call in camp but had answered one in Heaven. How important it was for us to sing and know, 'When the Roll is called up yonder, I'll be there.'"

Taken from the book: Then Sings My Soul

(Don't forget to pause the blog background music.)


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