O For A Thousand Tongues To Sing

O For A Thousand Tongues To Sing is a Christian hymn written by Charles Wesley. Charles Wesley wrote over 6,000 hymns, many of which were subsequently reprinted, frequently with alterations, in hymnals, particularly those of Methodist Churches.

Charles Wesley was suffering a bout of pleurisy in May, 1738, while he and his brother were studying under the Moravian scholar Peter Böhler in London. At the time, Wesley was plagued by extreme doubts about his faith. Taken to bed with the sickness on May 21 Wesley was attended by a group of Christians who offered him testimony and basic care, and he was deeply affected by this. He read from his Bible and found himself deeply affected by the words, and at peace with God. Shortly his strength began to return. He wrote of this experience in his journal and counted it as a renewal of his faith; when his brother John had a similar experience on the 24th, the two men met and sang a hymn Wesley had written in praise of his renewal.

One year from the experience, Wesley was taken with the urge to write another hymn, this one in commemoration of his renewal of faith. This hymn took the form of an 18-stanza poem, beginning with the opening lines 'Glory to God, and praise, and love,/Be ever, ever given' and was published in 1740 and entitled 'For the anniversary day of one's conversion'. The seventh verse, which begins, 'O For A Thousand Tongues To Sing', and which now is invariably the first verse of a shorter hymn recalls the words of Peter Böhler who said, 'Had I a thousand tongues I would praise Him with them all.' The hymn was placed first in John Wesley's A Collection of Hymns for the People Called Methodists published in 1780. It appeared first in every (Wesleyan) Methodist hymnal from that time until the publication of Hymns and Psalms in 1983.

Read more about O For A Thousand Tongues To Sing:  Current Versions, Original Lyrics, Tunes

Famous quotes containing the words thousand, tongues and/or sing:

    The whimsicalness of our own humor is a thousand times more fickle and unaccountable than what we blame so much in fortune.
    François, Duc De La Rochefoucauld (1613–1680)

    They say the tongues of dying men
    Enforce attention like deep harmony.
    Where words are scarce, they are seldom spent in vain,
    For they breathe truth that breathe their words in pain.
    William Shakespeare (1564–1616)

    But could a dream send up through onion fumes
    Its white and violet, fight with fried potatoes
    And yesterday’s garbage ripening in the hall,
    Flutter, or sing an aria down these rooms
    Even if we were willing to let it in,
    Gwendolyn Brooks (b. 1917)