The Potter journal. [volume] (Coudersport, Pa.) 1857-1872, 1862-06-04

We write, company of worshlppers are
singing the old, old hymn:
''Be thou o God, exalted highr'
fhe air as old, also-the immortal "Old
Hundred"
II Z be true that Luther composed that
tuue. aud if the worship OF mortals is car
ried on the wings of angels to heaven, how
often he heard the declaration, They are
singing old Hundred now"
The solemn strain carries US back to the
times of the Reformers-Luthur and his
devoted 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 grander arch, the eternal
heavens. He wrought into each note his
own sublime faith, and stamped it with
that faiths immortality. Hence, it can
not die Neither nan nor angels will
let it pass into oblivion.
Can you fud tomb in the land where
sealed lips lay that have not sung that
tune? If they were gray old men, they
had heard or sung "Old Hundred" If
they were babes, they smiled as their
mothers rocked them to sleep, singing
i"Old Hundred." Sinner and saint have
Joined with the endless congregation
where it has, with and without the peal
ing organ, sounded on sacred air. The
dear little children, looking with wonder
ing eyes on this strange world, have
lisped it,
The sweet young girl whose tombstone
tol0 of sixteen summers, she whose pure
aud innocent face has haunted you with
It's mild beauty, loved "Old Hundred, y
and as she sung it, closed her eyes aud
seemed communing with the angels who
were so soon to claim her. He whose
manhood was devoted to the service of
his Gvd, and who with falsering steps as
cended the pulpit stairs with white hand
placed over his laboriDg breast, loved
''Old Hundred" And though sometimes
his lips ouly moved, away down in his
heart, so soon to cease It's 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 char, his arms crossed over the top
of his cane, his siivery locks floating off
from his hollow temples, and a tear, per-
chance, stealing down his furrowed cheek,
as the noble strains ring out? Do you
hear that thin, quivering, faltering sound
now bursting forth, now listened for al
most in vain If you do not, we do !;
and from such lips, hailowed by fourscore
years service in the Masters cause, "Old
Hundred" sounds indeed a sacred melody
You may fill your churches with choirs,
with Sabbath prima donnas, whose daring
notes emulate the steeple, and cost almost
as much, but give US the spirit-stirrlng
tones of the Lutheran hymn, sung by
young and old together. Martyrs have
hallowed it; it has gone up from the dy-
ing 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 be-
fore 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-tbe stern,
the timid, the gentle, the brave, the beau
tiful, their rapt faces all beaming with the
ins spiration of the heavenly sounds.
'Old Hundred p king of the sacred
baud 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 tri
umphal strain that welcomes us may be
BE thou, oh God, exalted high"