Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1863-07-09
TERMS OF ADvERTIsING,
Old Hundred.

In rustic old church opposite, while we
write, company Of worshippers are sing
ing the old, old hymn, BE thou, o, God.
exalted high" The air is old, also; and
the immortal "Old Hundred"
Ii it be true that Luther composed that
tune, and If the worship of immortsls 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
time Of the Reformers-L1ther 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 a gran1er arch, the eternal heavens.
lie wrought into each note his own sublime
faith, and stamped it with faiths immor-
tality. Hence it cannot die Neither men
nor angels will let it pass into oblivion.
Can you find tomb in the land where
sealed lips lie that have not sung that tuner
If they were gray, old men, they heard or
sung "Old Hundred" If they were babes,
they smiled as their mothers rocked them
to sleep singing "Old Hundred" Sinner
and saint have joined with the endless con-
gregation, where it has, with and without
the pealing organ, sounded on the 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 SINNERS, she
whose pure and innocent face haunted you
with its mild beauty, loved 'Old Hundred"
and she sung it, closed her eyes, aud SEEM
ed communing with the angels, who were
soon to claim her. He whose manhood was
devoted to the serice of God, and who with
ialtering steps assembled the pulpit stairs
breast loved "Oid 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 his venerable arm
chair, his arm crossed over the tow of his
cane, his silvery locks floating off from his
hollow temples, and a tear, perchance steal
ing down his hollow check as the noble
strains ring out? Do you hear that thin,
quiyering, faltering sound now bursting
| forth, now listened for almost in vain? IL
you do not, we do; and from such lips, hol-
| lowed by fourscorc years in the Master 8
cause, ''Od Hundred" sounds indeed a
sacred melody.
You may fll your churches with choirs,
with Sabbath prima donnas, Whose daring
notes emulate the steeple, and cost almost
as much, bu, give US the spirit stirring
tunes of the Lutheran hymn, sung by young
and old together. Martyrs have hallowed
it; it has gone up from the dying beds Of
saints. The churches where generation
after generation have worshiped, and where
many scores Of the dear dead have been
carried and laid before the alter 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 that 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 inspi-
ration Of the heavenly sounds!
''Old Hundredl' King of the sacred
band of ancient airs. Never shall our ears
grow weary of hearing, or our tongues Of
singing thee Aud when we get to heaven,
who knows but that the first triumphal
strain that welcomes US may be-
Re- ibon q God ,xalted hgh