a new england girlhood-第7章

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III。

THE　HYMN…BOOK。

ALMOST　the　first　decided　taste　in　my　life　was　the　love　of　hymns。　Committing　them　to　memory　was　as　natural　to　me　as　breathing。　I　followed　my　mother　about　with　the　hymn…book　（〃Watts'　and　Select〃）；　reading　or　repeating　them　to　her；　while　she　was　busy　with　her　baking　or　ironing；　and　she　was　always　a　willing　listener。　She　was　fond　of　devotional　reading；　but　had　little　time　for　it；　and　it　pleased　her　to　know　that　so　small　a　child　as　I　really　cared　for　the　hymns　she　loved。

I　learned　most　of　them　at　meeting。　I　was　told　to　listen　to　the　minister；　but　as　I　did　not　understand　a　word　he　was　saying；　I　gave　it　up；　and　took　refuge　in　the　hymn…book；　with　the　conscientious　purpose　of　trying　to　sit　still。　I　turned　the　leaves　over　as　noiselessly　as　possible；　to　avoid　the　dreaded　reproof　of　my　mother's　keen　blue　eyes；　and　sometimes　I　learned　two　or　three　hymns　in　a　forenoon　or　an　afternoon。　Finding　it　so　easy；　I　thought　I　would　begin　at　the　beginning；　and　learn　the　whole。　There　were　about　a　thousand　of　them　included　in　the　Psalms；　the　First；　Second；　and　Third　Books；　and　the　Select　Hymns。　But　I　had　learned　to　read　before　I　had　any　knowledge　of　counting　up　numbers；　and　so　was　blissfully　ignorant　of　the　magnitude　of　my　undertaking。　I　did　not；　I　think；　change　my　resolution　because　there　were　so　many；　but　because；　little　as　I　was；　I　discovered　that　there　were　hymns　and　hymns。　Some　of　them　were　so　prosy　that　the　words　would　not　stay　in　my　memory　at　all；　so　I　concluded　that　I　would　learn　only　those　I　liked。

I　had　various　reasons　for　my　preferences。　With　some；　I　was　caught　by　a　melodious　echo；　or　a　sonorous　ring；　with　others　by　the　hint　of　a　picture；　or　a　story；　or　by　some　sacred　suggestion　that　attracted　me；　I　knew　not　why。　Of　some　I　was　fond　just　because　I　misunderstood　them；　and　of　these　I　made　a　free　version　in　my　mind；　as　I　murmured　them　over。　One　of　my　first　favorites　was　certainly　rather　a　singular　choice　for　a　child　of　three　or　four　years。　I　had　no　idea　of　its　meaning；　but　made　up　a　little　story　out　of　it；　with　myself　as　the　heroine。　It　began　with　the　words

〃Come；　humble　sinner；　in　whose　breast　A　thousand　thoughts　revolve。〃

The　second　stanza　read　thus：

〃I'll　go　to　Jesus；　though　my　sin　Hath　like　a　mountain　rose。〃

I　did　not　know　that　this　last　line　was　bad　grammar；　but　thought　that　the　sin　in　question　was　something　pretty；　that　looked　〃like　a　mountain　rose。〃　Mountains　I　had　never　seen；　they　were　a　glorious　dream　to　me。　And　a　rose　that　grew　on　a　mountain　must　surely　be　prettier　than　any　of　our　red　wild　roses　on　the　hill；　sweet　as　they　were。　I　would　pluck　that　rose；　and　carry　it　up　the　mountain…side　into　the　temple　where　the　King　sat；　and　would　give　it　to　Him；　and　then　He　would　touch　me　with　his　sceptre；　and　let　me　through　into　a　garden　full　of　flowers。　There　was　no　garden　in　the　hymn；　I　suppose　the　〃rose〃　made　me　invent　one。　But　it　did　read

〃I　know　his　courts；　I'll　enter　in；　Whatever　may　oppose；〃

and　so　I　fancied　there　would　be　lions　in　the　way；　as　there　were　in　the　Pilgrim's；　at　the　〃House　Beautiful〃；　but　I　should　not　be　afraid　of　them；　they　would　no　doubt　be　chained。　The　last　verse　began　with　the　lines；

〃I　can　but　perish　if　I　go：　I　am　resolved　to　try：〃

and　my　heart　beat　a　brave　echo　to　the　words；　as　I　started　off　in　fancy　on　a　〃Pilgrim's　Progress〃　of　my　own；　a　happy　little　dreamer；　telling　nobody　the　secret　of　my　imaginary　journey；　taken　in　sermon…time。

Usually；　the　hymns　for　which　I　cared　most　suggested　Nature　in　some　way；flowers；　trees；　skies；　and　stars。　When　I　repeated；

