The Life of a Hymn-Writer

The song “There is a Sound Among the
Forest Trees” was used during the Civil
War; but after that cruel conflict was over
I said to Mr. Bradbury,

“What are you going to do with ‘Forest Trees’?”

“What can we do with it?” he asked.

“Oh,” I replied, “we can write sacred words to the melody; and indeed the subject comes tome now: ‘There’s A Cry from Macedonia.’” With his permission I composed a missionary hymn that was very popular for many years; and thus my life as a writer of gospel hymns began under most favorable circumstances.

Sometimes Mr. Bradbury gave me the titles for hymns to melodies already written; but more often I was allowed to make my own selection; and a part of my duties was to revise poems that Mr. Bradbury had already secured from other authors. During a period of four years we worked side by side, until, at length, in April, 1866, he was taken very ill; and the following winter was obliged to go South for three months. At the end of this period he returned greatly benefited by the change, but all of his associates at the office were reluctantly forced to admit that consumption was slowly wearing his life away. Yet his vitality and heroic resistance were wonderful; and he was able to compose many beautiful melodies.

One afternoon, in the autumn of 1867, he called me to him and said,

“These interviews have been very pleasant to me, but they will soon be over; I am going to be forever with the Lord; and I will await you on the bank of the river.”

I was greatly moved by his words, and cried,

“Oh, must. I lose a friendship that I have enjoyed so much?”

“No,” replied he, “take up my life-work where I lay it down; and you will not indeed lose a friendship, though I am going away from you, but rather strengthen it by striving to carry out my own ideals.”

At a cloudless sunset, January the seventh, 1868, Mr. Bradbury passed away. The children always loved him dearly; and on the day of his funeral they brought a wreath of oak leaves and laid it tenderly upon his casket. To me the sad occasion was the more memorable because the first hymn that we wrote together was sung during the service; but the lines of my own production brought comfort to my aching heart, when I realized what a friend had passed to his reward, and that he had gone to that country

“Where the fields are robed in beauty,
And the sunlight never dies.”

I met Theodore E. Perkins in June, 1864, and also Philip Phillips about the same time. The first hymn that I wrote for Mr. Perkins was:

“I know thou art praying tonight, mother,
I know thou art praying for me.”

Mr. Bradbury introduced me to Philip Phillips at the store; he had come from Cincinnati; and already knew me somewhat by reputation. As they were going through the store, Mr. Phillips said, laughingly, “Fanny, I wish you would write me a hymn, and have it ready when we return.” “This is Mr. Bradbury’s time,” said I, “and will you ask his permission?” Mr. Bradbury said, “Oh, Fanny, that is all right.” So I wrote three or four stanzas while they were gone; Mr. Phillips liked them very much; and from that time often called on me for hymns to use in his evangelistic meetings.

In 1866 Mr. Phillips published a collection of hymns called the “Singing Pilgrim “; and while he was preparing that book he sent me forty titles to which I composed words and not a single poem was written by my amanuensis until the whole number was completed. They were then forwarded to Mr. Phillips at Cincinnati; he again sent me a long list of titles and they were treated exactly as the first forty had been. This incident is not told to commend myself, but merely to illustrate to what extent memory will serve us, if we only give memory a fair chance. The mind appears to me like a great storehouse into which we place various articles for safe keeping and sometimes even forget that they are there, but, sooner or later, we find them; and so I lay aside my intellectual wares for some future day of need; and in the mean time often forget them, until the call comes for a hymn.

Shortly after the death of Mr. Bradbury the firm of Biglow and Main was organized. Of Sylvester Main I have already spoken and told the story of our meeting thirty-five years after we had known each other in Ridgefield. From his sixteenth year he had been a singing teacher and a well known chorister in Norfolk Street Methodist Church in New York City. Two years, or more, previous to my meeting with him at the office of Mr. Bradbury, he had been associated in the publishing business, and he continued as a member of the firm until his lamented death in 1873; and I always found him a faithful counsellor and a friend whose memory I highly prize. His last words were,

“The dear Lord is about to give me rest. If you love me, do not weep, but rejoice.” These words of cheer, coming as the parting message of one whom I had loved, in after years proved a source of inspiration and comfort in many an hour of depression; and the words of one of my own hymns, for which his son, Hubert P. Main, wrote beautiful music oftenre call sweet memories of him, and many other friends, who await me in the Better Land:

“On the banks beyond the river
We shall meet no more to sever,
In the bright, the bright forever,
In the Summerland of song.”

L.H. Biglow, the senior member of the firm, continued the publishing business after the death of Mr. Main. For thirty years we were constantly associated together, and during this time not the slightest misunderstanding arose between us, so that, although not now connected with the firm, he still remains my trusted friend as in the days when we more frequently met. Hubert P. Main I have known since 1860, and he has always been of valuable service to me in criticising my work, for which his knowledge of hymns, both ancient and mod; m, has well fitted him. His musical library ha, been the scene of many pleasant talks concerning the writing of hymns and their accompanying melodies. For many years he has been the accomplished compiler for the Biglow and Main Company, and he has set to music some of my best hymns, including such favorites as “The Bright Forever,” “Hold Thou my Hand,” “Blessed Homeland,” “The Blessed Rock,” “Yes, There’s Pardon For You,” and many others.

