The weekly pioneer and Democrat. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn. Territory) 1855-1865, 1859-12-09
sold Hundred.''

eff it be true that Luther composed that
tune, and if the worship of immortals is
carried on the wings of angels, how often
has be heard the declaration, 'They are
singing odd 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 Germany. From his own
stentorian lungs they rolled, vibrating not
through vaulted cathedral roof but along
grander arch-the eternal heavens. He
wrought into each note his own sublime
faith, and stamped it with that faiths inn
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 are, that have not sung that tune?
If they were gray old men, they had heard
Or sung odd Hundred Ifthey were babes,
they smiled as their mothers rocked them to
sleep, singing odd Hundred Sinner and
saint have joined with the endless congrega
ton where it has, 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 inno-
cent face haunted you with its mild beauty,
loved Old Hundred, and as she sung it,
closed her eyes and seemed communing with
the angels who were so soon to chain her.
He whose manhood was devoted to the SER
vice of his God, and who, with faltering
steps, assembled 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 arm chair, his arms
crossed over the top of his cane, his silvery
locks floating off from his hollow temples,
and a tear, perchance, stealing down his
furr0wed cheeks, as the noble strains ring
out? Do you hear that thin, quivering, fall
tering sound now bursting forth, now listen
ed for, almost in vain? If you do not, we
do; and from such lips, hallowed by four
score years. service in the Masters cause,
odd Hundred sounds indeed sacred mel
ody. =.
"You may fill your churches with choirs,
with Sav bath prima donnas, whose daring
notes emulate the steeple, and cost almost as
much, but give US the spirit-stirriDg tones
of Old Hundred,' sung BY young and old
together. Martyrs have hallowed it; it has
gone up from the dying beds of the saints.
The old churches. where generation after
generation has worsshipped, and where many
scores of the dear dead have been carried,
and laid before the altar where they gave
themselves to God, seem to breathe of Old
Hundred from vestibule to tower-top-the
very air is haunted with its spirit.
"Think, for moment of the assembled
company who have, at different times and in
different places, joined in the familiar tune
Throng upon throng-the stern, the timid
the gentle, the brave, the beautiful-their
rapt faces all beaming with the inspiration
of the heavenly sounds
cod Hundred !" king of the sacred band
of ancient airs. Never shall our ears grow
weary of hearing, or our tongues of singing
thee? And when we get to Heaven, who
knows but what the first triumphal strain
that welcomes US may be-
''Be thou, o God. exalted high"