One Friday evening during the H. M. S. Richards Voice of Prophecy revival meetings at the Takoma Park Sligo church, after the 2,400 worshipers present had joined in a ringing song service under the direction of George W. Greer, Professor Lawrie, choral director of the Foundry Methodist Church of Washington, D.C., sang "The Ninety and Nine" impressively, and a chorus of one hundred voices joined on the choral finale, here reproduced. The story of the interpretation appears here.—Editor.
Two important incidents, occurring long ago when I was in theatrical work, impressed me profoundly. One was during a victory gathering held within a few weeks of the Armistice of World War 1, on Sunday night in the Hippodrome in New York City. Ambassador Gerard was there to speak, and in the program was included a great array of talent. A well-known actress recited the words of "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." Though I was sitting several hundred feet away from her in the balcony (and this was before the days of microphones), I distinctly heard every word she uttered. She gave that poem a masterly interpretation. I thought that if just a speaking voice could so thrill an audience in a reading, how much more could be done by a singer who can use his text and have an appropriate accompaniment!
Back in the same worldly days, while I was singing at the Capitol Theater under the management of Samuel L. Rothafel, popularly known as "Roxy," I was markedly influenced by the way in which he managed to get the effects he wanted. It was the time of the Jewish holidays. The stage was arranged as the glorified altar of the synagogue, and he asked for the shofar fanfare. This is usually played on an actual ram's horn, and is bloodcurdling in actuality. The requisite volume was produced by eight French horns.
He had the players stand with the bells facing the audience. This brought about the most thrilling, soul-stirring effect I have ever heard in any opera house or symphony hall, or any oratorio or other music I have ever heard. It was done in darkness just preceding the synagogue scene in which the Kol Nidre was featured. The French horn has the most powerful resonance of any instrument in the orchestra. Its vibration is so penetrating that only a few are used in large symphony orchestras.
Shortly after the engagement 'in the Capitol Theater I left the theater, and ever since have devoted my life to the church and to sacred music. But I have always sought to apply that principle. Whenever I find a new song or anthem, or even a gospel song, I study it through and ask myself, "Has this composition a 'shofar' in it?" By that I mean, Is there any possible effect, and is it worth developing ? As a choir master I often apply this in anthems. I study the anthem over and over, to work out some grand, soul-thrilling effect. And I persist until I find it.
When I was asked to sing "The Ninety and Nine," I immediately studied the composition to see whether it had in it some great possible effect. It needs more than just a soloist; it needs a chorus. I finally developed the idea of a climax with a so-called angelic choir as a surprise from the rear of the church, or from the choir seated, to come in effectively on the closing phrase, "Rejoice, for the Lord brings back His own."
The Actual Interpretation Outlined
On the first line—"There were ninety and nine that safely lay in the shelter of the fold"—I always take a very deep breath so that I can do that much on one breath. Then I ask the organist to pause, to come to a complete silence and stop with the singer. The audience wonders whether or not I may have forgotten the Words. But I know that silences are effective. Even Mozart himself, when asked what he liked best about music said, "The silences." By the same token I use the silences quite frequently during the rendition of "The Ninety and Nine." It takes me about six minutes to sing the number.
There are great possibilities for emphasis on the following part of the first stanza, "But one was out on the hills away, far off from the gates of gold." I let my mind range to the terrible bdegradation and wreckage of humanity that I have seen sleeping in alleys around Chinatown in New York. The singer must have a vivid imagination, and have a clear picture in mind, then the voice takes care of itself, and he does not have to think of the inflection. When I sing the words, "Away on the mountains wild and bare, away from the tender Shepherd's care," I try to think of the presence of Christ and His tenderness and love, and of His compassion for the lost sheep.
The second stanza starts off with the words, "Lord, Thou hast here Thy ninety and nine; are they not enough for Thee?" Now, having sung from a thousand choir lofts in a great variety of denominations, I know what the snobbish, fashionable, proud church is. And I think of the proudest, most spiritually smug high churchmen I can when I sing, -Lord, Thou hast here Thy ninety and nine." I imagine them saying to themselves, "Why should we seek out these filthy men of the Bowery ? We are the upper crust; we are the chosen people. We pay $5,000 a year rent for our pews, and do not want to have these filthy men come in and share them with us."
