Introduction

WE STOOD IN silent awe, sensing God’s presence as shafts of sunlight arrowed through the gracefully arched windows high in the vaulted towers of the vacant abbey. The British countryside was welcoming another summer’s morn as we ambled through the partially restored ruins of this ancient house of worship. Although it was disheveled and dilapidated, a dignity remained that was only a trace of the beauty it had known six centuries before at its dedication.

For two weeks, my wife Anna and I had been probing the corners of Scotland, Wales, and England in our tiny rental car, setting our own pace as we drove from place to place. We slowly grew accustomed to a left-hand-drive roadway system, but the caution and patience required by such unfamiliarity was not expediting our progress. So we chose a leisurely pace, visiting castles and cottages at our whim. Nothing dictated our schedule except that we were supposed to be at Oxford the third week of July. I was to participate in a conference there, studying the phenomenon of Spiritual Awakenings in a seminar under Dr. Edwin Orr’s direction, following which we would return home to Los Angeles.

That summer the whole nation was enjoying a certain regal festivity as the people anticipated the silver anniversary of Elizabeth II’s coronation as Queen. It was amid this prevailing air of rejoicing in royalty that we were introduced to England. Landing in Glasgow, after 10 days of preaching in Denmark, we began our journey—sampling the variety of climates, customs, cuisine, and clothing styles from Inverness to Edinburgh to Llangollen to the Cotswolds. By the time we arrived in London, a special sense of wonder had overtaken us.

Occasionally, I attempted to put into words the emotions I felt as history spoke to me at every turn. Whether we were quietly sitting in a park, reading an engraved plaque antedating us by centuries, strolling beside the Thames, or pushing our way through the crowds shopping at Harrods, an elusive sense of “the grand, the regal, and the noble” caught my imagination and defied my efforts at definition. However, on a side trip we made into Oxfordshire, that definition came by surprise. It included a lesson I hadn’t expected and resulted in a song I hadn’t sought.

It happened the day we drove to Blenheim.

Blenheim Palace is the massive estate built at Queen Anne’s orders in the early 18th century. She presented it to John Churchill, the first duke of Marlborough, in honor of his leadership in the military victories against Spain. Two centuries later, Winston Churchill would be born and raised here, frequently retiring to this site for rest from the rigors of leadership during World War II. It was at Blenheim that he wrote many of his stirring speeches—speeches that inspired the English people to sustain their efforts at staving off Hitler’s Luftwaffe, which was close to suffocating their will to survive.