Ancient and Modern

Lead, kindly Light, amid th’encircling gloom, lead Thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home; lead Thou me on!
Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene; one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou shouldst lead me on;
I loved to choose and see my path; but now lead Thou me on!
I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years!

So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still will lead me on.
O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent, till the night is gone,
And with the morn those angel faces smile, which I
Have loved long since, and lost a while!


The story of how John Henry Newman came to write the words is, I suppose, fairly well known:

Before starting from my inn, I sat down on my bed and began to sob bitterly. My servant, who had acted as my nurse, asked what ailed me. I could only answer, "I have a work to do in England." I was aching to get home, yet for want of a vessel I was kept at Palermo for three weeks. I began to visit the churches, and they calmed my impatience, though I did not attend any services. At last I got off in an orange boat, bound for Marseilles. We were becalmed for whole week in the Straits of Bonifacio, and it was there that I wrote the lines, Lead, Kindly Light, which have since become so well known.

For years, this hymn was That One With More Tunes Than Anything Else In The Hymnbook. For some reason, we never sang it at any of the churches I grew up at. My first encounter with it came when I moved out and started floundering around in the adult world. Ever since then it has been That One That We Sing Just Before Spring That Makes Me Cry.

For years, I have had trouble with depression, particularly in the winter. I remember, back in 2009 and 2010, feeling impossibly stuck, as if I were blundering along a muddy path in thick fog, sure that there must be an easier, more interesting way to get where I was going (wherever that was, which I didn't know), trying to trust that if I only kept putting one foot in front of the other something would emerge from the gloom. The first verse of this hymn encapsulates how it was then, and how it has been from time to time since.

The second verse has never resonated in quite the same way - except for the first line: I was not ever thus, which I have used, in my private journal, as a tag to signify depression-related topics, an it gets better. I was not ever thus, and I will not always be thus.

A slightly perverse rendering of verse 2, perhaps, but look at the third verse, the last line. And with the morn those angel faces smile, which I have loved long since, and lost a while. I do not know what Newman meant by the angel faces. I know what I mean. It's the messengers, the traces of God in creation and in my fellow human beings; and my capacity to notice and appreciate that is implied in I have loved. Depression steals my capacity to love, and usually all I can do is trust that the time will come around again when it lifts. By the end of the hymn I am in floods of tears.

This year, though, I didn't cry. This year I didn't have to. This year I haven't lost any of the angels. This year I have remembered how to love them. Amen.

Christians, awake, salute the happy morn
Whereon the Saviour of the world was born.
Rise to adore the mystery of love
Which hosts of angels chanted from above,
With them the joyful tidings first begun
Of God incarnate and the virgin’s Son.

( Then to the watchful shepherds it was told )



Merry Christmas! I present to you today a fantastic hymn that seems to have slipped somewhat into obscurity. It is the absolute favourite of one of the churchwardens at my old church, who, at every Christmas morning 'turn up and request carols' service, put his hand up for this one. Fans of Just William may recall its strategic use at the beginning of A Busy Day. William's relations are not appreciative - but really, what's not to like? An interesting tune, and (as with so many Christmas pieces) a touching story behind it - John Byrom wrote the words as a Christmas present for his daughter; the original manuscript is headed "Christmas Day for Dolly"

Here's a magnificent set of variations:

The angel Gabriel from Heaven came,
His wings as drifted snow, his eyes as flame;
“All hail,” said he, “thou lowly maiden Mary,
Most highly favoured lady,” Gloria!

( For know a blessèd mother thou shalt be, )



Hands up who was singing, 'Most highly flavoured gravy?' I thought so.

But never mind all that. This paraphrase of Luke 1. 26-38 (and 48) manages to be both concise and vivid, telling the story in a very few words and presenting perhaps the most impressive word-portrait of anyone in hymnody. I am always drawn to the hymns that rely on exciting images, and Sabine Baring-Gould's picture of Gabriel here beats anything you'll see on a Christmas card. I do feel that he rather overplays Mary's meekness, in a way that would be difficult to sustain were he to quote any more of the Magnificat, but that's Victorians for you.

This carol originates in the Basque Birjina gaztetto bat zegoen, collected by Charles Bordes, a French organist, before Baring-Gould wrote the English paraphrase and Edgar Pettman came up with the most well-known arrangement.

Here are some others:

Sting


All Angels


What I couldn't find, rather to my surprise, is a video of this by a parish choir and/or congregation. It seems odd - this is a popular hymn, and deservedly so!

Hark, what a sound, and too divine for hearing,
Stirs on the earth and trembles in the air!
Is it the thunder of the Lord’s appearing?
Is it the music of His people’s prayer?

( Surely He cometh )



Now, here's a wonderful Advent hymn, one that I've only become familiar with over the past few years. This has all the longing, the expectancy, the trust and the waiting of Advent. It tingles with excitement. This one is not about watching but listening - listening for sounds beyond the mortal spectrum, the sounds that you can't hear with your ears but that make the air thrum.

I have to say, though, it's the last verse that gets me. 'Yea, through life, death, through sorrow and through sinning'. It's been a bit of a rough year, and, standing here at the beginning of a new one, it's good for me to look back and look for God in the sorrow and the sinning. And forward: 'he shall suffice me, for he hath sufficed'.

This is adapted from a long poem called "St Paul" (here is the whole thing) - Frederic W. H. Myers, the poet, was one of the founders of the Society For Psychical Research. Richard Runciman Terry, the composer of the tune, was the first Director of Music at Westminster Cathedral.

The tune is fantastic. This is Highwood, a wonderful sweeping melody, soaring upwards, and then falling back to earth with a sigh - that repeated D at the end of the verse, never quite reaching the tonic. Not yet. And the rest in the alto at the beginning of the third line, introducing an all too human note of hesitancy, uncertainty. Surely he cometh. Surely he cometh? It is perfectly imperfect - so very human.

Faithful vigil ended,
watching, waiting cease;
Master, grant your servant
his discharge in peace.

( All the Spirit promised )

Here we are, not even a week late for Candlemas (or the Presentation of Christ in the Temple, or the Purification of the Blessed Virgin Mary, whatever you want to call it). Inevitably, there is one text that is particularly associated with this festival: the Nunc Dimittis.

Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace : according to thy word. For mine eyes have seen : thy salvation, Which thou has prepared : before the face of all Israel, To be a light to lighten the Gentiles : and to be the glory of thy people Israel.

And if this were a blog in which I shared my favourite choral music, we'd be here until next Candlemas. This is, however, the one hymn that particularly sticks out in my mind, and it is something between a metrical version of the Nunc Dimittis, and a commentary on it.

'Faithful vigil ended' makes explicit some of what is implicit in the Nunc - that very first line summarises the context that Luke gives us: Simeon waiting and watching in the temple. These are not just Simeon's words; they carry centuries of Church tradition and interpretation with them. Did Simeon think of it as a faithful vigil? I wonder.

The second half of the first verse perpetuates the common misreading of 'Lord now lettest thou' as a plea rather than a statement ('grant thy servant his discharge'). That is my only gripe, though, and in certain moods it works better for me than the serenity of e.g. 'Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace'. I love the second verse, with two persons of the Trinity named, and the third very present. The third verse is pretty much perfect, and the fourth is a neat twist on the Gloria Patri, which at the same time loops back to the first verse, linking our experience to Simeon's. Timothy Dudley-Smith knew what he was doing.

I could not find a single video of this hymn on YouTube. This surprised me. I'm afraid that the best I can do is this one, which is at least the right tune, Pastor Pastorum:



Or, if you like, there is a MIDI file over at Oremus, and you can sing along. Since it's quite a short one, you will probably get through all four verses before the horrible MIDI sound drives you to distraction.

Hail to the Lord’s anointed, great David’s greater Son!
Hail in the time appointed, His reign on earth begun!
He comes to break oppression, to set the captive free;
To take away transgression and rule in equity.

( He comes in succour speedy )


I think I can safely say that I have never sung all the verses listed above. Moreover, I have sung parts of some of the verses listed above, joined with other parts of other verses listed above. Such is the fate of long hymns. A pity - I rather feel that I've missed out, being deprived of that lovely verse about the moons and stars, not to mention the eagle's pinion and the dove's light wing, for the past twenty odd years. That said, I'm not sure that rhyming 'sown' with 'Lebanon' is really convincing.

Perhaps because of the cuts, or, more likely, because I can be a bit dim sometimes, I failed to notice that this is a paraphrase of Psalm 72 ('Give the king thy judgements, O God...'). It's not like we're singing that tonight or anything... Had you asked me, I'd probably have told you it was a bit of Isaiah. Now I've looked, of course, it's perfectly obvious that it's Psalm 72.

The site formally known as CyberHymnal tells us that Hail to the Lord's Anointed "was writ­ten as a Christ­mas hymn and was first sung on Christ­mas Day, 1821, at a great con­vo­ca­tion of the Mo­ra­vi­ans in their set­tle­ment at Ful­neck. At a Wes­ley­an mis­sion­a­ry meet­ing, held in Li­ver­pool on Ap­ril 14 of the fol­low­ing year, 1822, when Doc­tor Adam Clarke pre­sid­ed, Mont­gom­ery made an ad­dress and closed it by the re­cit­al of this hymn with all of its verses…Doc­tor Clarke lat­er used it in his fa­mous Com­ment­a­ry in con­nect­ion with his dis­cuss­ion of the Se­ven­ty-se­cond Psalm."

Since then, it has slipped back in the hymnal, and is currently located either in 'Epiphany' or 'From Epiphany to Lent'. (Of course, in some books you'll just find it under H.) I also found a YouTube video that thinks it's an Advent hymn. Versatile, that's what it is. I think it works well for the Sundays after Epiphany: you get the Kings of Tarsis and the isles bringing their presents, but you also get the beginning of Jesus' ministry. (Thinking about it, that's where I got the Isaiah idea from: the second half of the first verse is very much like Luke 4:18, which quotes Isaiah 61:1.)

Hail to the Lord's Anointed has collected a wonderful derangement of tunes. Here is the one I know, Crüger, played by the ever reliable PipeOrganHymnsG0OJF (reaches the tunes other videos won't touch!)



Ellacombe, a logical choice, though rather out of tune here, unfortunately:


And two for curiosity value. Why, yes, this is better known to me as The British Grenadiers (with a tow row, tow row, tow row!)


I don't know the name of this tune, if, indeed, it has one. It involves banjos:

Wake, O wake! with tidings thrilling
The watchmen all the air are filling,
Arise, Jerusalem, arise!
Midnight strikes! no more delaying,
'The hour has come!' we hear them saying.
Where are ye all, ye virgins wise?
The Bridegroom comes in sight,
Raise high your torches bright!
Alleluia!
The wedding song
Swells loud and strong:
Go forth and join the festal throng.

Sion hears the watchmen shouting,
Her heart leaps up with joy undoubting,
She stands and waits with eager eyes;
See her Friend from heaven descending,
Adorned with truth and grace unending!
Her light burns clear, her star doth rise.
Now come, thou precious Crown,
Lord Jesu, God's own Son!
Hosanna!
Let us prepare
To follow there,
Where in thy supper we may share.

Every soul in thee rejoices;
From men and from angelic voices
Be glory given to thee alone!
Now the gates of pearl receive us,
Thy presence never more shall leave us,
We stand with Angels round thy throne.
Earth cannot give below
The bliss thou dost bestow.
Alleluia!
Grant us to raise,
To length of days
The triumph-chorus of thy praise.

Wake up! Advent begins with a bang. After all that shilly-shallying about at the end fo the Church year, twenty-something Sundays after Trinity, and with the days drawing in, it is understandable if we have become a bit sleepy. Personally, I have spent the last five days in bed with the flu. I will not be singing this evening, which is sad - so I thought I'd share one of the things I won't be singing.

There is a lot of waking up in the Bible. The watchman, patrolling the city wall, ever vigilant. Wake up, O sleeper, and rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you, says Paul. Here, whatever time it got dark, morning is coming more quickly than think.

Here, the specific reference is to the parable of the wise and foolish virgins in Matthew's gospel - though no mention is made of the foolish ones. The bridegroom is coming, and the whole city is coming out to welcome him. Nicolai knew what he was doing. This is a vivid picture: the city's night lit up by the torchlit procession, the solemnity and joy of the wedding party.

The potentially awkward transition from the individual (as the bridesmaid who should be ready) to the Church as a whole (as the bride) is glossed over. The Church is transformed by Christ's love, and everyone is invited to the wedding feast.

The music, of course, is wonderful. Nicolai wrote the melody; Bach harmonised it; the result is a beautiful, stately piece that is a joy to sing no matter which part you're covering. I don't think I can say more than that - except that Bach's chorale prelude is also gorgeous, and I particularly like the arrangement that the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra play below, with the waking notes of the horn breaking through the busy, sleepy world of the strings.

Alleluia!

With the alternative text, beginning 'Sleepers wake! a voice is calling'


An organist's improvisation:


And the Royal Philharmonic Orchestra at the Proms:

I bind unto myself today
The strong Name of the Trinity,
By invocation of the same
The Three in One and One in Three.

( I bind this today to me forever )



A magnificent hymn, this, and really the first choice for Trinity Sunday. I used to have a copy printed out and blu-tacked to my wardrobe. Saint Patrick, of course, is meant to have explained the concept of the Trinity using the shamrock as a visual aid (three leaves, one stalk). Whether he actually wrote the Old Irish original of this hymn is debateable - scholarship puts it about three centuries later - but the singer is someone who is particularly well aware of their place in the cosmos, in the Church, and in space and time.

The saint starts and ends with the Trinity, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. We do not learn a huge amount about the doctrine of the Trinity, but the knowledge of the threeness of the oneness resonates through the length of the hymn. Along the way, Patrick (or his anonymous successor) invokes the events of Christ's life, the communion of the faithful in earth and heaven, the wonders of nature and the power of God against the forces of evil. (The verses that deal in detail with the forces of evil tend to be the ones that get omitted.) It is a picture of the universe in seven minutes; the scale is impressive.

In terms of performance, this is a particularly long and complicated hymn - 'Hail thee, Festival Day' is the only one I can think of to touch it in the league of length and number of tunes needed to sing it properly - but, done well, it has a marvellous solemnity and grandeur about it. Cecil Frances Alexander's metrical rendering of the translation is magnificent - powerful and dignified, not to mention an impressive week's work:

I wrote to her sug­gest­ing that she should fill a gap in our Irish Church Hymn­al by giv­ing us a me­tric­al ver­sion of St. Patrick’s “Lor­i­ca” and I sent her a care­ful­ly col­lat­ed co­py of the best prose trans­la­tions of it. With­in a week she sent me that ex­qui­site­ly beau­ti­ful as well as faith­ful ver­sion which ap­pears in the ap­pend­ix to our Church Hymn­al. - H. H. Dick­in­son, Dean of the Cha­pel Roy­al at Dub­lin Cas­tle

'St Patrick', the main tune, to which the verses that begin 'I bind unto myself...' are set, is a melody from the Petrie collection of Irish music, edited by Charles Villiers Stanford. Towards the end, 'Christ be with me, Christ within me' refuses to fit St Patrick comfortably, though it remains in double long metre, and another tune has to be slotted in. I haven't yet worked out what Brother Alphonsus Mary is singing at that point; I have always heard Gartan, again from the Petrie collection:

(warning: images in this video change very fast)


One of the best hymns in the book.

Stand up, stand up, for Jesus,
ye soldiers of the cross;
lift high his royal banner,
it must not suffer loss:
from victory unto victory
his army shall he lead,
till every foe is vanquished
and Christ is Lord indeed.

( Stand up, stand up, for Jesus )



Here's a Victorian gem. And, like many (though by no means all) Victorian gems, it leaves me feeling vaguely guilty for enjoying it as much as I do. One oughtn't really, one feels, enjoy such military metaphors, particularly when one is more or less a pacifist. Still less should one find them useful. It's not really fashionable to think of oneself as a 'soldier of the cross' - and certainly I would hardly describe myself as that to anyone in day-to-day conversation.

I must admit that I've never sung the second verse - perhaps because I am not a man? I've never even seen it printed, but it's wonderful what you can find on the internet. Never mind.

Perhaps it's just that it's such a fantastic tune? Well, perhaps. George Webb did good. Here is a brass ensemble, also enjoying it hugely.



And an organist:



It's partly that. But, singing the rather sissy words with which Hymns Old and New has replaced George Duffield's original, I don't find myself moved in quite the same way. They're good, I'll admit. Jean Holloway has turned out some convincing lyrics:

Stand up, stand up for Jesus,
stand up before his cross,
an instrument of torture
inflicting pain and loss;
transformed by his obedience
to God's redeeming plan,
the cross was overpowered
by Christ, both God and man.

They add something. They add a lot. But, all the same, I don't want to take away the centuries' worth of imagery that Duffield draws upon. Most of this is older than 'muscular Christianity'. I don't want to relinquish the cross as the royal banner or the Gospel armour.

I do find the battle metaphor helpful, particularly when it comes to the battles within me. Pacifist I may be; I've never thought that violence solves anything - but there's something about this that works.

It rather depends on who you think of as your 'foes'. If real people, then yes, this is probably not a very Christian take on the matter. But if they are selfishness, fear, gossip, and cowardice (to name a few of my own), the belt of truth, helmet of salvation and sword of the spirit prove to be a useful way of thinking about things. In this spirit it is entirely appropriate to stand up before the cross.

And that's the spirit in which I take this hymn.

Lo! he comes, with clouds descending,
once for favoured sinners slain;
thousand thousand saints attending
swell the triumph of his train:
Alleluia! alleluia! alleluia!
Christ the Lord returns to reign.

( Every eye shall now behold him )





This, to my mind, is one of the most fantastic Advent hymns there is. For sheer joy, glory and terror there is nothing to touch it. Of the two themes that this season holds in tension, this is very much 'Advent as a season preparing for the Last Judgement'. The last line of verse 1 makes this particularly clear. In some versions this is 'Christ appears on earth to reign'. In this one, 'Christ returns'. This is the Second Coming, and it is going to be awesome. Literally.

'When Christ comes, he will bring to light the things hidden in darkness'. I sometimes wonder if all the Last Judgement means is that reality will become particularly clear: we will see things as they really are. That would be pretty terrifying. Skeletons released from cupboards, carpets turned back to show what has been swept under them. To be seen as we are - and to know fully what that means for our self-perception - terrifying, exhilarating. And we, who crucify him daily through lack of love - the wailing will be widespread, I fear.

And then there is the other side of it. What is terrifying is also glorious; what is ghastly is a mark of love. Visible evidence. 'Rich wounds', says another hymn; 'glorious scars', says this, as if they were battle wounds. A strange battle, fought long ago, and now.

The hymn seems to make a distinction between the saved, who exult, and the rest of us, who wail. I find myself doing both. I can gaze with rapture for five minutes in the twenty-four hours; I can't keep it up for the rest of it. If the saints are in the air, I am bumping along in an undignified manner, half up and half down.

The last verse says, Bring it on. There's a version in which the 'Alleluias' are replaced by 'O, come quickly'. Come, Lord, and sort it out. We are terrified, but trusting.



No doubt I have used the Wrong Words above. I have sung several versions in our time. 'Favoured sinners'. 'Mortal sinners'. 'Our salvation'. There is probably no such thing as the Right Words: John Cennick wrote it, Charles Wesley mucked about with it, and then Martin Madan mucked about with it further. Goodness knows if anyone would recognise Cennick's original, or, indeed, what Cennick would think of all the versions floating around today.

The tune is equally stupendous: 'Helmsley', included in Wesley's 'Select Hymns', and so presumably paired with these words from very early on. Long lines, gorgeous harmony, and a really good sing, the sort that takes effort. It deserves it.