is sung somewhere every Sunday.
Two hymns by Addison, written more than two hundred years ago, are familiar to all churchgoers—one, The spacious firmament on high, which was a favourite with Thackeray, and the other, beginning
When all Thy mercies, O my God.
I have always especially liked one stanza of this hymn:
Ten thousand thousand precious gifts
My daily thanks employ;
Nor is the least a cheerful heart
That tastes those gifts with joy.
After enumerating many blessings for which he is grateful to God, Addison quite rightly includes the gift of a cheerful heart. Those who are ever fastidious, difficult to please and not grateful for anything miss much happiness.
The king of hymn-writers is Isaac Watts (1674–1748). Although churchgoers sing his hymns every Sunday, he has never received due literary credit for his magnificent sacred poems. When I Survey the Wondrous Cross is a hymn of tremendous passion. In one of his novels Arnold Bennett calls it “that amazing hymn.” In other hymns by Watts there is an austere grandeur.