The Life And Testimony Of Anne Steele

The Sower 1895:

A Sweet Hymn Writer

Miss Steele was the descendant of a family who had inhabited for many years the village of Broughton, Hampshire, her father and ancestors being pastors of the Calvinistic Baptist congregation in that town, the foundation of which dates back to the time of the Commonwealth. One, Mr. Henry Steele, was ordained to the pastoral office in the year 1699, which office he held for forty years. He was very popular, and greatly beloved by many of the inhabitants of Broughton, so that on an episcopal visitation the clergyman complained to the Bishop that his parochial province was sadly invaded by the Dissenter. “How can I best oppose him?” was his query to the Bishop, the celebrated and godly Gilbert Burnett. “Go home,” said the wise diocesan, and preach better than Henry Steele, and the people will return.” A piece of good advice that might be happily followed now.

Henry Steele gave cottages and a burying-ground to the Church, and fitted up their place of worship in a very neat and substantial manner, and built the house as shown in the engraving. He was a man of exemplary piety, of great simplicity and industry. On Lord’s Day he spent the interval of worship with his friends in the meeting house, and it was said by many who remembered him that his conversation during these interviews was as beneficial as his preaching, if not more so. He died in 1739, aged eighty-five years, and was succeeded by his nephew, William Steele, Anne Steele’s father. One of his family describes him as a man of primitive piety, strict integrity, accompanied by the most unaffected humility. Without infringing on the duties of his pastoral office, he carried on an extensive business as a timber merchant, like his uncle; and as, by the blessing of Providence, he possessed a comfortable independence, his labours in the ministry were all gratuitous. He died September 10th, 1769, when only a month less than eighty years of age, after having preached to one congregation sixty years.

His daughter Anne was born in 1716. Owing to an accident in childhood, she was always an invalid, and often confined to her chamber. She had consented to give her hand in marriage to a young man named Elscourt, and the day of the marriage was fixed, but her intended, while bathing in a river on the day preceding it, incautiously went out of his depth, and was drowned. It is said that this painful trial led her to compose the hymn—

“Father, whate’er of earthly bliss 

Thy sovereign will denies,” &c.

She began early to compose hymns and poetry, but it was some years before any were printed, which her father refers to in his diary:—

” November 29th, 1757.—This day Nanny sent a part of her composition to London to be printed, I entreat a gracious God, who enabled and stirred her up to such a work, to direct in it, and bless it for the good and comfort of many.”

“October, 1759.—Her brother brought with him her poetry, not yet bound. I earnestly desire the blessing of God upon that work, that it may be made very useful. I can admire the gifts that others are blessed with, and praise God for His distinguishing favours to our family.”

“November 27th.—Mr. W. spoke very highly in commendation of her book. I pray God to make it useful and keep her humble.”

The following is a letter to her father:—

“HONOURED FATHER,—As many of these verses have been favoured with your approbation, I have now, at your desire, collected them into a little book, which I beg leave to present to you as an humble acknowledgment of my grateful sense of your parental affection and the benefit I have received from your instruction. If you should survive me, it will, I doubt not, be preserved by you (how inconsiderable its real value) as a mournfully pleasing remembrance of a departed child who once shared your tender regard. If you think they are capable of affording pleasure or profit, you may, if you please, communicate any of them to friends or fellow Christians. They may, perhaps, find seasons when the thoughts of the unworthy writer may suit their own, and the remembrance produce delight. If while I am sleeping in the silent grave my thoughts are of any real benefit to the meanest of the servants of my God, be the praise ascribed to the Almighty Giver of all grace.”

In a letter to her sister we read: “I enjoy a calm evening on the terrace walk, and I wish, though in vain, for numbers, sweet as the lovely prospect and gentle as the vernal breeze, to describe the beauties of charming spring; but the reflection, how soon these blooming pleasures will vanish, spreads a melancholy gloom, till the mind rises by a delightful transition to the celestial Eden.”

She survived her father some years, whose death was such a shock to her tender frame that she never recovered it, but looked with sweet resignation for her dissolution; and when at last the happy moment arrived, she was full of peace and joy, Though her body was racked with pain, she uttered not a murmuring word. She took the most affectionate leave of her weeping friends around her, and then with these triumphant words upon her lips, “I know that my Redeemer liveth,” closed her eyes, and fell asleep in Jesus, November, 1778, aged sixty-one years, having been a member of the Calvinistic Baptist Church forty-six years. She was one of the earliest of female hymn writers, and her precious hymns, published under the signature of “Theodosia,” are to be found in many selections, and are much valued by the true Christian. They sweetly and preciously breathe forth the love of Jesus, as known and experienced in a living, exercised soul. I conclude with a short one:—

“Jesus, in Thy transporting name, 

What blissful glories rise;

Jesus, the angels’ sweetest theme, 

The wonder of the skies.

“Jesus, and didst Thou leave the sky 

For miseries and woes?

And didst Thou bleed and groan and die 

For vile, rebellious foes?

“Victorious love! can language tell 

The wonders of Thy power,

Which conquered all the force of hell 

In that tremendous hour?

“Well might the heavens with wonder view 

A love so strange as Thine;

No thought of angels ever knew 

Compassion so divine.”