Then there is another pause. I shift in my mind to the thought of Christ with His bleeding hands and feet on the cross between the thief and a murderer. I recall that He came to save not the righteous but the lost. When I. visualize that Christ, my voice changes and I put all the love I can into the phrase, "But the Shepherd made answer." then a short pause, "One of Mine has wandered away from Me."
I once heard a preacher say, "If all the diamonds in the world and all the gold in the world could be gathered together into one glistening pyramid, in the aggregate it could not reach the potential spiritual value represented by one stray derelict, or a sleeper in the Bowery." I think of the wonderful transformations wrought on these people when I sing the expression, "One of Mine has wandered away from Me." Then I think of men and women in the church who are asleep in Zion, who are not willing to go out and win men to God the hard way. I think of Christ, and fix my determination that come what may, I will spend myself seeking for the sheep that are lost. With this in mind I sing, "And although the road be rough and steep, I go to the desert to find My sheep." I repeat this phrase. My thought is emphasis and more emphasis. Ofttimes I find it effective when this is sung as softly as possible.
Coming to the third stanza, "But none of the ransomed ever knew how deep were the waters crossed," I try there to show by inflection of voice what Christ went through in Gethsemane—the spitting upon Him, the crown of thorns, the carrying of the cross, the rabble about Him, and His death. "The ransomed" represent the people who -live at ease in Zion. "How deep were the waters crossed; nor how dark was the night that the Lord passed through ere He found His sheep that was lost." I think of the complacent saints who do not have the courage to go out and save the sheep that are lost. They cannot grapple with the drunkard or the immoral. But God's "hand is not shortened, that it cannot save." Going through these hard places is intimated in this poem. It will be a very difficult and hard road, but if a man wins a soul to Christ, it will be more than worth while.
In the fourth stanza I always give it in the way the actor would, so as to get the element of tremendous amazement. I think of Christ on the cross as He faced death with the nailprints in His hands, and later when He said, "Reach forth thy hand and touch My side." I reflect on the amazement of the disciples and of Thomas, and modern people also when they have seen God in action. "Lord, whence are these blooddrops all the way that mark out the mountain's track?" I pause here. There is no accompaniment. Then I change, and sing in the very essence of modesty, "They were shed for one who had gone astray." Then I wait for two or three seconds before I go on to the next phrase—it is a question of timing—"ere the Shepherd could bring him back."
Then I again try to reflect the voices of amazed men, "Lord, why are Thy hands so rent and torn?" They do not understand ; they are not convinced of the hardship and difficulty of winning men and women to Christ. Then I say without boasting, and in utter humility, "They are pierced tonight by many a thorn." And in repeating this phrase, I do it almost pianissimo, mezza voce, for emphasis. Then here I have the organist play an interlude on the echo organ, and this is the only place where this is done in the hymn. It is well to play the last two phrases on the echo organ softly, almost inaudibly.
In the last stanza, "But all through the mountains, thunder-riven, and up from the rocky steep," I try to express the real joy that is in Christ when He has won a victory. I sing, "There rose a cry to the gates of heaven" ; then I wait. Unfortunately Sankey did not put that word "rejoice" on a high note, but I try to put every bit of soul possible into, "Rejoice, I have found My sheep !" I let that suspend, and do not go on immediately. Then I sing, "And the angels sang around the throne."
And this is where the choir gets ready—whether it is standing in the rear or in the balcony, or remains seated. They sing, full voice, "Rejoice," the soloist holding the word "rejoice" in the fifth of the scale. While he is holding the word "rejoice," the choir- echoes him in full chords, "Rejoice." Then he repeats again, "Rejoice," and sustains it. Then there is the echo from the choir. Then all together they sing this last expression, "Rejoice, for the Lord brings back His own!" as found on the accompanying score.
Of all the ornate musical settings I have found through the years, I have not found one any more effective than this. I advise the singers to tell the organist or accompanist not to play the melody at any time, but to play only about two chords to a measure, always with the singer, and he will find the aforementioned places of absolute silence as effective as anything else he can do. Truly, this song, springing as it did spontaneously from the fingers of its composer, has possibilities for interpretation not usually realized. It is effective as a means of centering attention upon the great compassionate work of Christ for men.
