Born: Ap­ril 8, 1826, Fair­field, New Jer­sey.

Died: March 15, 1900, Mon­mouth Coun­ty, New Jersey.

Buried: Ma­ple­wood Ce­me­tery, Free­hold, New Jer­sey.


Peter was the son of Har­ma­nus Bar­ku­loo Stryk­er and Blan­di­na Cad­mus. He mar­ried twice, to Ca­ro­line Hen­ry Smock (1849) and Em­i­ly Su­san­nah Han­a­way (1891).

In 1841, Stryk­er en­tered the Un­i­ver­si­ty of Penn­syl­van­ia. He stu­died there two years, then en­tered Rut­gers Col­lege, New Jersey, gra­du­at­ing in 1845.

He stu­died the­o­lo­gy at the se­mi­na­ry of the Re­formed Dutch Church and gra­du­at­ed in 1848. He re­ceived his Doc­tor of Di­vin­i­ty De­gree from the Un­i­ver­si­ty of New York in 1866.

He was or­dained in 1848, and served a num­ber of pas­tor­ates:

In 1872, he toured Europe, Egypt, and Pal­es­tine.

Stryker con­trib­ut­ed to the Christ­ian In­tel­li­genc­er, the Na­tion­al Ad­vo­cate, and The Youth’s Tem­per­ance Ban­ner.


An ex­tract from one of his ser­mons:

Beloved Chris­tians, let us look forward to hea­ven as the place of our abode when we shall have con­quered the last en­e­my, Death. Sweet­er bliss than the most fer­tile im­ag­in­a­tion can con­ceive, pur­er and more per­fect en­joy­ment than the Chris­tian can an­ti­ci­pate, awaits us there.

All past evil will be for­got­ten, and the fu­ture be en­tire­ly free from sor­row. Ev­ery bless­ing which an in­tel­li­gent and ho­ly be­ing can de­sire will be pro­vid­ed.

The so­ci­e­ty of all the good who have ev­er in­hab­it­ed the earth, and the an­gels who have ne­ver sinned, and what is in­fin­ite­ly more to be de­sired, the fel­low­ship and love the tri­une God, will be en­joyed!

Oh! how rav­ish­ing the an­ti­ci­pa­tion! To see the great white throne, the fount­ain gush­ing be­neath it, the ri­ver and the tree of life, the glo­ry of the Lord; to wear the crown, and hold the palm of vic­to­ry, and strike the gol­den harp; to hear the an­them of the an­gels and all the re­deemed, and see the smile of Je­sus.

To join in the song of tri­umph, to have un­fold­ed to our view the great mys­te­ry of re­demp­tion, and learn more and more of the won­der­ful na­ture of God, and the as­ton­ish­ing per­fect­ion of His works—

To do and ex­per­i­ence all this, and yet to be so con­sti­tut­ed as to feel no wear­i­ness; to be­hold eter­nal day, and need no night to bring re­pose; to see eter­nal sun­shine, and re­quire no sha­dows to make us bet­ter ap­pre­ci­ate the full splen­dor.

To eat, but ne­ver feel sa­ti­e­ty; to drink, but ne­ver be­come in­tox­i­cat­ed; to glide along a calm sea that ne­ver has a rip­ple; to sing with mill­ions, and not one note of dis­cord.

And all the while the voice be­com­ing at­tuned to high­er and sweet­er strains, the ear ac­cust­omed to drink in more de­li­cious me­lo­dies, the mind ex­pand­ing to com­pre­hend rich­er truths, and the heart de­vel­op­ing to the ex­per­i­ence and ex­pression of pur­er and full­er love!

Praise, high­er praise! Oh! this is Hea­ven. This is what the poor, toil­ing, care­worn, in­firm, sick, dy­ing be­liev­er will ex­per­i­ence when he has crossed the rill of death, and reach­es the ce­les­ti­al ci­ty. This is what mill­ions of poor pil­grims who rest from their wea­ry jour­ney have gained.

Peter H. Stryker (1826–1900)