Many have heard from Chap­lain Mc­Cabe’s own fire-touched lips, how this grand old dox­ol­o­gy, that has doubt­less been on more lips than any other un­in­spired pro­duc­tion, was sung by the starv­ing “boys in blue” [Un­ion sol­diers in the Amer­i­can ci­vil war] that were in­car­cer­at­ed in Lib­by Pri­son [Richmond, Virginia]. Day af­ter day they saw com­rades pass­ing away, and their num­bers in­creased by fresh, liv­ing re­cruits for the grave. One night about ten o’clock, through the still­ness and the dark­ness, they heard the tramp of com­ing feet, that soon stopped before the pri­son door un­til ar­range­ments could be made in­side. In the com­pa­ny was a young Bap­tist min­is­ter, whose heart al­most faint­ed as he looked on those cold walls and thought of the suf­fer­ing in­side. Tired and weary he sat down, put his face in his hands and wept. Just then a lone voice of deep, sweet pa­thos, sung out from an up­per win­dow,—

“Praise God from all blessings flow;”

and a do­zen man­ly voices joined in the se­cond line,—

“Praise Him all creature here below;”

and then by the time the third was reached, more than a score of hearts were full, and these joined to send the words on high,—

“Praise Him above ye heavenly host;”

and by this time the prison was all alive, and seemed to qui­ver with the sac­red song, as from eve­ry room and cell those brave men sang,—

“Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”

As the song died out on the still night that en­vel­oped in dark­ness the doomed ci­ty of Rich­mond, the young man arose and hap­pi­ly said,—

“Prisons would palaces prove
If Jesus would dwell with me there.”

Hawaiian