〃There　everlasting　spring　abides；　And　never…withering　flowers；〃　…

I　thought　of　the　faintly　flushed　anemones　and　white　and　blue　violets；　the　dear　little　short…lived　children　of　our　shivering　spring。　They　also　would　surely　be　found　in　that　heavenly　land；　blooming　on　through　the　cloudless；　endless　year。　And　I　seemed　to　smell　the　spiciness　of　bay　berry　and　sweet…fern　and　wild　roses　and　meadow…sweet　that　grew　in　fragrant　jungles　up　and　down　the　hillside　back　of　the　meeting…house；　in　another　verse　which　I　dearly　loved：

〃The　hill　of　Zion　yields　A　thousand　sacred　sweet；　Before　we　reach　the　heavenly　fields；　Or　walk　the　golden　streets。〃

We　were　allowed　to　take　a　little　nosegay　to　meeting　sometimes：　a　pink　or　two　（pinks　were　pink　then；　not　red；　nor　white；　nor　even　double）　and　a　sprig　of　camomile；　and　their　blended　perfume　still　seems　to　be　a　part　of　the　June　Sabbath　mornings　long　passed　away。

When　the　choir　sang　of　〃Seas　of　heavenly　rest；〃

a　breath　of　salt　wind　came　in　with　the　words　through　the　open　door；　from　the　sheltered　waters　of　the　bay；　so　softly　blue　and　so　lovely；　I　always　wondered　how　a　world　could　be　beautiful　where　〃there　was　no　more　sea。〃　I　concluded　that　the　hymn　and　the　text　could　not　really　contradict　other；　that　there　must　be　something　like　the　sea　in　heaven；　after　all。　One　stanza　that　I　used　to　croon　over；　gave　me　the　feeling　of　being　rocked　in　a　boat　on　a　strange　and　beautiful　ocean；　from　whose　far…off　shores　the　sunrise　beckoned：

〃At　anchor　laid；　remote　from　home；　Toiling　I　cry；　Sweet　Spirit；　come！　Celestial　breeze；　no　longer　stay！　But　spread　my　sails；　and　speed　my　way！〃

Some　of　the　chosen　hymns　of　my　infancy　the　world　recognizes　among　its　noblest　treasures　of　sacred　song。　That　one　of　Doddridge's；　beginning　with　〃Ye　golden　lamps　of　heaven；　farewell！〃

made　me　feel　as　if　I　had　just　been　gazing　in　at　some　window　of　the　〃many　mansions〃　above：

〃Ye　stars　are　but　the　shining　dust　Of　my　divine　abode…〃

Had　I　not　known　that；　ever　since　I　was　a　baby？　But　the　light　does　not　stream　down　even　into　a　baby　s　soul　with　equal　brightness　all　the　time。　Earth　draws　her　dark　curtains　too　soon　over　the　windows　of　heaven；　and　the　little　children　fall　asleep　in　her　dim　rooms；　and　forget　their　visions。

That　majestic　hymn　of　Cowper's；

〃God　moves　in　a　mysterious　way；〃

was　one　of　my　first　and　dearest。　It　reminded　me　of　the　rolling　of　thunder　through　the　sky；　and；　understood　as　little　as　the　thunder　itself；　which　my　mother　told　me　was　God's　voice；　so　that　I　bent　my　ear　and　listened；　expecting　to　hear　it　shaped　into　words；　it　still　did　give　me　an　idea　of　the　presence　of　One　Infinite　Being；　that　thrilled　me　with　reverent　awe。　And　this　was　one　of　the　best　lessons　taught　in　the　Puritan　school；the　lesson　of　reverence；　the　certainty　that　life　meant　looking　up　to　something；　to　Some　One　greater　than　ourselves；　to　a　Life　far　above　us；　which　yet　enfolded　ours。

The　thought　of　God；　when　He　was　first　spoken　of　to　me；　seemed　as　natural　as　the　thought　of　my　father　and　mother。　That　He　should　be　invisible　did　not　seem　strange；　for　I　could　not　with　my　eyes　see　through　the　sky；　beyond　which　I　supposed　he　lived。　But　it　was　easy　to　believe　that　He　could　look　down　and　see　me；　and　that　He　knew　all　about　me。　We　were　taught　very　early　to　say　〃Thou；　God；　seest　me〃；　and　it　was　one　of　my　favorite　texts。　Heaven　seemed　nearer；　because　somebody　I　loved　was　up　there　looking　at　me。　A　baby　is　not　afraid　of　its　father's　eyes。

The　first　real　unhappiness　I　remember　to　have　felt　was　when　some　one　told　me；　one　day；　that　I　did　not　love　God。　I　insisted；　almost　tearfully；　that　I　did；　but　I　was　told　that　if　I　did　truly　love　Him　I　should　always　be　good。　I　knew　I　was　not　that；　and　the　feeling　of　sudden　orphanage　came　over　me　like　a　bewildering　cloud。　Yet　I　was　sure　that　I　loved　my　father　and　mother；　even　when　I　was　naughty；　Was　He　harder　to　please　than　they？

