Jeremiah Eames Rankin – death, Nov. 28, 1904

God be with you till we meet again;
By His counsels guide, uphold you,
With His sheep securely fold you;
God be with you till we meet again.

 

Refrain

Till we meet, till we meet,
Till we meet at Jesus’ feet;
Till we meet, till we meet,

God be with you till we meet again.

God be with you till we meet again;
Neath His wings protecting hide you;
Daily manna still provide you;
God be with you till we meet again.

 

God be with you till we meet again;
With the oil of joy anoint you;
Sacred ministries appoint you;
God be with you till we meet again.

 

God be with you till we meet again;
When life’s perils thick confound you;
Put His arms unfailing round you;
God be with you till we meet again.

 

God be with you till we meet again;
Of His promises remind you;
For life’s upper garner bind you;
God be with you till we meet again.

 

God be with you till we meet again;
Sicknesses and sorrows taking,
Never leaving or forsaking;
God be with you till we meet again.

 

God be with you till we meet again;
Keep love’s banner floating o’er you,
Strike death’s threatening wave before you;
God be with you till we meet again.

 

God be with you till we meet again;
Ended when for you earth’s story,
Israel’s chariot sweep to glory;
God be with you till we meet again.

 

Jeremiah Eames Rankin died this date, 11/28/1904, at Cleveland, Ohio.  He was a  Congregationalist who wrote “God Be With You Till We Meet Again.”  He pastored in Potsdam, New York, St. Albans, Vermont, Lowell, Massachusetts, Charlestown, Massachusetts, Washington, D.C., and Orange, New Jersey.  Rankin also was a professor of homiletics and pastoral theology (1878-’84) and from 1889 til his death was president of Howard University.  He was born 1/2/1828, at Thornton, New Hampshire.

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Thomas Hastings – birth, Oct. 15, 1784

“From every Stormy Wind that Blows”

From every stormy wind that blows,
From every swelling tide of woes,
There is a calm, a sure retreat;
’Tis found beneath the mercy seat.

There is a place where Jesus sheds
The oil of gladness on our heads;
A place than all besides more sweet;
It is the blood bought mercy seat.

There is a scene where spirits blend,
Where friend holds fellowship with friend;
Though sundered far, by faith they meet
Around one common mercy seat.

There, there, on eagles’ wings we soar,
And time and sense seem all no more;
And heaven comes down, our souls to greet,
And glory crowns the mercy seat.

Oh, let my hand forget her skill,
My tongue be silent, cold, and still,
This bounding heart forget to beat,
If I forget the mercy seat!

Thomas Hastings was born this date 10/15/1784, at Washington, Connecticut.  His dad was a medical doctor living in the country where Thomas walked six miles to school.  He chose music as his career and though extremely near sighted, composed music for 1000 hymns and wrote the words for 600.  Hast­ings also trained choirs and published some fifty collections of sacred music.  He wrote the music to the above.  His son, who became the president of Union Theological Seminar, paid high compliments to his father’s walk with God.  Thomas Hastings died 5/15/1872, at New York Ci­ty.

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Helen Howarth Lemmel – birth, Nov 14, 1863

“Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus”  (stanza 1, chorus, stanza 2)

 

O soul, are you weary and troubled?
No light in the darkness you see?
There’s a light for a look at the Savior,
And life more abundant and free!

Chorus

Turn your eyes upon Jesus,
Look full in His wonderful face,
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim,
In the light of His glory and grace.

 

Through death into
He passed, and we follow Him there;
Over us sin no more hath dominion—
For more than conquerors we are!

 

Written by Helen Lemmel, born this date in England.  She came to American with her family when 12 years of age.  She lived (as a girl in Mississippi, Wisconsin and eventually called Seattle, Washington home.  Her musical talents were used as a music critic, at Moody Bible Institute, and with the work of Billy Sunday. The heartaches of her (including a husband who left her and blindness) make her admonition that much more real.

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Man Is a Spirit

I’ve noticed one thing as I traverse the earth,

With its tears, and smiles, sorrows, and mirth,

That the steps we leave in snow and sand,

When reviewed at a stop, help us understand

The wanderings and achievements of man.

That man’s acts, though small and erased by time,

For a moment and mile appear sublime;

But wind and wave leave the print no more,

For man is a spirit, on eternity’s shore.   -eab, 11/27/70 

 

Written after being somewhat surprised at seeing my on footsteps in the snow in the West Rushville, Ohio cemetery.  I had visited the grave of my only brother, Keith R. Bryan, who was killed in boot camp (Ft. Lewis, Washington) in 1954.

 

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