CHAPTER IV: ANN GRIFFITHS.

ANN GRIFFITHS.

As the song of Moses was seconded by the song of Miriam, so the song of
[23]Williams, Pantycelyn, and his contemporaries was seconded by a young prophetess of Christ.

This is ANN GRIFFITHS, a farmer's daughter, born in the year 1776, at Dolwar, near Llanfyllin, in the county of Montgomery. As a young woman, she was full of gay spirits, and used to speak very flippantly of the deepened religious earnestness of the age. She used to point to tha crowds of people which journeyed from all parts, of the country to the Association at Bala, and say--'See the pilgrims going to Mecca.' She was extremely fond of dance and merry song and rustic gaiety.

She had gone to attend one of these merrymaking festivals at Llanfyllin, when she was induced by an old servant of her father's to enter the Independent chapel. She did so without any afterthought whatever. But, like David Jones, of Cayo, she found a message waiting for her there. She did not stay for the festival, but went home forthwith in a storm of troubled thought and dark questionings. She went to her parish clergyman: he met her heart-breaking distress with light jokes and most untimely jests. Taking hold of her hand, he said--'Let me see, Ann, if the veins of vanity have all gone out of thy hand.' She went away more distracted than ever. Her brother was already one of 'the pilgrims of Mecca.' She went with him to the chapel he frequented, and the message of dawning hope came to her there. An affinity of religious feelings led her soon afterwards to join the society, and she became a strong and shining influence in the quiet valleys around her home.

But she was only permitted to keep the lamp burning during the hours of a brief watch for her Lord. She died when twenty-nine years of age, after a married life of about ten months, and having led a Christian life of about eight years. And yet in another sense the lamp was never put out at all: for hymns and letters, unsurpassed for spiritual fervour, keep that brief life burning with quenchless light. __________________________________________________________________

[24]Ann Griffiths

The story of her first hymn beautifully images one phase of her religion. Once, when returning home after an exciting service, full of her own unworthiness and of the glory of Christ, she turned down a narrow, sheltered lane, in order to be alone to pray. There she knelt; and in her communion with God the spirit of sacred song touched her soul; and by the time she reached her home she had composed her first verse--the fourth in the following hymn:

Great Author of salvation
And providence for man,
Thou rulest earth and heaven
With Thy far-reaching plan:
To-day, or on the morrow,
Whatever woe betide,
Grant us Thy strong assistance,
Within Thy hand to hide.
What though the winds be angry,
What though the waves be high,
While Wisdom is the ruler,
The Lord of earth and sky!
What though the flood of evil
Rise stormily and dark,
No soul can sink within it--
God is Himself the ark!
Give us the faith of angels,
That we may look and see
Salvation's depths of radiance
And holy mystery:
Two natures in one person,
Harmonious, part and whole:
The blood divine availing
To ransom every soul.
My soul, behold the fitness
Of this great Son of God;
Trust Him for life eternal,
And cast on Him thy load:
A Man!--touched with the pity
Of every human woe;
A God!--to claim the kingdom,
And vanquish every foe.

One association of the first verse in the above hymn gives it a strange pathos. A large number of miners in a town of Glamorganshire having been turned out of employment lately, they used to gather in an open place for conference. The proceedings were opened more than once by the singing of this verse. A scene peculiarly Welsh, surely!--and a scene aglow with the light of heavenly romance. When their daily bread seemed to fail them, and the world looked dark around them, their Bible and their native song taught them to look upward to the Author of human Providence--in whose hand they could verily hide without fear of evil. __________________________________________________________________

[25]Ann Griffiths

But to return to the writer of the hymn and her story: she who once laughed at the pilgrims of Bala became now one of the most devout of them. She used to attend there on the Communion Sabbath, although it meant for her, as for hundreds more, a rugged mountainous journey of over twenty miles. Once on her way home she became so absorbed in holy contemplation that she rode many miles out of her way over the Berwyn Hills before ever awakening to the fact. The result of those hours of thought is kept in this hymn:

Blessed day of rest eternal
From my labour, in my place!
On a shoreless sea of wonders,
The unfathomed depths of grace:
Finding an abundant entrance
To the Triune God's abode:
Seas to sail and never compass;
God as man, and man as God,
Neither shall the sun light on them,
Nor the fear of death give pain;
Tears forgotten in the anthem
Of the Lamb which once was slain:
Sailing on the crystal river
Of the peace of One in Three,
Underneath the cloudless beamings
Of the death of Cavalry.

