Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘New York’

My Father is rich in houses and lands,
He holdeth the wealth of the world in His hands!
Of rubies and diamonds, of silver and gold,
His coffers are full, He has riches untold.

Refrain

I’m a child of the King,
A child of the King:
With Jesus my Savior,
I’m a child of the King.

My Father’s own Son, the Savior of men,
Once wandered on earth as the poorest of them;
But now He is pleading our pardon on high,
That we may be His when He comes by and by.

I once was an outcast stranger on earth,
A sinner by choice, an alien by birth,
But I’ve been adopted, my name’s written down,
An heir to a mansion, a robe and a crown.

A tent or a cottage, why should I care?
They’re building a palace for me over there;
Though exiled from home, yet still may I sing:
All glory to God, I’m a child of the King.

Harriett Eugenia Peck Buell was born this date, 11/2/1834 at Cozenovia, New York.  She is said to have contributed articles to “Northern Christian Advocate” for fifty years.  Harriett was an active member of Methodist Church in Manlius, New York.  This song writer died 2/6/1910 in Washington D.C.

Read Full Post »

We three kings of Orient are;
Bearing gifts we traverse afar,
Field and fountain, moor and mountain,
Following yonder star.

Refrain

O star of wonder, star of light,
Star with royal beauty bright,
Westward leading, still proceeding,
Guide us to thy perfect light.

Born a King on Bethlehem’s plain
Gold I bring to crown Him again,
King forever, ceasing never,
Over us all to reign.

Frankincense to offer have I;
Incense owns a Deity nigh;
Prayer and praising, voices raising,
Worshipping God on high.

Myrrh is mine, its bitter perfume
Breathes a life of gathering gloom;
Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying,
Sealed in the stone cold tomb.

Glorious now behold Him arise;
King and God and sacrifice;
Alleluia, Alleluia,
Sounds through the earth and skies.

John Henry Hopkins Jr. was born this date, 10/28/1820 at Pittsburgh, PA.  He grad­u­at­ed twice (1839 BA, 1845 MA) from the Un­i­ver­si­ty of Ver­mont.  He was a re­port­er in New York Ci­ty but eventually enrolled at Gen­er­al The­o­log­ic­al Sem­in­ary grad­u­ating in 1850. He was that sem­in­ary’s first mu­sic teach­er but went on to minister in Trin­i­ty Church, Platts­burg, New York, and Christ Church, Will­iams­port, PA.  He wrote several other songs in addition to “We Three Kings” (done for a Christ­mas pa­geant). Hopkins, died 8/14/1891 at Hudson, NY.

Read Full Post »

There’s a song in the air! There’s a star in the sky!
There’s a mother’s deep prayer and a baby’s low cry!
And the star rains its fire while the beautiful sing,
For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a King!

There’s a tumult of joy o’er the wonderful birth,
For the virgin’s sweet Boy is the Lord of the earth.
Ay! the star rains its fire while the beautiful sing,
For the manger of Bethlehem cradles a King!

In the light of that star lie the ages impearled;
And that song from afar has swept over the world.
Every hearth is aflame, and the beautiful sing
In the homes of the nations that Jesus is King!

We rejoice in the light, and we echo the song
That comes down through the night from the heavenly throng.
Ay! we shout to the lovely evangel they bring,
And we greet in His cradle our Savior and King!

Josiah Gilbert Holland died this date 10/12/1881, in New York.  He was a medical doctor, a teacher, and an editor in that order.  His editing work was done for the Republican a paper then printed at Spring­field, Mass­a­chu­setts.  He helped found the Scribner Magazine and wrote some novels.  He is best remember in Christian circles for this “There’s a Song in the Air” (published in 1872).  He was born 7/24/1819, at Bel­cher­town, Mass­a­chu­setts.

Read Full Post »

O how sweet the glorious message simple faith may claim
Yesterday, today, forever Jesus is the same.
Still He loves to save the sinful, heal the sick and lame
Cheer the mourner, still the tempest, glory to His Name.

 

Refrain

Yesterday, today, forever, Jesus is the same.
All may change, but Jesus never! Glory to His Name!
Glory to His Name! Glory to His Name!
All may change, but Jesus never! Glory to His Name!

