The Highland weekly news. [volume] (Hillsborough [Hillsboro], Highland County, Ohio) 1853-1886, 1871-09-21
HDorough Highland County Ohio Thursday September 1871
PHEBE CARY,s HYMN.

PHEBE CARY'S HYMN.
Touching Story of its Recital. |
One Of her hymns-a favorite in
many Christian families and congre-
gations-we must quote, not only
for its own sake, but because there
| is a story connected with it that we
wish to tell:
NEARER HOME.
One sWestly solemn thought
| Comes to me Ger and Ger;
! I'm nearer to my home to-day
Fhsn I ever have been before.
Nearer my Fathers house,
Where the many mansions be
Nearer the great white throne,
t-4-ss Nearer the crystal sea5
NoaFer the bound oflife,
Where we lay our burdens down,
Nearer leaving the cross,
Nearer gaining the crown.
But the waves Of that silent sea
Roll dark before my sight,
That brightly the other side
Break on shore Of light.
O,ifmy mortal feet
Have almost gained the brink,
lift be 1 ana nearer home,
Even to-day than I think,
Father, perfect my trust,
Let my spirit feel in death
I That her feet are firmly set
On the Rock of living faith.
/ A gentleman in China, entrusted
with packages for a young man from
his friends in the United States,
learned that he would probably be
found in a certain gambling house.
He went thither, but not seeing the
young man, sat down and waited, in
hope that he might come in. The
place was a bedIam of noises, men
getting angry over their cards, and
frequently coming to blows. Near
him sat two men-one young, the
other 40 years of age. They were
betting and drinking in a terrible
way, the older one giving utteranee
continually to the fouIest profanity.
Two games had been finished, the
young man losing each time. The
third game, with a fresh bottle of
brandy, had just begun, and the
young man sat lazily back in his
chair while the oldest shufled his
cards. The man was long time
dealing his cards, and the young
man, looking carelessIy about the
room, began to hum a tune. He
went on till at length he began to
sing the hymn Of Phoebe Cary above
quoted. The words, says the writer
Of the story, repeated in such a vile
place, at first made me shudder. A
Sabbath School hymn in a gambling
den! But while the younger man
sang, the elder stopped dealing the
cards, stared at the singer a moment,
and throwing the cards on the floor,
exclaimed:
"Harry, where did you learn that
tune?" "What tune 2" tEWhy, the
one you've been singing?" The
young man said he did not know
he had been singing, when the elder
repeated the words, with tears in
his eyes, and the young man said
he had learned them in a Sunday
School in America. "Come," said
the elder, getting up, "cOme, Harry,
here's what I've won from you; go
and use it for some good purpose.
AS for me, as God sees me, I have
played my last game and drank my
last bottle. I have misled you,
Harry, and 1 am sorry. Give me
your hand, old boy, and say that for
old Americas sake, if no other, you
will quit this Internal business. ,.
The gentleman who tells the story
Originally published in the Boston
! NeWs) saw these two men leave the
gambling house together, and walk
away arm in arm and he remarks
'sIt must be a source of great joy to
Miss Cary to know that her lines,
which have comforted so many
! Christian hearts, have been the
means of awakening in the breasts
of two tempted and erring men on
the other side Of the globe a resolu-
ton to lead a better life" 1t agus a
source Of great joy to Miss Cary, as
we happen to know. Before US lies
a private letter from her to an aged
friend in this city, with the printed
story enclosed, and containing this
comment: 81 enclose the hymn and
the story for you, not because 1 am
vain of the notice, but because I
thought you would have peculiar
interest in them when you know
that the hymn was written Is years
ago (1842) in your house. 1 COM
posed it in the little back third-stOry
bedroom, on Sunday morning, after
coming from church and it makes
me happy to think that any word I
could say has done a little good in
the world"
The very last literary work Of
Miss Cary was her tender and afec-
tionate sketch of her sister Alice,
written for the Ladies' Repository
and reprinted a few days since in
the Tribune. It was a fitting close
of her useful life, and, though we re-
gret that she was not spared to write,
as she intended, a more complete BIZ
Ography, to accompany an edition
Of her sisters latest poems, we must
bow to the Divine will with the res
ignation so happily expressed in her
own words:
"I am what an, and my life for me
Is the begt-or It had not been, hold"