“(The hymn) was composed with extreme rapidity; it seemed to me that its construction occupied only a few minutes, and I felt myself rather in the position of one who was being dictated to than of an original artist suffering from extreme mental distress, and the hymn was the fruit of pain."
George Matheson admitted to this shortly after penning this beloved hymn. The 19th century preacher and hymn writer felt that the Holy Spirit had impressed the lyrics on his heart, and he was merely the conduit of them.
Born in Scotland in 1842, Matheson was just a teenager when his failing eyesight took a sharp downward turn. As he followed his dream of a career in Christian ministry through graduate studies, his sight gave out completely and he became totally blind. He faced further trauma when his fiance’ rejected him at the last moment and broke their engagement rather than live with a blind man. When his sister became engaged, he shared in her joy, but his heart broke again remembering the searing pain of his own rejection. He later wrote that he was consoled by the thought of God’s love: limitless, unconditional, always there, and completely certain. Out of that promise he wrote the words to O Love that Will Not Let Me Go on June 6, 1882.
As he continued his ministry as a pastor in the Scottish village of Innellan, congregational attendance was often low, and one wintry night there was almost no one present for the service. Dejected but unflappable, Matheson delivered a powerful sermon to the mostly empty pews. Little did he know that one of the attendees was a visitor from the large church in Edinburgh, St. Bernards, which was currently seeking a pastor. Matheson was invited to interview for the position and consequently was called to St. Bernards in 1886 where he became one of Scotland’s favorite preachers. He later wrote about this unique blessing bestowed on him:
“Make every occasion a great occasion, you can never tell when somebody may be taking your measure for a larger place.”
O Love that Will Not Let Me Go
O Love that wilt not let me go, I rest my weary soul in thee;
I give thee back the life I owe, that in thine ocean depths its flow may richer, fuller be.
O Light that follow'st all my way, I yield my flick'ring torch to thee;
My heart restores its borrowed ray, that in thy sunshine's blaze its day may brighter, fairer be.
O Joy that seekest me through pain, I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow thro' the rain, and feel the promise is not vain that morn shall tearless be.
O Cross that liftest up my head, I dare not ask to fly from thee;
I lay in dust life's glory dead, and from the ground there blossoms red, life that shall endless be.