PRE-09-Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Domestic Life—Death of His Daughter—Her Dying Words—His Dream—Musical Talent—Musical Publications—Estimate of His Musical Powers—”Bringing in the Sheaves.”
LITTLE has been said of Brother Shaw’s private and domestic life. The reason of this is obvious; he belonged to the public; he lived not for himself, but for others. He was a devoted husband and a fond father, and yet so numerous and pressing were the calls for his services that he was almost constantly away from home. The short intervals between his meetings, which he was permitted to spend with his family, were highly enjoyed and greatly prized; and one of the greatest trials of his life was that of absence from those he loved.
He was the father of five children: Georgie Anna, born in Rush County, Indiana, January 3, 1856; Mary Elizabeth, born in Rush County, Indiana, October 31, 1858; John Albin, born in Rush County, Indiana, February 18, 1862; Carey W., born at Edinburgh, Indiana, February 26, 1864; and Knowles Shaw, jr., born at Lebanon, Ohio, February 14, 1869. The last two died in early infancy; the former on the 25th of July, 1865; the latter on the 13th of August, 1869; both at Lebanon, Ohio. His eldest daughter, Georgie Anna, when nearly fourteen years of age, was taken dangerously ill, while her father was engaged in a very interesting and successful meeting at Wellsburgh, West Virginia. Her condition became alarming, and her father was summoned home; and a few days after his return, she calmly closed her eyes in hope and trust, on the 29th of December, 1869; to open them, doubtless, in the presence of Him to whom she had given her heart in holy obedience.
Bitter as was this trial to the father’s heart, the meekness and trust of the young sufferer did much to mitigate his grief. But a short time before she breathed her last, while on the very borders of the deathless land, she exclaimed, “Look, dear father, see the angels,” and, who can doubt, soon joined that company. Brother L. F. Bittle composed the following touching verses upon these her dying words, and we feel that no apology is needed for giving them to the reader:
“Look, dear father, see the angels
As around me now they glide!
They have come, I know, to guide me
Thro’ the Jordan’s rolling tide:
See you not their golden tresses,
And their trailing robes of snow?
Hear you not their rustling pinions,
And their voices sweet and low?
Chorus.
“Oh, the angels! blessed angels!
Lovely as the morning star!
They have come, I know, to lead me
To the land that lies afar.
“I can see them bending o’er me,
Feel them touch my pallid brow,
As the border land I enter,
And at Jordan’s brink I bow.
Soon they’ll lead me to my Savior,
Soon I’ll clasp his loving hand;
Then, from every care and sorrow,
Safe I’ll rest in Canaan’s land.
“Fare you well, dear father, mother!
When I reach the sinless shore,
I will watch beside the river,
Till the angels bring you o’er:
I will be the first to greet you,
When you touch the blooming strand;
I will be the first to welcome,
When you gain the heavenly land.”
Two of his children died in the same year; all three within about four years. These bereavements did much in drawing his thoughts upward to the dwelling-place of his dear ones, and many of his songs owe much of their tenderness and pathos to the fact that his children had become dwellers in that land of whose glories he loved to sing. No one now can read his “Lambs of the Upper Fold,” or “My Beautiful Dream,” without feeling that his own dear ones, safely folded in the arms of the Good Shepherd, gave the key-note to these songs. Several years after he had laid away in the grave these dear household treasures, while absent from home, holding a meeting in Louisiana, Missouri, he had a dream one night which made a deep impression upon him. He wrote it down the next morning. It was as follows:
“I dreamed that I slept the long night of the tomb,
Then awoke from its slumber, arose from its gloom;
That I wandered o’er fields in ecstatic delight,
In regions of bliss where there cometh no night.
By rivers of waters, so bright and so clear,
Enchanted by music which fell on my ear;
‘Mid breezes that wafted its melody long,
While angels were singing their heavenly song:
Where flowers were blooming that never shall die,
Whose perfume was wafted by breezes on high.
That land was so lovely: no sickness was there;
No tears, no temptations, no sorrow, no care;
No parting, no dying, no mourning was heard;
No murmurs, complaining; there never a word
That could mar the enjoyments of that happy land,
Where dwelt in their beauty God’s purified band.
There we met on that shore, my dear loving wife;
Yes, we met in that realm all so buoyant with life:
Thy cheeks were not faded, thine eyes were not dim:
There we joined in the worship and praises of Him
Who guarded our pathway while journeying below,
To crown us with blessings, all good to bestow;
There songs with the ransomed thy voice joined to sing,
As all shouted praises to Jesus our King.
We wandered o’er pavements of purest of gold,
By walls of rich jasper, of beauty untold;
And the gates of the city were loveliest pearl,
Where war’s bloody banner could never unfurl.
We talked of our journey, our joys and our woes,
As we sat where the great tree of life ever grows;
And there gathered around us our babes gone before,
And we fondly caressed them as in days of yore.
