1877–1953

Introduction

Born: Jan­ua­ry 8, 1877, Vin­cennes, In­di­ana.

Biography

Thomas was the son of Dis­ci­ples of Christ min­is­ter Tho­mas Jef­fer­son Clark, and hus­band of Ha­zel Da­vis.

He gra­du­at­ed from In­di­ana Uni­ver­si­ty (AB 1899) and did post­gra­du­ate work at the Uni­ver­si­ty of Chi­ca­go (1901–02).

After col­lege, he taught high school in Wash­ing­ton, In­di­ana, was a sing­ing ev­an­gel­ist, and worked in the pi­ano bu­si­ness.

He lat­er worked as an as­sist­ant ed­it­or of church school li­te­ra­ture at the Chris­tian Board of Pub­li­ca­tion in St. Lou­is, Mis­sou­ri (1906–11), and on the ed­it­or­ial staff of the Chris­tian Cen­tu­ry in Chi­ca­go (1912–48).

In 1919, he be­gan ed­it­ing the Chris­tian Cen­tu­ry Quar­ter­ly. In 1929, he joined the edi­to­rial staff of The Chris­tian Cen­tu­ry Pul­pit.

In 1943, he won first prize in the Hymn So­ci­ety of Am­eri­ca’s na­tion­wide con­test with his Thou Fa­ther of Us All.

Clark wrote of his re­li­gious po­et­ry:

It was my fa­ther’s wish that I en­ter the min­is­try, but when I en­tered re­li­gious pub­lish­ing he was gra­ti­fied.

In my po­ems I have simp­ly put in­to verse the Chris­tian con­vict­ions that were bred in me through twen­ty years of list­en­ing to his preach­ing. Every po­em I have wri­tten has been in­spired by deep faith and con­fi­dence.

I take no cre­dit, for it has been his voice speak­ing in all my writ­ing. Dur­ing all my years with him, I ne­ver heard one ex­press­ion of doubt that God’s will would fi­nal­ly pre­vail.

My mo­ther, still liv­ing at 88 in In­di­an­apo­lis, [In­di­ana], is a Chris­tian of bound­less faith and op­ti­mism. My wife [Ha­zel née Da­vis] is the most de­vot­ed Chris­tian I have ev­er known.

Works

Poem

The Night of Sorrow

The stars have vanished from the midnight sky;
A death-like hush enfolds the earth and sea;
And on the wind tonight I hear the cry
That echoed once from cruel Calvary.

In countless towns they crucify the Lord,
The Prince of Life devote to death and shame;
They scorn His rod of love and raise the sword,
And scourge the Christian lands with Christian flame.

The swollen waves are red with human blood;
The sod is reeking with the nations’ tears;
The world is steeped in sorrow, for a flood
Of wrath and woe has fallen on our years.

Thou Christ of God, we kneel before Thy cross;
Our path is dark—Thou art the only Way.
Oh, grant us strength to bear this grief and loss
And lead us forth again into the day.

The world that turned from Thee must seek again
Thy love, Thy mercy, and Thy wondrous peace;
The hosts that tread the wilderness of pain
Must hail Thee Shepherd ere their woes shall cease.

O great Physician, Thou alone canst heal;
O mighty Savior, only Thou canst save;
Forgive our sin, turn not from our appeal:
Reach forth Thy hand and lift us from the grave.

Thomas Curtis Clark
Love Off to the War, 1918

Sources

Lyrics

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