Daily Iowa State Democrat. [volume] (Davenport, Iowa) 1856-1859, 1858-02-24

thou q God, exalted high" The all
is old also, the immortal "Old Hun
dIed"
lit be true that Luther composed
that tune, and if the worship Of mortal'
is carried on the wings of angels tc
heaven, how often has he heard the
declaration, They are singing Old
hundred now"
The solemn strain carries us back Ia
the times of the retormers-Luther
and his devoted band. He, doubtless,
was the first to strike the grand old
chords in the public sanctuary Of his
own Germany.
From hisstentorian lungs they rolled
vibrating, not through vaulted cathc-
dral roof, but along a grander arch, the
eternal heavens. He wrought into
each note his own sublime faith, and
stamped it with that faiths immortali-
ty. Hence it cannot die Neither
men nor angels will let it pass into OBJ
| liyion.
The blue-eyed girls Of old " fader-
land" sang those same strains with all
the enthusiasm of ANEW and holier re-
ligion. They had been bound down to
priest, prayer book, and rosary. They
had raised adoring eyes to the span
gled image of the Virgin, and bent I'M
blushingly before the carved sembIance
of the Savior of sinners. They had
knclt at the dark confessional, and
placing their lips to its cunningly-
wrought portals, told the choicest
and most sinful emotions of their hearts
into the ears of the father confcssor,
whom sometimes they feared more
than they feared God. But Luther in
the face of the fathers, had thrown
down his rosary and refused to ac-
knowledge any interccssor save Christ.
Luther had, as it were, nailed his ana
thcma over the opening of the confess
ional. Luther had laughed to scorn
the holy relics, pretended miracles, and
saving power OF the priesthood, and
with daring, burning eloquence de-
nounced their sensuality and their
idolatry. First the mother heard, and
then the maids-thcy went to listen,
and remained to pray; aye, and to sing
with throbbing hearts and fearful eyes,
Praise God from whom all blessings
flow"
Can you find tomb in the land
where sealed lips lay that have not
sung that tune? fthey were grey
old men, they have heard or sung
"Old Hundred If they were babes,
they smiled as their mothers rocked
them to sleep singing sold Hundred"
Sinner and saint have joined with the
endless congregations, where it has
with and without the pealing organ
sounded on sacred air.
The dear little children, looking
with wondering eyes on this strange
world have lisped it. The sweet young
girl, whose tombstone told of sixteen
summers, she whose pure and innocent
face haunted you with its mild beauty,
loved "Old EIundred,' and as she sang
it, closed her eyes and seemed comu-
ming with the angels who were soon to
claim her. He whose manhood was
devoted to the service of God, and he
who with taltcring feet assembled the
pulpit steps with the white hand placed
over his laboring breast loved "Old
Hundred" And though sometimes
his lips only move, away down in his
heart, so soon to cease its throbs, the
holy melody was sounding. The dear
white headed father, with his tremulous
voice, how he loved " Old Hundred :"
Do You see him now, sitting in the
venerable armchair, his slvery loo ks
floating off from his hollow temples.
and tear, stealing down his furrowed
checks, as the noble stains ring out !.
DO you hear that thin quavcring, faul-
tering sound, now bursting, now listen
ed for almost in vain! If you do not
We DO; and from such lips, hallowed
by tourscooe years service IN the mas
ter's cause, I Id Hundred sounds in
deed, a sacred melody.
You may fill your church choirs with
Sabbath prima donnas, whose daring
notes emulate the stceple and cost al
most as much, but give us the spirit
stirring tones Of the Lutheran HYMN
sung by the old and young together.
Martyrs have hallowcd 1t; it has gone
up from the beds of the saints. The
old churches, where generation after
generation has worshipped, and where
many scores Of the dear dead have
been carried, and laid before the alter,
where they gave themselves to God,
seem to breath off sold Hundred :"
from vestibule to tower-top-thc very
air is haunted with its spirit.
Think moment of the assembled
company who have at different times
and places, joined in the familiar tune
Throng upon throng-thc strong, the
timid, the gentle, the brave, the beau
tlful, their rapt faces all beaming with
inspiration Of the heavenly sounds.
"Old Hundred" king of ancient
airs! Never shall our cars grow wea-
ry of hearing, or our tongues of sing
ing thee. And when we get to heav-
en-, who knows but what the first tri-
umphal strain that welcoms us, may
be-
"Be thou. o, Goi! exalted high"