REV. ROWLAND HILL, one of the celebrated evangelical preachers of England was born at Hawkstone Park, Shropshire, 23rd August, 1744, and died at London 11th April, 1833. He was educated at Eton and St. John’s College, Cambridge, where he came under the influence of the Methodists. His zeal in preaching the gospel accompanied as it was with a dash of eccentricity soon made him a marked figure. For preaching in the open air in and around Cambridge without licence he was opposed by the authorities and frequently assaulted by mobs. He was refused ordination by six bishops but finally he was ordained by the Bishop of Bath and Wells to the curacy of Kingston, Somersetshire. Not only did he meet with opposition from outsiders but his own father, Sir Rowland Hill, Bart., strongly opposed him and forbade him preaching near his residence. A pious sister, however, and his brother, afterwards Sir John Hill, who were like-minded with him gave him their support. When his father died, Rowland, was heir to the baronetcy and estate but he renounced these on behalf of his brother, John. From a legacy left him by his father he built Surrey Chapel, London, in 1783. Here he preached to immense audiences till his death. Attached to the Chapel there were thirteen Sabbath Schools with an enrolment of 3000 children. Rowland Hill visited Scotland and Ireland and wherever he went he drew immense crowds. His eccentricities, no doubt, have not been lessened in the telling but behind them all there was a deep seriousness in preaching the everlasting gospel. “I may,” he said on one occasion in answer to a charge made against his style of preaching, “sometimes forget my subject but I never forget my object in preaching.” The incident referred to in the verses succeeding this sketch occurred according to report while he was preaching in the open air in Moorfields, London, where a vast concourse of people had gathered. His text was Song of Solomon, i. 5: “I am black but comely.” While discoursing on these words it so happened that Lady Ann Erskine in a coach corresponding with her high position passed the way. Seeing the multitude she asked one of her attendants the cause of such crowds. She was informed that it was to hear Rowland Hill. Pausing in his discourse and raising his voice the impassioned preacher said: “My brethren, I am going to hold an auction and I crave your attention.” Then to their amazement he announced that it was a Lady that was to be put up for sale and that there were three bidders for her soul—the world, the devil, and the Lord Jesus. Lady Ann never forgot the preacher’s appeal so strangely and unexpectedly made. She afterwards was associated with the worthy Lady Huntingdon in her religious enterprises.
The Three Bidders. An incident in the life of Rev. Rowland Hill. The poet takes certain liberties in describing the incident and allows his imagination a little too much play perhaps but the gist of what took place is told in an interesting way.
Will you listen, friends, for a moment,
While a story I unfold;
A marvellous tale of a wonderful sale
Of a noble lady of old:—
How hand and heart, at an auction mart,
Soul and body, she was sold.
‘Twas in the broad king’s highway,
Near a century ago,
That a preacher stood,—though of noble blood,
Telling the fallen and low
Of a Saviour’s love, and a home above,
And a peace that they all might know.
All crowded around to listen;
They wept at the wond’rous love,
That could wash their sin, and receive them
In His spotless mansions above:—
While slow through the crowd, a lady proud
In her gilded chariot drove.
“Make room,” cried the haughty outrider,
“You are closing the king’s highway;
My lady is late, and their Majesties wait,
Give way, good people, I pray.”
The preacher heard, his soul was stirred,
And he cried to the rider, “Nay.”
His eye like lightning flashes;
His voice like a trumpet rings.
“Your grand fête days, and your fashions and ways
Are all but perishing things.
‘Tis the king’s highway, but I hold it to-day
In the name of the King of kings.”
Then,—bending his gaze on the lady,
And marking her soft eye fall,—
“And now in His name, a sale I proclaim,
And bids for this fair lady call.
Who will purchase the whole—her body and soul,
Coronet, jewels, and all?”
“ I see already three bidders,—
The World steps up as the first,
‘ I will give her my treasures, and all the pleasures
For which my votaries thirst;
She shall dance each day more joyous and gay,
With a quiet grave at the worst.’
“ But out spake the Devil, boldly :
‘ The kingdoms of earth are mine.
Fair lady, thy name, with an envied fame,
On their brightest tablets shall shine;
Only give me thy soul, and I give thee the whole,
Their glory and wealth to be thine.’
“ And pray what hast Thou to offer,
Thou Man of Sorrows unknown?
And He gently said, ‘ My blood I have shed,
To purchase her for mine own.
To conquer the grave, and her soul to save,
I trod the winepress alone.
“ I will give her My cross of suffering,
My cup of sorrow, to share;
But with endless love, in My home above,
All shall be righted there :
She shall walk in light, in a robe of white,
And a radiant crown shall wear.”
“ Thou hast heard the terms, fair lady,
That each hath offered for thee.
Which wilt thou choose, and which wilt thou lose,
This life, or the life to be?
The fable was mine, but the choice is yet thine,
Sweet lady, which of the three?”
She took from her hands the jewels,
The coronet from her brow;
“Lord Jesus,” she said, as she bowed her head,
“The highest bidder art Thou,
Thou gav’st for my sake Thy life, and
I take Thy offer—and take it now.”
“Amen,” said the noble preacher;
And the people wept aloud.
Years have rolled on—and they all have gone
Who formed that awe-struck crowd.
Lady and throng have been swept along
On the wind like a morning cloud.
But the Saviour has claimed His purchase,
And around His radiant seat,
A mightier throng, in a joyful song,
The wond’rous story repeat;
And a form more fair is bending there,
Laying her crown at His feet.