Fanny Crosby's Life-Story

All over this country, and, one might say, the world, Fanny Crosby’s hymns are singing themselves into the hearts and souls of the people. They have been doing this for many years, and will do so as long as our civilization lasts. There are to-day used in religious meetings, more of her inspired lines, than of any other poet, living or dead. Not only those hymns with which she is credited in the singing-books, but thousands of others, have come from her heart and mind; for she has written, not only under her own name, but several nom-de-plumes. Her sacred lyrics have been translated into several languages. She is easily the greatest living writer of hymns, and will always occupy a high place among authors.

But what of Fanny Crosby the woman? Is her personality as sweet and inspiring as her poems? Has her life been an exemplification and illustration of them?

From those of us that know her well, such questions would elicit a smile. Whoever has had opportunity of witnessing her patience, her sweetness of thought and life, her bright winsomeness and her all-around and all-through goodness, would not even take the trouble to answer in the affirmative; he would say, “There she is; there is her life; let them speak for themselves.”

But compared to the thousands that have sung her inspiring hymns and partaken of her gentle spirit, few, of course, can have the opportunity of knowing her personally; and it is natural that all should wish to learn as much about her as possible.

Introdtcction.

In this book is an account of her life, told by herself, and as she only could tell it. There are several of her newest hymns; a few of the many tributes that she has received; and the latest portrait of her, taken expressly for this book. Every copy of the work that is sold, adds substantially and immediately to the comfort of this grand woman, who has been singing in such far-reaching tones, the praise of her God and her Christ, for sixty years.

The response will, no doubt, be such as to convince our dear Fanny Crosby that she occupies a warm place in the hearts of the people, and that she is sure of their love, their honor, and their practical appreciation.

VI

It seemed intended by the blessed Providence of God, that I should be blind all my life; and I thank Him for the dispensation. I was born with a pair of as good eyes as any baby ever owned; but when I was six weeks of age, a slight touch of inflammation came upon them: and they were put under the care of a physician.

What he did to them, or what happened in spite of him, I do not know, but it resulted in their permanent destruction, so far as seeing is concerned; and I was doomed to blindness all the rest of my earthly existence.

I have heard that this physician never ceased expressing his regret at the occurrence; and that it was one of the sorrows of his life. But if I could meet him now, I would say, “Thank you, thank you — over and over again — for making me blind, if it was through your agency that it came about!”

This sounds strangely to you, reader? But I assure you I mean it — every word of it; and if perfect earthly sight were offered me to-morrow, I would not accept it. Did you ever know of a blind person’s talking like this before?

Why would I not have that doctor’s mistake — if mistake it was — remedied? Well, there are many reasons: and I will tell you some of them.

One is, that I know, although it may have been a blunder on the physician’s part, it was no mistake of God’s. I verily believe it was His intention that I should live my days in physical darkness, so as to be better prepared to sing His praises and incite others so to do. I could not have written thousands of hymns — many of which, if you will pardon me for repeating it, are sung all over the world — if I had been hindered by the distractions of seeing all the interesting and beautiful objects that would have been presented to my notice.

Another reason is, that, while I am deprived of many splendid sights (which, as above mentioned, might draw me away from the principal work of my life), I have also been spared the seeing of a great many unpleasant things. The merciful God has put His hand over my eyes, and shut out from me the sight of many instances of cruelty and bitter unkindness and misfortune, that I would not have been able to relieve, and must simply have suffered in seeing. I am content with what I can know of life through the four senses I possess, practically unimpaired, at eighty-three years of Birth and Parentage.

age. Hearing, tasting, smelling, and feeling, are still felt, in their fullest degree.

Another reason for my apparently strange assertion is, that I have been able to test and make sure so many kind and loving friends. Almost without exception, the great world has been good to me: all the kinder, perhaps, on account of what it considered my affliction. I may say truly that I never for a moment presumed on my blindness for any extra courtesy or advantage, yet I have often felt that it was a bond between sympathetic hearts and mine.

I was born in Putnam County, N. Y., March 24, 1820. My father’s name was John Crosby: he died when I was very young. My grandfather fought in the War of 1812; my great-grandfather in the Revolution. My mother’s given name was the good old-fashioned one of Mercy.

I have always been proud at having been related, though not very nearly, to that famous hero of the Revolution, Enoch Crosby. I have often sat when a little child, and listened to stories of his courage and heroism. Though he never came to be an officer, yet it was universally admitted that he did the Revolutionary cause more good than many a gallant general. One of Cooper’s most famous novels has him for its hero. He lies buried now, in a little country cemetery near Carmel, N. Y., with scores of my race sleeping around him.

As a child, although blind, I was by no means helpless, or of a sedentary disposition: I indulged in manv of the sports enjoyed by my little playmates, and romped and clambered wherever they did. I could climb a tree or ride a horse as well as any of them, and many good people when seeing me at play were surprised at being told of my “misfortune.” I attended school at times, but, of course, could not study: raised letters for the blind were not common then.

One of my principal amusements was to sit with hands clasped, or engaged in some piece of work with needles, and listen to the many voices of Nature. The laughing and sighing of the wind — the sobbing of the storm — the rippling of water — the “rain on the roof” — the artillery of the thunder — all impressed me more than I can tell. I lived many lives with my imagination. Sometimes I was a sailor, standing at the mast-head, and looking out into the storm; sometimes a general, leading armies to battle; then a clergyman, addressing large audiences and pleading with them to come to Christ; then the leader of a gigantic choir of voices, singing praises to God. My ambition was boundless; my desires were intense to live for some great purpose in the world, and to make for myself a name that should endure; Init in what manner was it to be done?

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