Previous to 1870 the Biglow and Main hymns were widely known in several foreign countries, especially in England. Our publishing house was the rendezvous of a company of musical men, who were in the habit of meeting together after the publication of a new book, for the purpose of singing it through from cover to cover. Among these musical friends may be mentioned Hubert P. Main, William F. Sherwin, Theodore F. Seward, Henry Tucker, Chester G. Allen, Philip Phillips and Theodore E. Perkins, but of this merry group Mr. Main and Mr. Perkins are all that now survive.

From 1872 until the time of her death, seven years later, Frances Ridley Havergal and I corresponded at frequent intervals, and she wrote me a poem of tribute, an extract from which will be found later in this book, together with an account of the incident that led her to thus remember me.

My recollection of Rev. Dr. Robert Lowry dates from 1866. The first hymn of mine for which he composed the music was “All the Way my Saviour Leads Me.” He used to read to us selections from favorite authors during the long summer afternoons, and I well remember his reading Browning’s “Rabbi Ben Ezra” a poem of which he was very fond, and how it reminded us all of the good doctor himself.

“Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be, The last of life for which the first was planned.”

As a critic Dr. Lowry was possessed of excellent taste, and we never so much as thought of appealing from any decision of his whenever the question in dispute related either to poetry or music, for his ear was trained to detect the minutest metrical fault. In 1897 ne assisted me in the selection of my best hymns and poems for a book called “Bells at Evening” for which he wrote a very sympathetic biographical introduction from material mostly furnished by Hubert P. Main.

Ere long, however, Dr. Lowry’s health began to fail and we watched him with growing anxiety. I shall always recall our last meeting at his home in Plainfield, New Jersey, with tender emotions. We talked together of many of the events of thirty years, and finally he said,

“Fanny, I am going to join those who have gone before, for my work is now done.” I could not speak with him concerning the parting without betraying my grief, so I simply took his hand in mine and said quietly,

“I thank you, Doctor Lowry, for all that you have done for me; good night, until we meet in the morning.” Then I silently went down the stairs, with the impression on my mind that the good man would soon be at rest from his labors, and so indeed it proved.

“A little while to weep for those we cherish, As one by one they near the river’s brink; A little while to catch their sweet assurance, That we in heaven shall find each missing link; A little while and then the glorious dawning Of that fair morn beyond the swelling tide, When we shall wake and in our Saviour’s likeness, Perfect and pure, we shall be satisfied.”

Although some of my most treasured friends have passed beyond the sound of human voices, others there are who remain to add their graceful benediction to a life full of blessings and already crowned with peace.

In the year 1867 I met Dr. William H. Doane under very interesting circumstances. He had come from his home in Cincinnati to New York to visit his friend Dr. Van Meter of the Five Points Mission; and they were looking for a hymn that might be used on a certain anniversary. A number of standard hymns were given to Mr. Doane, but he did not find them appropriate. About this time I had been writing “More Like Jesus”; and Dr. Lowry asked me why I did not send it to Mr. Doane. I said, “Well, I will” and accordingly sent it by a messenger boy. The latter handed my words to Mr. Doane, who happened to be at the moment talking with Dr. Van Meter; and he laid them down for a few minutes. When he took up the letter and glanced over its contents he started after the boy, but could not find him. He returned to Dr. Van Meter disheartened, but determined to find me if I was anywhere to be found in the city. He again went out and hunted for me the rest of the day; and it was not until about eight or nine in the evening that he was finally directed to my boarding place. I went to the door, and he asked, “Are you Fanny Crosby?” On being informed I was that person he said,

“Oh, how glad I am to find you; I have been trying to do so a long while, and at last I have succeeded.” At the close of our interview he said,

“I must pay you for the hymn that you sent and which I was more than glad to receive.” He put into my hand what he supposed to be a two-dollar bill, and then bade me good night. It struck me that I ought to ask him how much he had given me; that there might be no mistake about it. He came back; I showed him the bill, which proved to be twenty dollars. Of course, I declined to take that amount; but he said that the Lord had sent that hymn, and therefore meant that I should have the twenty dollars for it. The following evening he renewed his visit and gave me the subject “Pass Me Not, O Gentle Saviour.”

Meanwhile Dr. Van Meter had called on Mr. Doane, and finding that he had not been able to compose a melody for the anniversary at the mission, said

“Here is another piece; I will come tomorrow and shall expect the music to be written.” Mr. Doane took up my hymn “More Like Jesus” and the melody came to him at once. According to promise his friend came again next day and said, “Is the piece ready?” Mr. Doane said,

“Not the music to the words you gave yesterday, but I have something else; and if we can find an organ I will play it for you.” They went into a neighboring church, and Dr. Van Meter agreed to pump the organ while Mr. Doane played and sang the hymn. But they had not gone very far before Dr. Van Meter burst into tears and forgot to pump the organ. They tried again, and this time the gocd doctor came out from behind the organ, threw his arms around Mr. Doane’s neck and cried,

“Doane, where did you get that?” Then Mr. Doane told him that Fanny Crosby had sent him the words and he had just written the music. The hymn was used at the anniversary and was a perfect success.