Could we with ink the ocean fill

Only weeks after Obama won his second term in office, I attended as part of my job a symposium at the University of Illinois Chicago medical campus. The subject was the Affordable Care Act and the lecture hall was filled with med students and various instructors.

The moderator said as part of her introduction, “I hope you were pleased with the election results . . . and if you weren’t, well, there’s nothing you can do about it.” The crowd laughed. As someone who was then working with this med school's students as part of the job, I knew this was the overwhelming sentiment.

As a physician with a private practice, my dad was very conservative and never hid it. He even used to play classic patriotic songs in his office waiting room in between classic old hymns.

Kate Smith to Tennessee Ernie Ford were piped in over the stereo system from LPs my dad would play on a turntable and flip over himself from the hallway next to his office. Later on, he had me make cassette tapes where I was given the creative freedom to put together my own compilations from his dozens and dozens of albums of hymns and patriotic tunes.

One day when rearranging storage boxes I inadvertently opened a box that, to my surprise, contained a hodgepodge of really old family mementos, including an original blue clothbound and gold-stamped church hymnal published at 218 S. Wabash Ave., Chicago, in 1925.

Inside the cover was a black-and-white photo of Billy Sunday with his signature and cursive writing of II Timothy 2:15. There were quite a few hymns I’d never heard of before, including Steal Away to Jesus. 

The lyrics are: Steal away to Jesus, to the secret place of prayer; Steal away to Jesus, for that fellowship so rare; He has tasted our life’s grief, He can give you full relief: Steal away to Jesus, His own peace will greet you there.

2.      Steal away to Jesus, sorrow-crowned His life has been; Steal away to Jesus, His blood covers ev-’ry sin; He has ever loved you so, there the peace of God you’ll know. Steal away to Jesus, healing grace you’ll have within.

3.      Steal away to Jesus, with the vexing cares that fret; Steal away to Jesus, where your trials you’ll forget; He your soul is ever near, to his heart your life is dear; Steal away to Jesus, where the banquet feast is set.

The song was written by Samuel M. Glasgow and considered a Scottish hymn by roots. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find its lyrics online, reminding me of how my pastor often laments that many of the great old hymns representing our Christian heritage have been all but lost. Younger generations have no idea they ever existed.

For me, as someone tremendously blessed to have grown up with LP records of hymns playing in our home (and even on cassette for car excursions including any road trips we made, even down to Miami Beach for annual summer family vacations), the lyrics lend precious insights into the hearts of the writers.

The lyrics are often so intimate and sincere in their relaying of personal struggles and shortcomings, godly desires and yearnings, victories and enlightenings, repentings and reprovings, on and on.

It’s like you’re reading their love poems to Jesus Christ and God’s Word. Often their command of the King James Bible is readily apparent in the usage of verses and stories.

On page 10 of the song book, for example, is Jesus, Rose of Sharon, written by Ida A. Guirey in 1922. The lyrics include:

1.      Jesus, Rose of Sharon, bloom within my heart; Beauties of Thy truth and holiness impart, That where-e’er I go my life may shed abroad Fragrance of thy knowledge of the love of God.

2.      Jesus, Rose of Sharon, sweeter far to see That the fairest flow’rs of earth could ever be, Fill my life completely, adding more each day Of Thy grace divine and purity, I pray.

Here are some great lines from a number of the songbook’s hymns separated by ellipses:

All my life was wrecked by sin and strife, Discord filled my heart with pain, Jesus swept across the broken strings, Stirred the slumb’ring chords again . . . 

O Savior Thou art patient still, Tho’ I have grieved Thee sore, Have slighted Thee, betrayed and Denied Thee o’er and o’er; Yet in Thy mercy wide and deep Thou hast not turned away . . .

Sweet secret prayer, comfort divine, There do Thine arms, Lord, round me entwine, There do I feel I truly am Thine, Rivers of love and mercy there flow, Balm for all sorrow that mortal can know . . . 

Dear Lord, take up the tangled strands, Where we have wrought in vain, That by the skill of Thy dear hands Some beauty may remain, Transformed by grace divine, The glory shall be Thine; To Thy most holy will, O Lord, We now our all resign . . .

