Thomas A. Dorsey knew what it meant to find God’s presence even in the worst of times. Dorsey is the composer of the world’s best-known Gospel song — just one week after he experienced two personal tragedies.
In August 1932, Dorsey was scheduled to be the feature soloist at religious services in St. Louis. Because his wife Nettie was pregnant, Dorsey had reservations about leaving her behind. “Something was strongly telling me to stay,” he recalls. Yet, commitments had been made and he knew people in St. Louis would be disappointed if he canceled. So Tom Dorsey left for the revival service. During the performance the next night in the steaming St. Louis heat, a messenger from Western Union approached Dorsey on the stage with a telegram. Puzzled, Dorsey opened the envelope and read the four devastating words: “Your wife just died.” He rushed to a phone and called home, only to hear it confirmed: “Nettie is dead.”
Dorsey quickly returned to Chicago. There he learned that just before his wife died she had given birth to a boy. Later that night, the baby died. Dorsey now had to deal with two losses, two funerals. “I buried Nettie and our boy in the same casket,” he says. “Then I fell apart.”
During this painful time, one of Dorsey’s friends made arrangements for him to use a local music school’s piano. There, alone with his thoughts and a piano, Dorsey describes what happened: “I sat down at the piano and my hands began to browse over the keys. Then something happened. I felt as though I could reach out and touch God. I found myself playing a melody, one I’d never heard or played before, and words came into my head — they just seemed to fall into place: `Precious Lord, take my hand,/Lead me on, let me stand,/I am tired, I am weak, I am worn,/ Through the storm, through the night/Lead me on to the light,/Take my hand, precious Lord,/Lead me home.'”
Dorsey would recover from his losses. He would go on to write and compose more than 400 gospel songs, including, “We Will Meet Him in the Sweet By and By,” “Stand By Me,” and “There’ll Be Peace.” But it was “Precious Lord” that established Tom Dorsey as the architect of Gospel music, and it endeared him to people around the globe. Tom Dorsey knew that God was with him — even in the worst of times.
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CATHOLIC DIGEST, Feb. 92, p. 65-66.
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Another version from Fredericksburg Bible Illustrator Supplements:
Thomas Andrew Dorsey was a black jazz musician from Atlanta. In the twenties he gained a certain amount of notoriety as the composer of jazz tunes with suggestive lyrics, but he gave all that up in 1926 to concentrate exclusively on spiritual music. “Peace in the Valley” is one of his best known songs, but there is a story behind his most famous song that deserves to be told.
In 1932 the times were hard for Dorsey. Just trying to survive the depression years as a working musician meant tough sledding. On top of that, his music was not accepted by many people. Some said it was much too worldly – the devil’s music, they called it. Many years later Dorsey could laugh about it. He said, “I got kicked out of some of the best churches in the land.” But the real kick in the teeth came one night in St. Louis when he received a telegram informing him that his pregnant wife had died suddenly.
Dorsey was so filled with grief that his faith was shaken to the roots, but instead of wallowing in self-pity, he turned to the discipline he knew best-music. In the midst of agony he wrote the following lyrics:
Precious Lord, take my hand,
Lead me on, let me stand.
I am tired, I am weak, I am worn.
Through the storm, through the night,
Lead me on to the light;
Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home.
If you live long enough, you will experience heartache, disappointment, and sheer helplessness. The Lord is our most precious resource in those hours of trauma. “The Lord is a refuge for the oppressed, a stronghold in times of trouble (Psalm 9:9). Tom Dorsey understood that. His song was originally written as a way of coping with his personal pain, but even today it continues to bless thousands of others when they pass through times of hardship.
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In Dorsey’s own words:
“PRECIOUS LORD”
Back in 1932, I was 32 years old and a fairly new husband. My wife, Nettie and I were living in a little apartment on Chicago’s Southside. One hot August afternoon I had to go to St. Louis, where I was to be the featured soloist at a large revival meeting. I didn’t want to go. Nettie was in the last month of pregnancy with our first child. But a lot of people were expecting me in St. Louis. I kissed Nettie good-bye, clattered downstairs to our Model A and, in a fresh Lake Michigan breeze, chugged out of Chicago on Route 66.
However, outside the city, I discovered that in my anxiety at leaving, I had forgotten my music case. I wheeled around and headed back. I found Nettie sleeping peacefully. I hesitated by her bed; something was strongly telling me to stay. But eager to get on my way, and not wanting to disturb Nettie, I shrugged offthe feeling and quietly slipped out of the room with my music.
The next night, in the steaming St. Louis heat, the crowd called on me to sing again and again. When I finally sat down, a messenger boy ran up with a Western Union telegram. I ripped open the envelope. Pasted on the yellow sheet were the words: YOUR WIFE JUST DIED.
People were happily singing and clapping around me, but I could hardly keep from crying out. I rushed to a phone and called home. All I could hear on the other end was “Nettie is dead. Nettie is dead.”
When I got back, I learned that Nettie had given birth to a boy. I swung between grief and joy. Yet that night, the baby died. I buried Nettie and our little boy together, in the same casket. Then I fell apart. For days I closeted myself. I felt that God had done me an injustice. I didn’t want to serve Him any more or write gospel songs. I just wanted to go back to that jazz world I once knew so well. But then, as I hunched alone in that dark apartment those first sad days, I thought back to the afternoon I went to St. Louis. Something kept telling me to stay with Nettie. Was that something God? Oh, if I had paid more attention to Him that day, I would have stayed and been with Nettie when she died.
From that moment on I vowed to listen more closely to Him. But still I was lost in grief. Everyone was kind to me, especially a friend, Professor Fry, who seemed to know what I needed. On the following Saturday evening he took me up to Malone’s Poro College, a neighborhood music school. It was quiet; the late evening sun crept through the curtained windows. I sat down at the piano, and my hands began to browse over the keys. Something happened to me then. I felt at peace. I felt as though I could reach out and touch God. I found myself playing a melody, once into my head they just seemed to fall into place:
Precious Lord, take my hand, lead me on, let me stand!
I am tired, I am weak, I am worn,
Through the storm, through the night, lead me on to the light,
Take my hand, precious Lord, Lead me home.
The Lord gave me these words and melody, He also healed my spirit. I learned that when we are in our deepest grief, when we feel farthest from God, this is when He is closest, and when we are most open to His restoring power. And so I go on living for God willingly and joyfully, until that day comes when He will take me and gently lead me home.
– Tommy Dorsey