No partings were mentioned, no sorrows, no tears,
Through all the long, happy, unnumbered sweet years.
Our pilgrimage ended, at home with the blest,
For all our toils here, an eternal sweet rest.
After life’s stormy voyage, a haven of peace.
After all our hard battles, a happy release;
After tears and temptations, a world of delight,
After life’s bitter crosses, a crown sparkling bright
With our children around us, though parted so long,
All singing sweet anthems of glory and song—
The sorrows of earth all over and past,
And heaven we longed for was welcomed at last.
* * * * * *
Oh, dearest, if such be the joy of a dream,
That only can teach us of things as they seem,
What must the reality be to our souls,
As the age of bright glory eternally rolls.” This seems the most appropriate place to say something with regard to his musical powers, which on all hands are admitted to have been wonderful. No description can do him anything like justice in this respect. A power that moved multitudes, as the ocean is moved when storm-swept, and soothed hearts when agitated into deep tranquility, must be experienced in order to be understood; the pen is as powerless to set forth the power of his song as it would be to bring before the reader the varied play of his features, the passing shade of sadness, or the light of his smile.
He was as a singer, beyond all doubt, fully the peer of Sankey and Bliss. By many who have heard them, he was deemed superior in some respects to both. Neither ever stirred hearts more deeply than he; and we judge that the true test of the singer is to be found in the ability to move and melt the heart. Pages might be written with regard to his power over individuals and large assemblies by his singing. A single instance must suffice.
During his last meeting at Dallas, Texas, Elder Caskey, a man of great power and a natural orator, made Shaw his study, and hence, though not in a censorious, was in a critical mood; a state of mind not favorable to deep feeling or emotion. He came in to one of Shaw’s morning meetings, and found him at the organ singing a song. He took a seat behind the singer, who was not aware of his presence, and soon after Shaw sang the “Old Man’s Dream.” Before he was half done, Caskey was weeping. The next morning Caskey was present again, and Shaw asked him to come and sit in front of him.
“No,” said Caskey, “you shall not make me cry again; you opened a fountain yesterday that has been closed for twenty years. I stood over the grave of my boy once more, and saw again the wife of my youth, and you awakened memories that I thought were put away forever, and made me shed tears, a thing I have not done for twenty years before.”
Reporters for the press, in the various cities in which he labored, all agreed in representing his singing as something beyond what they had ever heard before—entire audiences, filling the largest public halls, often being melted into tears. He was a perfect master of the organ. His hearers would often say, “He made it talk.” He played with perfect abandon, bringing down his hands often upon the keys without looking at them; but there was always perfect harmony. He began to compose music soon after he began to preach; and though not entitled to rank in that respect with Bradbury and Bliss, yet there are quite a number of his compositions that would be no discredit to those great masters of sacred song. His first song was “The Shining Ones,” which is still popular. He published at different times five Sunday-school singing books: 1st. “Shining Pearls.” 2d. “Golden Gate.” 3d. “Sparkling Jewels.” 4th. “The Gospel Trumpet.” 5th. “The Morning Star.” These all met with a favorable reception—the last still meeting with a large sale.
J.H. Filmore, whose opinion in musical maters is a deserved weight, says of Shaw: “He seemed to have an intuition as to the emotional properties o musical sound, that enabled him to weave them together into beautiful and telling melodies. His enthusiasm in all he undertook commended it and impressed it upon the people. With the masses, as a singer, he was a favorite; and good natural abilities, poetical and musical, with enthusiasm, tell the whole story of his success.” One of his later pieces, “Bringing in the Sheaves,” was dedicated to the memory of A. D. Fillmore, and has proved to be the most popular of his songs, and gives promise of living for many years to come. It was peculiarly appropriate to the memory of the sweet singer and earnest preacher of the gospel to whose name and memory he linked it, and has even a deeper significance with regard to himself. We give it below:
“Sowing in the morning,
Sowing seeds of kindness;
Sowing in the noontide,
And the dewy eves:
Waiting for the harvest,
And the time of reaping,
We shall come rejoicing,
Bringing in the sheaves.
Chorus
“Bringing in the golden sheaves,
Bringing in the golden sheaves.
Waiting for the harvest,
And the time of reaping,
We shall come rejoicing,
Bringing in the sheaves.
“Sowing in the sunshine,
Sowing in the shadows;
Fearing neither clouds nor
Winter’s chilling breeze;
By and by the harvest,
And the labors ended,
We shall come rejoicing,
Bringing in the sheaves.
“Go, then, even weeping,
Sowing for the Master,
‘Tho’ the loss sustained
Our spirit often grieves;
When our weeping’s over,
He will bid us welcome,
We shall come rejoicing,
Bringing in the sheaves.” By such strains as the above he sang himself into the hearts of thousands, and in years to come the eyes of many will be dimmed with the mist of tears as they think of the sad fate of him whose songs they still sing.