 

He, who was the Friend of sinners, seeks the lost one now
Sinner come, and at His footstool penitently bow
He Who said “I’ll not condemn thee, go and sin no more,”
Speaks to thee that word of pardon as in days of yore.

 

Oft on earth He healed the sufferer by His mighty hand
Still our sicknesses and sorrows go at His command
He who gave His healing virtue to a woman’s touch
To the faith that claims His fullness still will give as much.

 

As of old He walked to Emmaus, with them to abide
So through all life’s way He walketh ever near our side
Soon again we shall behold Him, Hasten Lord the day
But twill still be this same Jesus as He went away.

 

A. B. (Albert Benjamin) Simpson on this date, 10/1/1883, founded the Christian Missionary Alliance’s college, Missionary Training Institute.  It was the first school in America to train missionaries.  The name was changed to Nyack College in 1972.

Simpson was born 12/15/1843, at Bay­view, Prince Ed­ward Is­land, Can­a­da.  He passed from this life 10/29/29/1919, at Ny­ack, New York.

Read Full Post »

Take the Name of Jesus with you,
Child of sorrow and of woe,
It will joy and comfort give you;
Take it then, where’er you go.

Refrain

Precious Name, O how sweet!
Hope of earth and joy of Heav’n.
Precious Name, O how sweet!
Hope of earth and joy of Heav’n.

2.

Take the Name of Jesus ever,
As a shield from every snare;
If temptations round you gather,
Breathe that holy Name in prayer.

3.

O the precious Name of Jesus!
How it thrills our souls with joy,
When His loving arms receive us,
And His songs our tongues employ!

4.

At the Name of Jesus bowing,
Falling prostrate at His feet,
King of kings in Heav’n we’ll crown Him,
When our journey is complete.

Lydia Baxter died this date 6/22/1874 in NYC.  She wrote “Take the Name Of Jesus With You” (aka “Precious name”).  Baxter was born 9/2/1809 at Pe­ters­burg, New York.

Read Full Post »

This is my Father’s world, and to my listening ears
All nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres.
This is my Father’s world: I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;
His hand the wonders wrought.

 This is my Father’s world, the birds their carols raise,
The morning light, the lily white, declare their Maker’s praise.
This is my Father’s world: He shines in all that’s fair;
In the rustling grass I hear Him pass;
He speaks to me everywhere.

 This is my Father’s world. O let me ne’er forget
That though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet.
This is my Father’s world: the battle is not done:
Jesus Who died shall be satisfied,
And earth and Heav’n be one.

 This is my Father’s world, dreaming, I see His face.
I ope my eyes, and in glad surprise cry, “The Lord is in this place.”
This is my Father’s world, from the shining courts above,
The Beloved One, His Only Son,
Came—a pledge of deathless love.

 This is my Father’s world, should my heart be ever sad?
The lord is King—let the heavens ring. God reigns—let the earth be glad.
This is my Father’s world. Now closer to Heaven bound,
For dear to God is the earth Christ trod.
No place but is holy ground.

 This is my Father’s world. I walk a desert lone.
In a bush ablaze to my wondering gaze God makes His glory known.
This is my Father’s world, a wanderer I may roam
Whate’er my lot, it matters not,
My heart is still at home.

 Maltie Davenport Babcock died this date (5/18/1901) at Naples, Italy,

 Babcock attended both Syracuse University and Auburn Theological Seminary.

He pastored a Presbyterian Church in Lockport, New York, Brown Memorial Church, in Baltimore, Maryland, and followed Henry Van Dyke at the Brick Presbyterian Church in New York City.

 Babcock published nothing in his lifetime; his wife, Catherine, collected and published many of his writings after his death. This Is My Father’s World is thought to be associated with the area Babcock liked to hike in NY with a view of farms, orchards, and Lake Ontario.  He was born 8/3/1858 at Syracuse, NY.

Read Full Post »

Much of the kind palaver,

When friends and family gather,

Is about what the man did

While he scurried o’er the earth.