Nothing could mark the intensity of feeling more strikingly than the broken sentences and rapid interchange of thoughts. 'The cloudless beamings of the death of Cavalry:'--the confused eloquence reveals the divine anguish of imagination. __________________________________________________________________

[26]Ann Griffiths

Reference has been made to her letters. Their intrinsic worth, and their intimate connection with her hymns, make it unnecessary to give an excuse for a larger reference. They are the autobiography of a sacred passion, and exquisitely reflect the lights and shadows of a mind that lived within itself in Christ.

The letters were mostly written to a young friend in the ministry, and became a valuable means of unburdening a mind that was bowed down with an exceeding weight of glory. They are the revealed secrets of an unresting heart, told in simple and devout speech.

The Bible was her fountain of life--a fountain of water clear and cool as the dewdrops of a June morning, embosomed in fadeless flowers of spring. She drank of the living stream, she carried away choice flowers of peace to lie close to her soul. Her piety had in it a sweet tyranny, which compelled each verse to yield the comfort she needed at the time. For instance, in one letter we read:

'I have had some trials like stormy winds, until I was nearly breathless on the steep paths of the hill; but I was brought up to the summit as by these two chains--"A man shall be as an hiding-place from the wind, and a covert from the tempest;" and--"Come, My people, enter thou into thy chambers: hide thyself as it were for a little moment." My spirit felt the peace and warmth for a while.'

And in another letter:

'Lately the following words were of great value and comfort to my soul--"Thy neck is like the tower of David builded for an armoury, whereon there hang a thousand buckles, all shields of mighty men." In myself, I am but helpless and unarmed against my foes; but if I shall have the privilege of turning into the tower, I shall there find armour and strength to run through the hosts. These words also were to me of great comfort--"For it pleased the Father that in Him should all fulness dwell;" and again--"A garden inclosed is my sister, my spouse." I am greatly bound to speak well of God, and to be grateful to Him for some degrees of the fellowship of the mystery. But this is my grief--I fail to stay--I am always forsaking Him. I see how great is my loss on that account: but more than all is the dishonour and disrespect thrown upon God. Grant me help to stay!

She could even reverently thank God for using His Word as an instrument of trouble, destroying the strong root of self-conceit, without doing the soul injury.

Her sacred passion brought with it a precious pain and grief. The very fervour of her devotion to Christ made her judge herself with all the severity of a Paul:

'For a long time I have been sorely troubled. I have many disappointments in myself continually; but I must say that all trials and all storms of every kind have wrought me to this: that is, they have brought me to see more of the corruptions of my nature and more of the Lord in His goodness and unchangeableness toward me. Lately I was far from the Lord in the backsliding of my soul; and yet I held up against His ministry, as if I were not refusing to stay and walk in His fellowship. But for all my art, the Lord visited me in these words--"If I be a Father, where is Mine honour? and if I be a Master, where is My fear?" . . .

'In view of my path after forsaking God, and hewing out broken cisterns, this word anew raised me a little on my feet--"The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want." I the one going astray, He the Shepherd; I unable to return, He the Almighty Lord. Oh! Rock of our salvation! entirely dependent upon Himself, saving and cherishing sinners! I would wish to be always under the treatment, be it ever so bitter.'

This is more cheerful, but still the spiritual element is of the same self-searching earnestness:

'I feel renewed affection toward the doctrine of the Gospel, because it shows a way to cleanse the unclean. I think I have no need to change my garment, only to be purer in it. I feel a stronger longing than ever I felt before to be pure; and these words are on my mind--"And the house, when it was in building, was built of stones made ready." I feel an earnest desire to be shaped by Him, until I am made fit for the heavenly building.'

The Rev. Thomas Charles, Bala, once made a remark to her that touched her soul to the quick. Considering the depth and rareness of her experiences, and the marvellous dispensations through which God led her spirit, he said that she seemed very likely to meet with one of three things: either she would meet with severe trials, or her life would soon be ended, or she would fall back, When she heard of falling back, she burst into tears. That fear is touchingly echoed in these sentences:

'What presses most heavily on my mind at present is the sinfulness of permitting anything seen to have too large a place in my thoughts. I am reverently ashamed, and wonderingly rejoice, to think that He who humbles Himself in looking at the things of heaven has made Himself an object of love to a creature as poor as I am; and in view of such a dishonour upon God as to give the first place to second things, I simply think that I would prefer my nature to be crushed to death (if need be), on account of its weakness to bear the heat of fiery trials. I sometimes think I could joyfully endure that, rather than the glory of God should be clouded before my mind, through granting my material nature its pomp and its desires.'

