It did not seem to
me as if I learned them, but as if they just gave themselves to
me while I read them over; as if they, and the unseen things they
sang about, became a part of me.
Some of the old hymns did seem to lend us wings, so full were
they of aspiration and hope and courage. To a little child,
reading them or hearing them sung was like being caught up in a
strong man's arms, to gaze upon some wonderful landscape. These
climbing and flying hymns,--how well I remember them, although
they were among the first I learned! They are of the kind that
can never wear out. We all know them by their first lines,--
"Awake, our souls! away, our fears!"
"Up to the hills I lift mine eyes."
"There is a land of pure delight."
"Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings,
Thy better portion trace!"
How the meeting-house rafters used to ring to that last hymn,
sung to the tune of "Amsterdam!" Sometimes it seemed as if the
very roof was lifted off,--nay, the roof of the sky itself--as if
the music had burst an entrance for our souls into the heaven of
heavens.
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