Softly and Tenderly

Will Thompson, 1880

If you go to the small town of East Liverpool, tucked into the triple boundary between Pennsylvania, Ohio, and the panhandle of West Virginia, you may see what the natives call, after our Hymn of the Week, the “Softly and Tenderly House.” It’s quite imposing, made of brick, stone, and wood, with Ionic pillars two stories high to hold up a great triangular projection over the porch, with a coffered ceiling underneath — and pilasters, and slate tiles, and more nooks and juttings and odd windows and porches than I can describe. The builder was Will Thompson, the author of this week’s hymn, built after he’d founded a music company and made it into one of the nation’s most prominent sellers of musical instruments, especially pianos and organs, and sheet music. Let’s think about that for a moment. A music store wasn’t a place where you bought things to listen to; it was where you bought things to make music from! And I have heard that it wasn’t until 1961 that sales of vinyl records in the United States outpaced the sales of sheet music. That’s hard to imagine, isn’t it?

William Lamartine Thompson said that whenever he got an idea for a song — sacred or popular — he’d grab any piece of paper at hand, a napkin, a newspaper, whatever, and write it down quick. He was a man of tremendous energy, as was the man who appreciated his hymns the most, the tireless Reverend D. L. Moody. I’ve read, though I can’t confirm it from contemporary news articles, that when Moody lay dying in his home in Massachusetts, in 1899, his friend Thompson was there, and Moody said to him that he’d rather have written “Softly and Tenderly” than anything else he’d written or said. Certainly the theme of the hymn was on his mind. “Earth recedes,” he said to his son. “Heaven opens before me. If this is death, it is sweet! There is no valley here. God is calling me, and I must go.”

What inspired Thompson’s hymn? One of my most beloved passages in the Gospels. “I thank you, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth,” said Jesus, “because you have hidden these things from the wise and the shrewd, and revealed them to the simple.” And whom does the Father reveal, but the Son, and whom does the Son reveal, but the Father? The mysteries of the life of God himself are given to the simple, not to the proud. And that life is a welcome, an inn of comfort, the eternal home itself: “Come to me, all you who labor and are heavy-burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart, and you shall find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.” It’s the text for the beautiful hymn Come Unto Me, Ye Weary, set to the music of Handel; and it’s the text for “Softly and Tenderly” too, American in melody and popular, if I may use that word without intending any slight, in its emphasis on the long and lyrical refrain rather than the verse (for another hymn like that, think of I Need Thee Every Hour).

We are apt to think that when we die, we are going on a journey, a troublesome one, without any suitcase, let alone accompanied by friends and family. They stay behind and wave from the shore. But is that right? The Christian has a home in this world, but he also knows that it’s a beloved way-station, an inn, a hotel, if you’ll forgive the odd modern word. The real home is beyond. Moses the much-traveled named his son Gershom, meaning “stranger,” saying, “I have been a stranger in a strange land.” He never got to Canaan, old Moses, but he died overlooking the Promised Land from Mount Pisgah, and he told Joshua to bury him in the plains of Moab — of Moab, of all places! Canaan was not his final home. But then, it wasn’t going to be the final home of anyone on this earth. We are on the way.

I have loved many places in this world, and perhaps none more tenderly than the tiny house I first remember. But I don’t really recognize that house anymore, so much has changed. The odd thing is that my feeling for the true home to come is strangely mingled with my feeling for the earthly home that is no more, because we know that the past is not past for God, and all the good we have ever known, good that came from him, will be returned to us, but in a way we cannot begin to imagine. “Behold, I make all things new,” says the Lord, seated upon the throne. As I grow older, the call draws nearer, more mysterious, but more comforting. “Be opened,” said Jesus, when he wet his finger and put it into the ear of the little deaf girl. Let him do that for us too.

Today our hymn is a compilation of the opening and the closing scenes of “The Trip to Bountiful,” which Tony has discussed here. The song makes a perfect frame for the story.

1  Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling,
Calling for you and for me;
See, on the portals He’s waiting and watching,
Watching for you and for me.

Refrain: Come home, come home,
Ye who are weary, come home;
Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling -
Calling, “O sinner, come home!”

2  Why should we tarry when Jesus is pleading,
Pleading for you and for me?
Why should we linger and heed not His mercies,
Mercies for you and for me?  Refrain.

3  Time is now fleeting, the moments are passing,
Passing from you and from me;
Shadows are gathering, deathbeds are coming,
Coming for you and for me.  Refrain.

4  O for the wonderful love He has promised,
Promised for you and for me;
Though we have sinned He has mercy and pardon,
Pardon for you and for me.  Refrain.

Word & Song by Anthony Esolen is an online magazine devoted to reclaiming the good, the beautiful, and the true. We publish six essays each week, on words, classic hymn, poems, films, and popular songs, as well a weekly podcast, alternately Poetry Aloud or Anthony Esolen Speaks. To support this project, please join us as a free or paid subscriber.

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