I left it all with Jesus, The myst’ry of my pain, The meaning of my sorrow—Some day He’ll make it plain, I left it all with Jesus, And now I am at rest, My all is in His keeping, And what He wills is best...

Go out on the streets and highways, Go out with the message of love; Go tell in the corners and byways, Of Jesus, the Friend from above, Go forth in the strength of the Master, Fear nothing, for He is your Guide; Go rescue their souls from disaster, The Savior will stand by your side, For he that is wise winneth souls . . .

Work, for the night is coming, Work thro’ the morning hours; Work while the dew is sparkling, Work ’mid springing flow’rs; Give every flying minute Something to keep in store; Work, for the night is coming, When man works no more . . . 

He calls you, for He loves you With a heart most kind, He whose heart was broken, Broken for mankind; Now, just now He calls you, Calls in accents clear, Will you be enlisted As a volunteer? A volunteer for Jesus, A soldier true! Others have enlisted, Why not you? Oh, why not? . . .

In a flood of light supernal, While the angel chorus sings, With the hosts of heaven watching, Trumpet sounds and joy-bell rings, Oh, the glory of His coming, From the throne in heav’n above, Bringing down from realms eternal Wonders of God’s love. Till the day dawns and the shadows flee away, Guide me, O Thou dear Redeemer, Keep me faithful all the way . . . 

What purpose burns within our hearts That we together here should stand, Pledging each other mutual vows, And ready to join hand in hand? . . . 

Blessed Lord, Thee is refuge, Safety for my trembling soul, Pow’r to lift my head when drooping ’Midst the angry billows’ roll. I will trust Thee, I will trust Thee, I will trust Thee, All my life Thou shalt control, All my life Thou shalt control . . . 

Upon a wide and stormy sea, Thou’rt sailing to eternity, And thy great Adm’ral orders thee:--‘Sail on! sail on! sail on!’ . . .

See the glorious banner waving! Hear the trumpet blow! In our Leader’s name we’ll triumph Over ev-'ry foe. ‘Hold the fort, for I am coming,’ Jesus signals still; Wave the answer back to heaven, ‘By Thy grace we will' . . . 

*****

The hymnal's song, "The Love of God," was written in A.D. 1050 by a Jewish poet, Meir Ben Isaac Nehorai, a synagogue singer (cantor) in Worms, Germany. His poetry was only found in 1917, penciled on the wall of a patient room in a mental asylum. According to the Cyberhymnal, “The writers of the hymn, Frederick M. Lehman and his daughter Claudia L. Mays, found the poem that was obviously written during the period when the patient was sane. They added the first two stanzas and the chorus.”

"Could we with ink the ocean fill,

And were the skies of parchment made,
Were every stalk on earth a quill,
And every man a scribe by trade,
To write the love of God above,
Would drain the ocean dry.
Nor could the scroll contain the whole,
Though stretched from sky to sky.”

Here is yet another priceless hymn:

Jesus, lover of my soul, Let me to Thy bosom fly, While the nearer waters roll, While the tempest still is high: Hide me, O my Savior, hide, Till the storm of life is past; Safe into the haven guide; O receive my soul at last.
2	Other refuge have I none, Hangs my helpless soul on Thee; Leave, oh, leave me not alone, Still support and comfort me. All my trust on Thee is stayed, All my help from Thee I bring; Cover my defenseless head With the shadow of Thy wing.
3	Thou, O Christ, art all I want; More than all in Thee I find; Raise the fallen, cheer the faint, Heal the sick and lead the blind. Just and holy is Thy name, I am all unrighteousness; Vile and full of sin I am, Thou art full of truth and grace.
4	Plenteous grace with Thee is found, Grace to cover all my sin; Let the healing streams abound; Make and keep me pure within. Thou of life the fountain art, Freely let me take of Thee; Spring Thou up within my heart, Rise to all eternity. ( i fell on early morning walk with mom. messed up my left wrist and right knee. praying i did not break the wrist. it is very swollen and i am pecking away with one hand right now. i was using 3 lb. weights in each hand, as i have done since my nyc days, to enhance workout. write an update tomorrow)