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Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, “A Psalm of Life”
Christian biographies are a treasure that will enrich the reader who seeks them out. The lives of saints who have gone before us can teach us much not only about those men and women, but about how God works from generation to generation, even our own.
Recently added to Log College Press is Thomas Cuming Hall’s life story of his father, John Hall, Pastor and Preacher: A Biography (1901). John Hall (1829-1898) was born in County Armagh, Ireland. After laboring as a missionary and pastor in Ireland, he attended the 1867 PCUSA General Assembly meeting as a delegate, and was soon thereafter called to minister to the Fifth Street Presbyterian Church in New York City, where he would serve for the remainder of his life. He survived an assassination attempt by a deranged shooter in 1891.
From his biography, we take note of the many poems he composed over the years. One in particular stands out, which evokes perhaps to the modern reader thoughts of a famous 20th century poem known as “Footprints in the Sand.” But these lines were written by Hall in 1858, and thanks to their publication in The Missionary Herald that year, and the notice given to them in his biography, these lines have not “washed away”; we recall them to mind today.
WRITING ON THE SAND
Alone I walk'd the ocean strand—
A pearly shell was in my hand;
I stoop'd, and wrote upon the sand
My name—the year—the day.
As onward from the spot I pass'd
One lingering look behind I cast.
A wave came rolling high and fast,
And wash'd my lines away.And so, methought, 'twill shortly be
With every mark on earth from me;
A wave of dark oblivion's sea
Will sweep across the place.
Where I have trod the sandy shore
Of time, there will remain more,
Of me—my name—the name I bore,
'Twill leave no track—no trace.And yet, with Him who counts the sands.
And holds the water in His hands,
I know the lasting record stands,
Inscribed against my name;
Of all this mortal part has wrought,
Of all this thinking soul has thought.
And from these fleeting moments caught.
For glory or for shame.
