Scripture Verse

Thy sins are forgiven. Luke 7:48


Isaac B. Woodbury (1819–1858)

Words: Je­re­mi­ah J. Cal­la­han, in Ly­ra Ca­tho­li­ca (New York: E. Du­ni­gan & Bro­thers, 1851). How­ev­er, in Ira San­key’s Sac­red Songs and So­los, the words are at­trib­ut­ed to Em­ma J. But­ler.

Music: Is­aac B. Wood­bu­ry (1819–1858) (🔊 pdf nwc).

If you know where to get a gooc picture of Cal­la­han (head & shoul­ders, at least 200×300 pix­els),


Mr. F. Mark­ham, con­nect­ed with a large and well known pi­ano fac­to­ry, was lead­ing an un­god­ly and heed­less life, says a Lon­don pe­ri­od­ic­al.

One day he saw an an­nounce­ment that Moody and San­key were to open a mis­sion at St. Panc­ras that ev­en­ing. In­stant­ly he re­solved to go and hear the sing­ing.

He and a com­pan­ion reached the hall in good time, as they thought, on­ly to find it crowd­ed to the doors. An ov­er­flow meet­ing was an­nounced at a neigh­bor­ing church, and thi­ther they went.

By and by Mr. San­key sang To the hall of the feast came the sin­ful and fair. As Mark­ham list­ened, his past life seemed to rise be­fore him; the tears rushed in­to his eyes; his heart seemed brok­en.

Coming out, he asked his com­pan­ion what he thought of it. Oh, was the care­less re­ply, he is a nice sing­er.

Is that all? It has brok­en my heart. Ere long he could say, in the words of the song, He looked on his lost one; my sins are for­giv­en.

When he got home his wife was am­azed at what had come ov­er him, and could not make out where he had been.

She had been con­vert­ed years be­fore, but had back­slid­den. She ac­com­pa­nied him to the mis­sion on the fol­low­ing ev­en­ing, and was hap­pi­ly re­ceived.

The man be­came a Chris­tian wor­ker, and is the foun­der and su­per­in­ten­dent of the Ta­hall Road Fa­ct­ory Lads’ Home and In­st­it­ution.

Sankey, pp. 107–08


To the hall of the feast came the sin­ful and fair;
She heard in the ci­ty that Je­sus was there;
Unheeding the splen­dor that blazed on the board,
She si­lent­ly knelt at the feet of the Lord,
She silent­ly knelt at the feet of the Lord.

The frown and the mur­mur went round thro’ them all,
That one so un­hal­lowed should tread in that hall;
And some said the poor would be ob­jects more meet,
As the wealth of her per­fume she show­ered on His feet,
As the wealth of her per­fume she show­ered on His feet.

She heard but the Sav­ior; she spoke but with sighs;
She dared not look up to the hea­ven of His eyes;
And hot tears gushed forth at each heave of her breast,
As her lips to His san­dals were throb­bingly pressed;
As her lips to His san­dals were throbbingly pressed.

In the sky, af­ter tem­pest, as shin­eth the bow,
In glance of the sun­shine, as melt­eth the snow,
He looked on that lost one: her sins were for­giv’n,
And the sin­ner went forth in the beau­ty of Heav’n;
And the sin­ner went forth in the beau­ty of Heav’n.