The Bolivar bulletin. [volume] (Bolivar, Hardeman County, Tenn.) 1865-1888, 1868-07-25
Rook Of &c.

OF all the hymns through which the relig-
lous sentiment Of mankind has found an
utterance, and by which the human soul is
lifted into a nearer and more perfect com
munlon with It's Maker, there is not one, in
our humble estimation, that can compare
with Rock Of Ages. Into these three
brief verses are compressed a depth of pa-
thos, a power Of language, a strength of
lalth, and fullness of true Christian pietv
such as can be found in no other uninspired
composition Familiar as it Is, and cannon
Ized IN the hearts of all sects and creeds in
Christendom, there are comparatively few
who have seen itin the proper version. Our
sacriligious hymn-butchers have literally
hacked the noble victim to pieces. The fol
lowing is the rendering Of the Lyra Catho-
ica and Endorsed by the Rev Dr. Hunting
ton in his Hymns OF the Ages"
Jesus, pro me perforatus.
Rock Of Ages, rent fer me,
Let me hide myself in Thee;
Let the water blood
Frem thy river side which flowed,
Be Of sin the double cure;
Cleanse from its guilt and power
Nothing in my hand I bring,
Simply Thy Cross I cngi
Naked. come o Thee for Dress
Helpless, look to Thee for grace
Foul, to the Fountain fly
Wash me, Saviour or / die.
While draw this nsetIug BREATH
When my eye-strings break in DEATH
When / worlds unknown
Sec thee on thy judgment thrones
Rock 81 Ages, cleft for me-
Let hide myself in Thee.
The authorship is ascribed to Augustus
Montague Toplady, an English clergyman
born at Farnham, Surry, in l740, and dying
in London in 1888 He was the great cham
pion of Calvinism in the Church of England
and published six volumes of controversial
theology.
In wandering through the superb art gal
lerv Of Messrs Pettes IL Leathe, St Louis
the other day. our eye fell on a modest little
photograph, leaning with pile of others in
aD obscure corner-hiding itself away, as it
were, like a sweet spring violet nesting
among the grass to escape the notice Of the
passer-by We stopped and raised it up
and saw for the first time a perfect visible
translation of the grand old hymn of which
we speak. Some uRknoWn artists heart, i'm
bued with the same deep devotion and low
inc yeneration that made Fra Angelica paint
his Madonnas on Bonded knee, and Leon
ardo Vinci to ask Gods blessing each morn
ing before touching pencil to the Last Sup
per had caught the central idea Of the
g Rock Of Ages and stamped it with the
impress of his genius.
A stormy, tempestuOus sea, lashed into
angry foam, breaks over a narrow, rugged
LEDGE rising from the fretted bosom Of mid
ocean. No land in sight no ship, no boat
no ray of sunshine, no CLEAN of hope-noth-
ing but the fierce and hungry surges howl
inc for their victims. In the foreground
drifts Jagged piece Of timber, the shattered
fragment of some wreck sunk a thousand
fathoms deep beneath the wiidnerness of
waters Close beside it stretches up a
CHASTITY human hand, clutching in wild
agony at the frail spar which might have
been salvation.
This is the lost soul.
In the center Of the picture, planted
firmly upon the little ledge we mentioned,
stands q huge, massive cross of stone,
drenehed with spray, and its edges worn and
gashed by the beatings of unnumbered
storms through all the centuries since Gre
atoms dawn. Over the cross, as If the
clouds had opened, there falls a pale gush of
celestial light pure and serene as the smile
of an angel-while around that cross, locked
ina close embrace, elings female form with
dripping garments, and disheyelled hair
bowed head and white arms, straining in the
frantic energy Of despair, The heavenly
radiapee which bathes the sacred emblem of
redemption, touches the woman's brow and
figure and kindles it into life
This Is the saved soul-this is the l~yek
Of ages"