The Cyber Hymnal ‎#4609

4609. Not Now, My Child

1. Not now, my child, a little more rough tossing,
A little longer on the billows’ foam;
A few more journeying in the desert darkness,
And then, the sunshine of thy Father’s home!

2. Not now, for I have wand’rers in the distance,
And thou must call them in with patient love;
Not now, for I have sheep upon the mountain,
And thou must follow them where’er they rove.

3. Not now; for I have loved ones sad and weary;
Wilt thou not cheer them with a kindly smile?
Sick ones, who need thee in their lonely sorrow;
Wilt thou not tend them yet a little while?

4. Not now, for wounded hearts are sorely bleeding
And thou must teach those widowed hearts to sing:
Not now; for orphans’ tears are quickly falling,
They must be gathered ’neath some sheltering wing.

5. Not now, for many a hungry one is pining,
Thy willing hand must be outstretched and free;
Thy Father hears the mighty cry of anguish,
And gives His answering messages to thee.

6. Go, with the name of Jesus, to the dying,
And speak that name in all its living power;
Why should thy fainting heart grow chill and weary?
Canst thou not watch with Me one little hour?

7. One little hour! and then the glorious crowning,
The golden harp-strings, and the victor’s palm;
One little hour! and then the hallelujah!
Eternity’s long, deep thanksgiving psalm!

Text Information

• First Line: Not now, my child, a little more rough tossing
• Title: Not Now, My Child
• Author: Catherine King Pennefather (1884)
• Language: English
• Source: Congregational Hymns, by W. Garrett Horder (London: Elliot Stock, 1884), number 826
• Copyright: Public Domain
• Notes: A young la­dy of a ti­tled fam­i­ly, walk­ing one day along the Strand, saw crowds push­ing in­to the large build­ing where we were hold­ing meet­ings. Fol­low­ing the crowd, she soon found her­self seat­ed and lis­ten­ing to a stir­ring ser­mon by Mr. Moo­dy. I al­so sang this hymn as a so­lo. The whole ser­vice much im­pressed the young la­dy. At the con­clu­sion of the meet­ing, when Mr. Moo­dy in­vit­ed all who de­sired to be­come Chris­tians to rise, she stood up with hun­dreds of others, and lat­er went in­to the in­quiry-room and there gave her heart to God. When she went home she an­nounced to her fam­i­ly that she had be­come a Chris­tian, and they laughed her to scorn. Af­ter a few weeks she de­cid­ed to leave her home and cast in her lot with those who were liv­ing for Christ. She went to Mrs. Pen­ne­fa­ther, and put on the dress of a dea­con­ess. There she con­tin­ued for over a year. One day, more than a year lat­er, she re­ceived a let­ter from her fa­ther, a Lord of the realm, ask­ing her to ac­com­pa­ny him on his yacht­ing trip to the north of Scot­land. While on the trip she was suc­cess­ful in lead­ing her fa­ther to the Sav­iour. Land­ing in Scot­land, they found some friends from Lon­don in a lit­tle fish­ing vil­lage. On Sun­day the quest­ion arose as to where they would at­tend ser­vice. They fi­nal­ly agreed to go to a neigh­bor­ing vil­lage where a vi­sit­ing cler­gy­man was to give an ad­dress. The young la­dy and her fa­ther were great­ly im­pressed with the ser­mon. The next day when they re­turned to his yacht, his Lord­ship re­marked that he would like to have that cler­gy­man preach his fu­ner­al ser­mon. On the re­turn trip the old gen­tle­man caught a se­vere cold, and died soon af­ter­ward. The young la­dy com­mun­i­cat­ed her father’s wish to the cler­gy­man, and he con­duct­ed the fun­er­al ser­vic­es. The cler­gy­man be­came in­ter­est­ed in the young la­dy, and sought her hand in mar­ri­age. Af­ter their wed­ding they moved to Scot­land, re­sid­ing on a large es­tate to which the cler­gy­man had fall­en heir. When Mr. Moo­dy and I were car­ry­ing on the cam­paign in Scot­land we were in­vit­ed to vi­sit their cas­tle. Dur­ing our vi­sit there we held meet­ings in the neigh­bor­hood for the min­ers. At the sug­gest­ion of our host we used to go in­to the for­est and cut down trees for ex­er­cise. Be­fore leav­ing the es­tate each of us plant­ed a tree near the cas­tle gate, and the cler­gy­man named one of them "Moo­dy," and the other "San­key." Sankey, pp. 204-6

Tune Information

• Name: [Not now, my child, a little more rough tossing]
• Composer: Ira David Sankey
• Incipit: 11111 17133 22212
• Key: F Major
• Copyright: Public Domain