I recently was in the company of a minister friend who, between conversations, periodically hummed the tune to Charles Tindley’s great old hymn, "Stand By Me." He frequently interrupted his humming to sing such verses as he could recall. In time, I inquired as to his fascination with that particular hymn. "Oh," said he, "we sang it in church this past Sunday and I’ve had it on my mind ever since. Besides, its always been one of my favorites."

We all have favorite hymns which impress themselves upon our lives until we find ourselves even unconsciously drawing upon their influence, don’t we? Sometimes we are attracted first by the tune ... at other times, the words ... or at other times by the story of how the song came into being. We may be assured that the Psalms, the hymnbook of the Jewish people, contain many such songs which were hummed or sung aloud in the course of an ordinary day because they had become so indelibly imprinted upon the souls of a people who were able to "Sing the Lord’s song (even) in a strange land." Psalm 103 is such a song. What a magnificent affirmation of faith! "Bless the Lord," it proclaims, and forget not the benefits of the One who forgives your iniquity, heals your diseases, redeems your life from the Pit, crowns you with steadfast love and mercy, and renews your youth like the eagles.

There is more here than a song. It is the verbalization of an experience. The Psalmist expressed the experience through music, the prophets through prophecy, Christ through Calvary, Paul through his life and letters, and multitudes of saints across the ages through their witness. God crowns us with steadfast love!

In 1874 Dwight L. Moody and Ira Sankey boarded a train in Glasgow, Scotland, on their way to Edinburgh where Moody was to preach and Sankey was to lead the singing. Sankey perused a newspaper while Moody tended to some correspondence and jotted down notes for his sermon. Sankey was about to discard the newspaper when he noticed a little poem appearing in the corner of one of the pages. It had been written by a little orphaned Scottish girl who had died five years before the Glasgow paper had printed it as a "filler." Her name was Elizabeth Clephane. Sankey tore the poem from the paper and put it in his pocket with the thought of perhaps setting it to music one day. Later that evening in Edinburgh, Moody preached a sermon on "The Good Shepherd," then called on Sankey for a solo. Not having been told beforehand the subject of Moody’s sermon, and certainly unprepared to sing, Sankey was taken by complete surprise. He had absolutely no idea what piece of music would be appropriate for the moment, even if he had had time to think about it. At a loss, he approached the pulpit, bowed his head for a moment, removed the little poem from his pocket. Without the slightest idea of a tune, he prayed for the Holy Spirit to direct him as he attempted to sing a poem which had no music. He began, "There were ninety and nine that safely lay in the shelter of the fold ..."

There is more than a song here. It is yet another verbalization of God’s steadfast love.