S. J. Stone (1839-1900), unlike most clerical hymn-writers, was not a country parson, though his best hymns were written before he began his work in East London. But even in its dreary wastes he found the true poetry of life, and some of his obscure parishioners at Haggerston are richly shrined in his memorial verses. I feel all the more moved by the triumphant tones of ‘The Church’s one foundation,’ all the more tenderly impressed by ‘Weary of earth, and laden with my sin,’ when I remember how dear to his heart were the struggling, toiling masses of his dull East London parish. His best hymns are well known, so I quote a sonnet which expresses his love for those who live in the crowded city.
From Windermere, To the Congregation and Children of St. Paul’s, Haggerston.
Moored by a green isle of Winandermere—
Listening the gentlest lapping of the wave
On the rock margin, and the blackbirds’ brave
Soldierly antiphons, afar and near,
And the wind’s whispered evensong—I hear
A sound beyond, and sweeter as more grave
Than ever paradise of nature gave,
Dear to my heart of old, and now more dear: