1725, was, according to local testimony, "the worst boy known in all
that country, for thirty years." It is more charitable to say that he
was a poor fellow who had no friends. Left an orphan at five years of
age, he was passed from one relative to another until all were tired of
him, and he was "bound out" to a shoemaker. Almost inevitably the
neglected lad grew up wicked, for no one appeared to care for his habits
and morals, and as he sank lower in the various vices encouraged by bad
company, there were more kicks for him than helping hands. At the age of
eighteen his reputation in the town had become so unsavory that he was
forced to shift for himself elsewhere.

Providence led him, when shabby and penniless, to the old seaport town
of Bristol, where Whitefield was at that time preaching,[4] and there
the young sinner heard the divine message that lifted him to his feet.

[Footnote 4: Whitefield's text was, "Is not this a brand plucked out of
the fire?" Zach. 3:2.]

"When that sermon began," he said, "I was one of the most abandoned and
profligate young men living; before it ended I was a new creature. The
world was all changed for Tom Olivers."

His new life, thus begun, lasted on earth more than sixty useful years.
He left a shining record as a preacher of righteousness, and died in the
triumphs of faith, November, 1799. Before he passed away he saw at least
thirty editions of his hymn published, but the soul-music it has
awakened among the spiritual children of Abraham can only reach him in
heaven. Some of its words have been the last earthly song of many, as
they were of the eminent Methodist theologian, Richard Watson--