"One dismal day in February, 1832," he wrote long afterward, "about half an hour before sunset, I was turning over the leaves of one of the music books when my eye rested on the tune which is now known as 'America.' I liked the spirited movement of it, not knowing it at that time to be 'God save the King.' I glanced at the German words and saw that they were patriotic, and instantly felt the impulse to write a patriotic hymn of my own, adapted to the tune. Picking up a scrap of waste paper which lay near me, I wrote at once, probably within half an hour, the hymn 'America' as it is now known everywhere. The whole hymn stands today as it stood on the bit of waste paper, five or six inches long and two and a half wide." Dr. Smith was a member of the celebrated Harvard class of 1829, to which Oliver Wendell Holmes also belonged. The latter wrote a poem for one of the class reunions, in which he referred to the distinguished hymn-writer in the following lines: And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith-- Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith; But he shouted a song for the brave and the free-- Just read on his medal, 'My country,' 'of thee.' On November 19, 1895, the venerable pastor and poet was called suddenly to his eternal home. He died as he was taking a train from Boston to preach in a neighboring town. A Pearl among Christmas Carols It came upon the midnight clear, That glorious song of old, From angels bending near the earth To touch their harps of gold; "Peace on the earth, good will to men, From heaven's all-gracious King:" The world in solemn stillness lay To hear the angels sing. Still through the cloven skies they come With peaceful wings unfurled, And still their heavenly music floats O'er all the weary world; Above its sad and lowly plains They bend on hovering wing, And ever o'er its Babel sounds The blessed angels sing. And ye, beneath life's crushing load, Whose forms are bending low, Who toil along the climbing way With painful steps and slow-- Look now! for glad and golden hours Come swiftly on the wing: O rest beside the weary road, And hear the angels sing! For lo! the days are hastening on By prophet-bards foretold, When with the ever-circling years Comes round the age of gold; When peace shall over all the earth Its ancient splendors fling, And the whole world send back the song Which now the angels sing. Edmund Hamilton Sears, 1834. TWO FAMOUS CHRISTMAS HYMNS AND THEIR AUTHOR