Orleans independent standard. [volume] (Irasburgh, Vt.) 1856-1871, 1863-03-06
"Old Hundred. "

we write, company Of worshippers are
singing the old. old hymn, " Be thou, o
God, exalted high" The air is ODD
also; the immortal Old Hundred"
IT it be true that Luther composed
that tune, and i the worship Of immor-
tails is carried on the wings of angels to
heaven how often has he heard the dec
iaration; They are singing old Hun
dred' now"
The solemn strain carries US back to
the time Of the Relormers--Lulhtr and
his devoted band. He, doubtless, was
the first to strike the grand old chords of
the public sanctuary of his own Ger
many. From his own stentorian lungs
they rolled, vibrating not through vaulted
cathedral roof but long, grander arch,
the eternal heavens. He wrought into
each note his own sublime faith, and
stamped it wit h that faiths immor-
talty. Hence ii cannot die Neither
men nor angels will let it pass into OBJ
livion.
Can you find tomb n the land where
sealed lips lay that have not sung that
tune? Ii they were gray old men, they
had heard or sung 4" Old Hundred If
they were babes, they smiled as their
mothers rocked them to sleep, singing
" Old Hundred" Sinner and saint have
joined with TIE endless congregation,
when il has, with and without the peal
ing organ. sounded on sacred air. The
dear little children, looking with wonder
ing eyes on the strange world, have
lisped it. The sweet young girl whose
tombstone told Of sixteen summers, she
whose pure and innocent face haunted
ou 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 claim her.
lie whose manhood was devoted to the
service of bis God, and who with falter
ing steps ascended the pulpit stairs with
white hands placed over his laboring
breast, loved "Old Hundred" And
though sometimes his lips only moved,
away down in his heart, so soon to ease
its throbs, the holy melody was sounding.
The dear white headed father, with his
tremulous voice! how he loves "Old
Hundred Do you see him now, sitting
in the venerable arm chair, his arms
crossed over the top of bis cane, his sill
yer locks floating eff from his hollow
temples, and tear, perchauce, stealing
down his furrowed cheeks, as the noble
strains!Iing 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, hsllowed by four-score years in the
Masters cause, sold Hundred" sounds
indeed 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 striving tones Of the Lutheran
hymn sung by young and old altogether.
Martrys have hallowed it; it has gone
up from The dying beds of saints. The
old churches where generation after gen.
GRAFTON has worshiped, and where many
scores Of the dear dead have been car
ried, and laid before the altar where
they gave themselves to God, seem to
breathe of Old Hundred" from vesti-
bule to tower top-the very air is haunt
ed with its spirit.
Think, for moment, OF the assem-
bled company who have, at different
times and in different places, joined in
the familiar tunel Tbrong upon throng,
the stern, the timid, the gentle, the
brave, tie beautiful, their rapt faces all
beaming with the inspiration of the
heavenly sounds
sod Hundred n king Of the sacred
band Of ancient airs. Never shall our
ear grow weary Of hearing, or our
tongues of singing thee And when we
get to Heaven, who knows but what the
first triumphant strain that welcomes us
may be-
%Be thou, o God. exalted high"