Then　I　heard　of　a　dreadful　dark　Somewhere；　the　horror　of　which　was　that　it　was　away　from　Him。　What　if　I　should　wake　some　morning；　and　find　myself　there？　Sometimes　I　did　not　dare　to　go　to　sleep　for　that　dread。　And　the　thought　was　too　awful　to　speak　of　to　anybody。　Baby　that　I　was；　I　shut　my　lips　in　a　sort　of　reckless　despair；　and　thought　that　if　I　could　not　be　good；　I　might　as　well　be　naughty；　and　enjoy　it。　But　somehow　I　could　not　enjoy　it。　I　felt　sorry　and　ashamed　and　degraded　whenever　I　knew　that　I　had　been　cross　or　selfish。

I　heard　them　talk　about　Jesus　as　if　He　were　a　dead　man；　one　who　died　a　great　while　ago；　whose　death　made　a　great　difference　to　us；　I　could　not　understand　how。　It　seemed　like　a　lovely　story；　the　loveliest　in　the　world；　but　it　sounded　as　if　it　were　only　a　story；　even　to　those　who　repeated　it　to　me；　something　that　had　happened　far　away　in　the　past。

But　one　day　a　strange　minister　came　into　the　Sabbath…school　in　our　little　chapel；　and　spoke　to　us　children　about　Him；　oh！　so　differently！

〃Children；〃　he　said；　〃Jesus　is　not　dead。　He　is　alive：　He　loves　you；　and　wants　you　to　love　Him！　He　is　your　best　Friend；　and　He　will　show　you　how　to　be　good。〃

My　heart　beat　fast。　I　could　hardly　keep　back　the　tears。　The　New　Testament；　then；　did　really　mean　what　it　said！　Jesus　said　He　would　come　back　again；　and　would　always　be　with　those　who　loved　Him。

〃He　is　alive！　He　loves　me！　He　will　tell　me　how　to　be　good！〃　I　said　it　over　to　myself；　but　not　to　anybody　else。　I　was　sure　that　I　loved　Him。　It　was　like　a　beautiful　secret　between　us　two。　I　felt　Him　so　alive　and　so　near！　He　wanted　me　to　be　good；　and　I　could　be；　I　would　be；　for　his　sake。

That　stranger　never　knew　how　his　loving　word　had　touched　a　child's　heart。　The　doors　of　the　Father's　house　were　opened　wide　again；　by　the　only　hand　that　holds　the　key。　The　world　was　all　bright　and　fresh　once　more。　It　was　as　if　the　May　sun　had　suddenly　wakened　the　flowers　in　an　overshadowed　wayside　nook。

I　tried　long　afterward；　thinking　that　it　was　my　duty；　to　build　up　a　wall　of　difficult　doctrines　over　my　spring　blossoms；　as　if　they　needed　protection。　But　the　sweet　light　was　never　wholly　stifled　out；　though　I　did　not　always　keep　my　face　turned　towards　it：　and　I　know　now；　that　just　to　let　his　lifegiving　smile　shine　into　the　soul　is　better　than　any　of　the　theories　we　can　invent　about　Him；　and　that　only　so　can　young　or　old　receive　the　kingdom　of　God　as　a　little　child。

I　believe　that　one　great　reason　for　a　child's　love　of　hymns；　such　as　mine　was；　is　that　they　are　either　addressed　to　a　Person；　to　the　Divine　Person；or　they　bring　Him　before　the　mind　in　some　distinct　way；　instead　of　being　written　upon　a　subject；　like　a　sermon。　To　make　Him　real　is　the　only　way　to　make　our　own　spirits　real　to　ourselves。

I　think　more　gratefully　now　of　the　verses　I　learned　from　the　Bible　and　the　Hymn…Book　than　of　almost　anything　that　came　to　me　in　that　time　of　beginnings。　The　whole　Hymn…Book　was　not　for　me　then；　any　more　than　the　whole　Bible。　I　took　from　both　only　what　really　belonged　to　me。　To　be　among　those　who　found　in　the　true　sources　of　faith　and　adoration；　was　like　breathing　in　my　native　air；　though　I　could　not　tell　anything　about　the　land　from　which　I　had　come。　Much　that　was　put　in　the　way　of　us　children　to　climb　by；　we　could　only　stumble　over；　but　around　and　above　the　roughnesses　of　the　road；　the　pure　atmosphere　of　worship　was　felt　everywhere；　the　healthiest　atmosphere　for　a　child's　soul　to　breathe　in。

I　had　learned　a　great　many　hymns　before　the　family　took　any　notice　of　it。　When　it　came　to　the　knowledge　of　my　most　motherly　sister　Emilie；I　like　to　call　her　that；　for　she　was　as　fond　of　early　rising　as　Chaucer's　heroine：

〃Up　rose　the　sun；　and　up　rose　Emilie；〃　and　it　is　her　own　name；　with　a　very　slight　change；she　undertook　to　see　how　many　my　small　memory　would　contain。