Home, Sweet Home

Ironically, John Howard Payne, composer of "Home, Sweet Home," virtually never had a home of his own.

Though he was born in New York City in June 1791, and passed much of his childhood in East Hampton, Long Island, Payne spent most of his years wandering about the world, homeless, and more often than not, penniless.  From the bankruptcy of his father while he was a student at Union College until Payne's death in Tunis, North Africa, where he served as American Consul, his fabulous career casts fiction in the shade.

As an actor, Payne made his debut in 1809 and for months was the rage of New York, Boston, Philadelphia, and then Dury Lane in London.  Later he become a playwright, with its in Paris and London.  But because he lacked business ability, many of his varying successes ended in failure.

In 1821 Payne was sent to debtor's prison in England, and was released only after he managed to slip through the guards and sell one of his plays.  It was with the profits from this play that he went gaily off to Paris to finish an opera little remembered today--but the music of which is still sung all over the civilized world.  That opera was Clari, and the hit tune was the ever-remembered "Home, Sweet Home."

Today, the old gray-singled homestead at East Hampton where Payne spent his boyhood is maintained by the village as a shrine for it was probably this lowly thatched cottage about which the composer wrote so wistfully while homesick in Paris.  To Americans everywhere--as it once was to John Howard Payne--this humble cottage is now cherished as "Home, Sweet Home."

- Roy B. Zuck, The Speaker's Quote Book (Christian Literature Crusade, 1997)

Sounds Familiar

Ira Sankey was traveling on a steamer in the Delaware River when he was recognized by some passengers who had seen his picture in the newspaper and knew he was associated with evangelist D. L. Moody. 

When they asked him to sing one of his own compositions, Sankey said he preferred the hymn by William Bradbury, “Savior, Like a Shepherd Lead Us.”

He suggested that everyone join in the singing. One of the stanzas begins, “We are thine, do thou befriend us; be the guardian of our way.”

When he finished, a man stepped out of the shadows and asked, “Were you in the army, Mr. Sankey?”

“Yes, I joined up in 1860.”

“Did you do guard duty at night in Maryland, about 1862?”

“Yes, I did.”

“I was in the Confederate Army,” said the stranger. “I saw you one night at Sharpsburg. I had you in my gun sight as you stood in the light of the full moon. Then just as I was about to pull the trigger, you began to sing. It was the same hymn you sang tonight. I couldn’t shoot you.”

 — Kenneth R. Hendren, “In the Gun Sights, Men of Integrity (April 17, 2001)

Something's Got To Give

Many of you may recall the popular song "Cat's in the Cradle" sung by Harry Chapin. The words always bring a tear to my eye because I am a father, and over the years I have had to travel so much. The song unfolds as follows:

My child arrived just the other day; He came to the world in the usual way, But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay, He learned to walk while I was away.

And he was talkin' & before I knew it and as he grew, He'd say, "I'm gonna be like you, Dad. You know I'm gonna be like you." And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon, Little Boy Blue and the man in the moon.

"When you comin' home, Dad?" "I don't know when, but we'll get together then; You know we'll have a good time then."

My son turned ten just the other day. He said, "Thanks for the ball, Dad, come on, let's play. Can you teach me to throw?" I said, "No, not today, I got a lot to do."

He said, "That's okay." And he walked away but his smile never dimmed. It said, "I'm gonna be like him, yeah, You know I'm gonna be like him…."

And he came from college just the other day; So much like a man I just had to say,"Son, I'm proud of you, can you sit for a while?" He shook his head and he said with a smile,"What I'd really like, Dad, is to borrow the car keys. See you later, can I have them please?"

I've long since retired, my son's moved away. I called him up just the other day. I said, "I'd like to see you, if you don't mind. "He said, "I'd love to, Dad, if I can find the time. You see, my new job's a hassle, and the kids have the flu, But it's sure nice talkin' to you, Dad, It's been nice talkin' to you."

And as I hung up the phone, It occurred to me, He'd grown up just like me. My boy was just like me.

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon, Little Boy Blue and the man in the moon,"When you comin' home, Son?""I don't know when, but we'll get together then, Dad. We're gonna have a good time then."

The melodrama of this song was played out in Chapin's own life almost like a self-fulfilling prophecy. I have been told that his wife, who wrote the words of the song, asked him one day when he was going to slow down the torrid pace of his life and give some time to their children. His answer was, "At the end of this busy summer, I'll take some time to be with them." That summer, ironically and tragically, Harry Chapin was killed in a car accident.

It is not possible to read that postscript of Chapin's death and miss the larger point; that something was known, believed, and even "preached," but never lived. When we chase manmade crowns and sacrifice the treasured relationships for which God has made us, life loses its meaning.

- quoted from Ravi Zacharias, Can Man Live Without God, (Word, Dallas: 1994), pp. 108-109