E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream Then in a nobler, sweeter song, I'll sing Thy power to save When this poor lisping, stammering tongue Many there be, indeed, with whom this hymn is not a favorite. To them its imagery is unwelcome; nevertheless, it has been triumphantly sung by millions of God's saints. It was a great favorite with my honored friend, Governor Stevenson, of Kentucky. As sung at his funeral, it stirred my heart to rapid beating, and brought tears to my eyes. I could almost hear the shouts of his ransomed soul, declaring: Then in a nobler, sweeter song, I'll sing Thy power to save, When this poor lisping, stammering tongue II. 660 Oh, for a closer walk with God, A light to shine upon the road Return, O holy Dove, return, I hate the sins that made Thee mourn, The dearest idol I have known, Help me to tear it from Thy throne, So shall my walk be close with God, III. This was a great favorite with William E. Gladstone, and by him translated into the Italian language: 599 Hark, my soul, it is the Lord; He delivered thee when bound, Can a woman's tender care His is an unchanging love, We shall see His glory soon, Hear Him asking, "Lov'st thou Me?" Lord, it is my chief complaint That my love is weak and faint; Yet I love Thee and adore; Oh, for grace to love Thee more! IV. Perhaps the most powerful of all Cowper's hymns is this. It is all the more interesting to read or sing it, because of his personal experiences of perplexities and sorrows: 427 God moves in a mysterious way He plants His footsteps in the sea, Deep in unfathomable mines, With never-failing skill, He treasures up His bright designs, Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take; Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, His purposes will ripen fast, The bud may have a bitter taste, Blind unbelief is sure to err, God is His own interpreter, And He will make it plain. In this connection, Mrs. Browning's touching lines upon "Cowper's Grave," may well be read: It is a place where poets crowned may feel the heart's decaying; And now, what time ye all may read through dimming tears his story, How discord on the music fell, and darkness on the glory, And how when, one by one, sweet sounds and wandering lights departed, He wore no less a loving face because so broken-hearted. He shall be strong to satisfy the poet's high vocation, And bow the meekest Christian down in meeker adoration; Nor ever shall he be, in praise, by wise or good forsaken, Named softly as the household name of one whom God hath taken. |