There was another verse we all cherished, and often sung it, as it seemed so appropriate:
“A tent or a cottage, why should I care?
They’re building a palace for me over there;
Though exiled from home, yet still I may sing,
‘All glory to God, I’m the child of a King.’”
In all my travels throughout the Church I have never found any conference that could sing as the West Virginians did. Diddle, Harper, Graham, Orr, Hitt, Holden, and Wood were among the earlier men. Later their places were taken by Cunningham, Piggott, Sallaz, Slaughter, Carder, and Robinson. But it is hardly fair to name a few. All could sing; and so they can to-day.
Singing was an inspiring feature of every conference gathering. It made the air electric, and caused high voltage pressure. We would sing on the train, on the boat, at the hotel—everywhere. On our way from conference, in 1879, we all stopped at a hotel in Weston for dinner. As usual, the singers were lined up in a little while, and fairly shook the old inn with some of their latest and freshest selections. Before we quit, the town was thoroughly stirred up. People left their business places and came to listen. Women and children stood in the doors of their homes, or looked out at the windows, and wondered what it all meant. Two young men, some blocks away, heard the singing and started on a run for the hotel. As they passed some parties one of them was heard to say, “I’ll bet five hundred dollars they are Brethren preachers.”
Professor Diddle, assisted by others, published the West Virginia Lute in 1868, which had a tremendous sale, both among our people and those of other churches. Then Baltzell’s music, probably Golden Songs, came next among our own publications. This was also a popular book, and one of great merit. While it contained many imperfections, it was nevertheless thoroughly “orthodox” from our view-point. The author was not a scientific music writer. He did not grind his songs out at the organ in a mechanical way, but manufactured them in his heart. Such music always takes. There is something about it that gets hold of the soul and stirs its deepest emotions. I do not understand what that something is, but it is there, all the same.
It was a very common remark among the people of other churches: “If you want to hear singing, get a lot of Brethren preachers together.” We had no organs or pianos in any of the churches, with skilled performers to lead the audience. To aid in getting the “pitch,” a “tunningfork,” or horn was used—a clever little device which every leader carried. But few of the brethren, however, understood the grammar of music. They had had no special training—but no difference; they could sing anyhow. They were not poets, but had the poetic touch. I have heard these men of God again and again sing until the audience was fairly entranced, and until the fire of joy was kindled to a flame in their own hearts. They were rivals of Israel’s shepherd king, and wrought things more marvelous than he, through the melodies they sang.