The weekly hawk-eye. [volume] (Burlington, Iowa) 1858-1860, 1858-06-08
"Old Hundred. :"

In rustic old church opposite while VIC
write, company of worshippers are singing
the DID, old hymn, 'Be thou, o God, exai.
ted high" The air as old, also; the immor.
tai ''Old Hundred"
II it be true that Luther composed that
tune, and if the worship of immortals is
carried on the wings Of angels to Heaven,
how often has he heard the declaration,
'They are singing Old Hundred, now"
The solemn strain carries us back to the
times of the reformers-Luther and his de-
voted band. He, doubtless was the first to
strike the grand old chords in the public
sanctuary of his own Germany. From his
own stentorian lungs they rolled, vibrating
| not through vaulted cathedral roof. but
along a grander arch, the eternal heavens
He wrought into each note his own sublime
faith, and stamped it with that faiths i'm
mortality. Hence it cannot die. Neither
men nor angels will let it pass into oblivion.
Can you find tomb in the lands where
sealed lips lay that have not sung that tune?
If they were gray old men, they had heard
or sung cold Hundred" fthey were babes,
they smiled as their mothers rocked them to
sleep, singing "Old Hundred Sinner and
saint have joined with the endless congresa.
tien where it has, without the pealing organ,
sounded on sacred air. The dear little chill
dren, looking with wondering eyes on this
strange world, have lsped 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 Hundred, and as she sang it. closed
her eyes and seemed communing with the
angels who were so soon to claim her. He
whose manhood was devoted to the service
of his God one who with falterine steps as
cended the pulpit stairs, with white hand
placed over his laboring breast, loved "Old
Hundred And though sometimes his lips
only moved, 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 arms crossed
over the top of his cane, his silyery locks
floating off from his hollow temples, and
tear, perchance, stealing down his turrowed
cheeks, as the noble strains ring out? Do
you hear that thin, quivering faltering sound
now bursting forth, now listened for almost
In vain? If you do not, we do; and from
such lips, hallowed by four score years, ser
vice in the Masters cause, ''Old Hundred
sounds indeed a sacred melody.
w may AA your cnurcneS with chOlrS,
with Sabbath prima donnas, whose daring
notes emulate the steeple, and cost almost as
much, but give us the spirit stirring tones of
the Lutheran hymn, sung by young and old
together Martyrs have hallowed il; it has
gone up from the dying beds of saints. The
old churches where generation after genera
ton has worshipped, and where many scores
OF the dear dead have been carried, and laid |
before the aSsar where they gave themselves
to God, seem to breathe .Old Hundred" |
from vestibule to tower-top-the very air is
haunted with its SPIRIT.
Think for moment Of the assembled
who have, at different times and IN
different places, joined in the familiar tune
Ihrong upon throng-the stern, the timid'
the gentle, the brave, the beautiful. their
APT faces all beaming with the inspiration
If the heavenly sounds!
"Old Hundred" king of the sacred band
Of ancient airs Never shall our ears grow
weary Of hearing, or our tongues Of singing
heel And when we get to heaven. Who
lnows but what the first triumphal strain
hat welcomes Us may be-
"Be thou, 0 God, exhaited high"