 

What his parents could afford,

Where he schooled, and what he scored,

Talk is of what he added

To his family’s total worth.

 

Or if he was a mixer,

Perhaps a great up-fixer,

Or that he was quite candid,

Or a man of jolly mirth.

 

None of such talk is centered

On the place the dead entered,

For the one discussed has died,

Forever leaving old earth.

 

To go up to God’s heaven,

Which has no carnal leaven,

Requires, to be qualified,

A second and holy birth.

 

After “birth” did he invest

His talents as he was blest?

Had he God’s kingdom supplied,

Even in times of his dearth?

 

What we’re worth when our life ends,

Heaven’s count of us depends,

Not upon gold neatly stacked,

Nor upon our ranch’s girth.

 

Heaven’s the place to send wealth,

Eternal illness or health,

High investment – related

Whether from New York or Perth.  – eab, 3/2/07  

Read Full Post »

“Faith Is the Victory”   (stanza 1) 

 

Encamped along the hills of light,
Ye Christian soldiers, rise.
And press the battle ere the night
Shall veil the glowing skies.
Against the foe in vales below
Let all our strength be hurled.
Faith is the victory, we know,
That overcomes the world.

 

John Henry Yates was born this date in Batavia, NY.  Yates was a shoe salesman and later a hardware store manager.  Eventually he became a Baptist minister who was influenced by Ira D. Sankey.  Yates also penned “The Harbor Bell” “The Model Church” and “The Old Book Stands.”

Read Full Post »

Samsonite, American Tourister

Or Jordache is the name,

Bought new or “one-owner” or yard sale;

It’s all the same.

Cause, just like mortals on this earth,

Where we’re headed decides our worth.

And I’ve value above my “race”;

I’m a missionary’s suitcase.

 

I’m a soft-sided navy

Or a color that used to be white,

Or I’m brown or gray with scars

That make me a grand sight.

The outside color doesn’t count,

I carry wealth beyond amount.

Who cares for a pretty face,

When you’re a missionary’s suitcase?

 

I’ve started out from Kansas City,

Phoenix [1] or Kalamazoo,

Left from ranches near Helena,

South of Denver too.

Parted from parents in New York,[2]

And at stations on the “South Fork.”

The privilege soon outweighs the place.

I’m a missionary’s suitcase.

 

I’ve been transported by mules

In South American mountain heights,

Packed in the bowels of a boat

Without windows or lights,

Been slid high overhead on trains.

And been stacked seven-deep in planes.

What a way to go!  What a chase,

For a missionary’s suitcase.

 

I’ve become a seat

Beside yon Africa’s dusty, lonesome trails;

Been a pillow to men

And women in foreign jails.

I’ve served as altar for a “bunch,”

And when its time for a quick lunch,

Over me they said their Grace,

Over a missionary’s suitcase.

 

I’ve carried the clothes of a bashful bride

With all that they could yield.

And packed home the patched,

The frayed suits from India’s field.

Out went pretty new gowns and shirts;

Home came thin pants and ragged skirts.

I couldn’t always pack pink lace;

I’m a missionary’s suitcase.

 

I’ve been carried out with the quickness

Of a youthful, holy pride.

And returned with a slower,

Wiser, more humble stride.

Time and again I’ve made the rounds;

Same airports, same roads, same old towns,

Back to the one familiar base;

I’m a missionary’s suitcase.

 

I’ve been cleaned and packed and shipped,

Amid happy voices and bright smiles;

A daughter’s wedding waited

At the end of my miles.

I’ve also felt those hot full tears,

As a parent ended his years.

It was all a part of my pace,

As a missionary’s suitcase.

 

I’ve ─ but wait, all good things must have an end,

Soon, so soon I will be

Carrying their things one final time

Across the sea.

Missionaries will leave behind,

Trunks and barrels of every kind.

Up that Golden Staircase,

They will never need another suitcase.

– eab, 11/1991


[1] Only God knew in ’91 that Phillip and Heather would leave Phoenix for missions.  He is so wise and good!

[2] And – only the Lord knew that Daryl and Laura would go to their second mission field from NYC.  Oh, His knowledge.

Read Full Post »

« Newer Posts