Mercifully did the Providence of God respond to her prayer.

Her mind was eager to discern the vivid outline of Christian doctrine, but mostly in its practical relations. How modestly, how devoutly she takes herself to task in these words for having unwittingly ignored the personal office of the Holy Spirit!

'The most particular thing on my mind is the great evil and great danger of grieving the Holy Ghost. The following words have struck me--"Know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you?"

'In penetrating somewhat into the wonders of that Person, and that He dwells and abides in the believer, I simply think that I was never possessed with the same degrees of reverent fear lest He should be grieved; and along with that it was given to me to see that one cause, and the chief cause, of this great sin having such a slight impression of uneasiness on ray mind was, that my thoughts about the Divine greatness of His person were too low. My whole conception of the Persons of the Trinity was too low; to think of it my mind is held with shame: but I owe it to myself to say that my mind has changed. I used to think of the Persons of the Father and Son as equal: but I held an opinion of the Person of the Holy Ghost as if He were an officer inferior to the Father and the Son. Oh! fanciful and mistaken opinion concerning One who is Divine, all-present, all-knowing, all-powerful to bring forward and perfect the good work which He has begun, according to the conditions of the covenant of grace, according to the decree of Three in One on behalf of the objects of heaven's morning Love! Oh! to be of their number! I thirst to rise higher in the belief that there is a personal indwelling of the Holy Ghost in my soul--a belief brought through revelation--not fancifully, expecting to comprehend the form and manner in which He dwells; this would be idolatry. In considering the sinfulness in itself of grieving the Holy Ghost, and, on the other hand, in looking down to the depths of the Great Fall, and that I am dispossessed of every power, except of being able to grieve Him--my soul is sorely pressed. The following words are on my mind--"Watch and pray." As if the Lord were saying, though the commandment is strong, and thou art unable to fulfil one out of a thousand things there, on the ground where thy mind stands, go forth, prove the Throne of Grace; for "the effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much"--"My grace is sufficient for thee: for My strength is made perfect in weakness." Blessed be the God who fulfils His promises!' __________________________________________________________________

[27]Ann Griffiths

Her hymns and her letters form an interchangeable commentary. Both are the simple and fresh outpourings of her soul. In one of her letters we find her tremulously approaching the mystery of the Creator becoming a Sufferer:

'My mind at present is looking on Jesus bearing the crown of thorns and the scarlet robe, and afterwards in His great sufferings upon the cross. It is not to be wondered at that the sun should hide its beams when its Creator was pierced with nails! My mind stands astonished when I consider the Person who suffered on the cross--He whose eyes are as a flame of fire piercing through heaven and earth, at the same time unable to see the work of His hands when darkness was over all the earth! My mind is overwhelmed with too much astonishment to say any more. No wonder that word is written down--"The Lord is well pleased for His righteousness' sake; He will magnify the law and make it honourable": and the other word--"Kiss the Son, lest He be angry." Would that the remainder of my days were a season of unfaltering fellowship with Christ and His sufferings, and with the Father through Him!'

The same spiritual emotion can be traced in these verses, almost line by line:

Heaven sweetly will remember
The decree of Three in One,
Ever gazing on the Person
Who became a Son of Man:
In fulfilling the conditions
Dying sorrow pierced His soul;
Now the host no man can number
Mightily His praise extol.
In remembering the battle,
All my tears for joy are dried;
Free for ever stands the sinner,
While the law is magnified:
For the peace of man behold Him--
Life's Almighty Author slain!
And the Resurrection buried
For an endless human gain!
In the midst, between two robbers,
There the great Atonement died;
And by Him the arm was strengthened
Which could dare to pierce His side:
When His Father's law was honoured,
And the sinner's ransom paid,
Justice stood in shining glory--
We were free and undismayed.
King of kings, and great Rest-giver!
See, my soul, His lowly bed!
All creation in Him movèd,
He within the grave lay dead!
Wonder of the holy angels,
Life of those who once were lost:
Unto Him, the God Incarnate,

Sing the great adoring host. __________________________________________________________________

[28]Ann Griffiths

Her latter days were spent close to the frontiers of the Better Land. Her soul was filled with the thoughts and desires of her eternal home. We can almost watch the flame of the spirit's life burning higher and higher--burning up the earthliness of her nature and the last remainders of unheavenly interests. Thus she writes:

