It is singular how many of our best hymns have been the work of an hour. It has been said that the missionary hymn by Reginald Heber, was one of those sudden inspirations. It was written in 1819, while he was occupying a living in Hodnet in Shropshire, which had been given to him by his brother Richard, who was a member of parliament, and an owner of large estates in that shire. In 1823 he was consecrated Bishop of Calcutta, and died in India in 1826. Before going to India he devoted himself to literary pursuits, and wrote many hymns, which won a permanent place in hymnology, among which was that sweetly flowing hymn:
“By cool Saloam’s shady rill
How sweet the lily grows.”
I have heard it said that on one occasion Mr. Heber was invited by a brother clergyman in a neighboring parish to officiate at a missionary service to be held in his church. In the course of the evening, before the day of the service, his friend asked him if it would be possible for him to compose a hymn appropriate to the occasion. Mr. Heber said he would try, and retiring to another room, composed the hymn which for appropriateness and beauty, has rarely been equalled. His brother Richard was an author of note, and left at his death perhaps the largest private library ever collected in England. It contained 146,875 volumes, and after his death, the library was sold at an auction which continued through two hundred and sixteen days, and realized sixty thousand pounds.
Some years ago I heard the story of an incident which suggested “The Hanging of the Crane,” one of the most charming poems of Longfellow. In the early married life of Aldrich, the poet, Longfellow dropped into his house one night and found him and his wife sitting alone at their evening meal. “Ah,” said he, as he entered the supper room and took a seat at the table, “here Aldrich, is a whole poem, and I will give you the subject to work out.” His friend, believing that the artist who paints a scene in his imagination, should put it on the canvas, said, “No, Longfellow, use it yourself.” After some years of elaboration the poem appeared, depicting the changing scenes in married life, which the following selected extracts sufficiently describe. Happy are the father and mother who live to witness the scenes which time discloses as it unrolls the canvas:
“And now I sit and muse on what may be,
And in my vision, see or seem to see,
Through floating vapors interfused with light.
Shapes indeterminate, that gleam and fade,
As shadows passing into deeper shade,