In the brush

by Hamilton W. Pierson

And thus it has been sung in many a land and clime by that heroic missionary band which now encircles the globe with celestial light.

But this narrative would swell to a volume were I to relate in detail all the sweet, sacred, and delightful memories associated with "Ortonville." In all my long invalid wanderings, and in all the years in which I have been permitted to labor actively in the Master's service, both "in the Brush" and elsewhere, it has often been my happy lot to recognize and greet in the most varied and striking circumstances the favorite I first learned to love in that country singing-school. Its gentle, soothing notes have broken sweetly upon my ear in crowded city churches; in quiet meetings for prayer; in large, unpainted, barn-like edifices erected for Christian sanctuaries; in rude log churches crowded with devout worshipers; in basket-meetings, camp-meetings, and in all varieties of gatherings for the worship of Almighty God. Often, very often, it has inspired my devotions as I have mingled, for the first time, with households gathered for family worship. With adoring recognition of the Fatherhood of God, and with loving recognition of the brotherhood of man, it has been my happy, happy lot thus to worship with uncounted hundreds of families—among them the most cultivated and refined, and the most ignorant, neglected, and lowly of God's poor. In very long horseback-journeys, for days, weeks, and months together, as I have ridden over bleak, desolate "barrens," through dense, dark forests, along deep, narrow ravines and valleys, and up and over rough and rugged mountains, nearly every night has found me under a different roof, enjoying the rough or refined hospitality of a new-found family. As they have invited me to "take the books" (the Bible and hymn-book) and lead the devotions of the family, often in the most remote and lowly cabins, I have been surprised and delighted, as I was in the tropics, with the familiar notes of "Ortonville."

As I write these lines my memory is far more busy than my pen. I think of my wanderings in many different States, and of the cabins in which I have briefly rehearsed the old, old story, and by kind words of entreaty, and in reverent words of prayer, attempted to "allure to brighter worlds, and lead the way." I have knelt in prayer in many a home along the banks of the Rappahannock, the James, the Cape Fear, the Santee, the Savannah, the Tennessee, the Cumberland, the Ohio, the Mississippi, the Missouri, the San Joaquin, the Sacramento, and many other rivers. So I have knelt and prayed in homes along the shores of the stormy Atlantic and the peaceful Pacific. Very often the inmates, at first startled, and then delighted, by the strangeness of my visit, have told me that my voice was the first ever lifted in prayer beneath their roofs. Though in multitudes of such homes no member of the family had ever learned a single letter of the alphabet of their mother-tongue, and all were barefooted, and more destitute and ignorant than the most of my readers will be able to conceive, they have received me in their homes with a hospitality so hearty and cordial, and have thanked me, and bidden me come again, with such warm words and such abounding tears, that my own have welled and flowed responsive to theirs; and as I have spoken my farewell words, so often final, and ridden away with new impressions of the power of the Saviour's name and love to touch and melt the rudest minds, my happy heart has found full expression in the tender notes and sweet words of my favorite tune and hymn:

"Majestic sweetness sits enthroned
Upon the Saviour's brow;
His head with radiant glories crowned,
His lips with grace o'erflow.
"No mortal can with him compare,
Among the sons of men;
Fairer is he than all the fair
Who fill the heavenly train.
"He saw me plunged in deep distress,
And flew to my relief;
For me he bore the shameful cross,
And carried all my grief.
"Since from his bounty I receive
Such proofs of love divine,
Had I a thousand hearts to give,
Lord, they should all be thine."

Note.—Returning from one of my visits to Hayti, more than twenty-five years ago, I communicated to Professor Hastings, at his old home in Amity Street, New York, several of the facts related in this chapter. He then gave me the history of the tune as follows:

"I was anxious to write just as simple a tune as possible, to be sung by children. I sat at my instrument, and played, until this tune was completely formed in my mind.

"Not long after, a boy came from the printer with a note, saying he needed another tune to fill out a page or form. I sat down at my instrument, played it again, thought it would do, wrote it out, and sent it to the office, little dreaming that I should hear from it, as I have, from almost every part of the world."

CHAPTER XVI.

WORK ACCOMPLISHED IN THE SOUTHWEST.

I do not propose to give anything like a full account or even a summary of the work accomplished in my special mission by all these long rides and years of earnest and cheerful labor in the Brush. That has not been my object. It has been rather to describe the manner of performing these labors, the incidents connected with them, and to portray the character, manners, customs, and peculiarities of the people who received me so cordially, and with whom I mingled so freely in their rude homes. But I should fail to give a full and true idea of their social and moral condition, especially as indicated by their want of education, and their destitution of Bibles, if I did not give some of the results of these labors. I have described the manner in which I explored different counties, organized or reorganized Bible societies, and secured the appointment of distributors to canvass them.