'I see more need than I have ever seen before to spend what there is left of my days in giving myself daily, body and soul, to the care of Him who is able to keep that which is committed unto Him against that day. Not giving myself once, but living in giving myself, until, and even when this tabernacle is put off. The thought of putting it off is specially sweet sometimes. I can say, it is this of all things which gives me most joy in these days. Not death in itself, but the great gain to be had after passing through it; every inclination contrary to the will of God left behind, every inclination to dishonour the ordinance of God left behind--all infirmity swallowed up of strength--perfectly conformable to the law--in the likeness of God to enjoy Him for ever. I am sometimes so carried away with these things that I fairly fail to stand on the way of my duty in the things of time; but waiting for the hour when I shall be dissolved and be with Christ, for it is much better, although it is very good with me here sometimes. When my Beloved showeth Himself through the lattice, He sometimes reveals, in a glass darkly, as much of His glory to me as my feeble faculties can bear. I rejoice to say in closing--I would wish to say it with thankfulness--in spite of my sinfulness, and the cunning of hell, of the world and its charms, through the good grace of God I have not changed the object of my affection till to-night: rather from my heart I rest in His love, and joy over Him with singing, although I cannot obtain that in the least degree on this side of death, except with effort and violence.'

And thus she sings:
Must I face the stormy river?
There is One to break its flood--
Christ, my great High-priest and faithful,
Christ, my all-sufficient good:
Through His blood shall come the triumph
Over death and hell to me;
And I shall be in His likeness,
Sinless through eternity.
Disembodied of all evil,
I shall pierce with earnest eyes
Into Calvary's deep wonders,
And its infinite surprise:
The Invisible beholding,
Who is living and was dead;
In a pure, unbroken union
With the ever-living Head.
There I shall exalt the Person,
God's own Sacrifice Divine,
Without any veil or fancy--
And my soul like Him shall shine:
With the mystery revealèd
In His wounds, I shall commune;
Losing sight no more for ever
Of the all-belovèd Son.
From salvation's highest fountains,
Oh, to drink with each new day!
Till my thirst for earthly pleasures
Has completely passed away:
Waiting always for my Master,
Quick to answer to His call;
Then to hold the door wide open,

And enjoy Him, all in all. __________________________________________________________________

[29]Ann Griffiths

These letters and hymns were not written and sung in a cloister. They are Divine breathings rising out of the quiet stir of country life, like a lark out of the wind-swept heather. She lived a woman's ordinary life of a century ago. When her mother died, she became her father's helpmate. She was busy from morn till eve with the daily duties of the farmstead. She had no hour of prayer and song marked out, nor was there any need. Her prayers accompanied this work of her hands; her hymns were often composed in the midst of her household tasks. She became a 'priest unto God,' and the golden bells round about the hem of her spirit's robe were not often silent.

If she had a deep concern for personal piety, she was equally concerned for social religion. A member of the Calvinistic Methodist Church at a place called the Bont, she carried all its joys and sorrows in her heart. When the Church was wounded 'by the stroke of the world and of those falling back,' her own soul was also wounded. Her prayers breathed revivingly on the Lord's 'faded garden.' And when the Church had its bright awakening, her joy was full. She had heavy and rugged paths to travel from her home to the chapel, but the darkest winter night made no difference to her. She could sing on the way. It was a narrow way, too, her soul had to travel, and she met some wintry nights of doubt before she reached the gate of the temple. But she sang for the Light that was to come.

There's a day to journey homewards
For the children of the King;
God shall from the fields of bondage
To the throne His loved ones bring:
There shall faith to sight be changèd,
Feeble hope to perfect gain;
And the song shall grow for ever
To the Lamb which once was slain.
Pilgrim, worn with stress of tempests,
Look, and see the dawning light!
There the Lamb makes intercession,
In His flowing robes of white:
Faithfulness, His golden girdle;
Round His garment's hem, the bells;
Token of the full forgiveness
Which in His atonement dwells.

A noteworthy fact in connection with her hymns is their preservation. A servant in her father's house, named Ruth, possessed a remarkable memory. To her Ann Griffiths used to recite her hymns as they were composed; and then the two would sing them over time after time. After the death of the young authoress, Ruth used to repeat these verses to her husband. He saw their worth, and wrote them down from her dictation. To-day they cannot be lost: they have a home in too many hearts. __________________________________________________________________