Part 4

From the beginning, day of days, Set apart for holy praise, When He bade the willing earth All its hidden stores bring forth, When He made the shining heaven, Then to man this day was given.

On this day the Son of God Left His three days’ dark abode, In the greatness of His might Rising to the upper light. On this day the Church puts on Glory, beauty, robe, and crown.

On this day of days, the Lord, Faithful to His ancient word, On His burning chariot borne, Shall in majesty return. King of kings, He comes in might, From His heavenly home of light,

To His own Jerusalem, Old Judea’s brightest gem; To the hill of Jebus, see, King Messiah, cometh He; With His cross to bless and save, With His cross to spoil the grave.

Earth is fleeing, fleeing fast, And its beauty fades at last; O belovèd, then, awake, Bonds of carnal slumber break; Wake, belovèd, watch and pray While remains one hour of day!

Death, it cometh; oh beware! Judgement cometh; oh prepare! Steadfast, steadfast let us stand, For the Judge is nigh at hand: Steadfast let us rest each night, Steadfast wake at morning light.

Glory, glory, glory be, Gracious God and Lord, to Thee! To the Father and the Son, To the Spirit, Three in One: Thus we now Thy mercy praise, Thus through everlasting days.

In the new and revised edition of _Church Hymns_, there is a translation by the Rev. R. M. Moorsom of an anonymous Syriac hymn, which is one of two placed under the heading, ‘The National Church.’

His the glory, His the honour, High and low, recount His praise; Tell it out among the nations, How the Christ in ancient days Left His home, His Father’s side, Sought, and found, and won His Bride.

In the far-off land He found her, And she gave to Him her heart, For His love is everlasting, That nor life nor death can part; There, to win her troth, He died, There, for her, was crucified.

Oh, our King! fulfil Thy promise, Bring her where no taint of sin, Where no sadness and no blemish, Where no stain can enter in; Keep her ever at Thy side, Bring her home, Thy faithful Bride.

Perfect then, Thy new creation, With the grace that shall endure, E’en amid temptation growing Still more stately and more pure; Till by sorrow sanctified, She becomes Thy holy Bride.

Peace be hers within her temples; Strength be hers, her walls to guard; May her holiness and beauty By no evil thing be marred; Through all peril, Saviour, guide To Thy heaven Thy crownèd Bride.

2. _Greek._—What is often called the first Christian hymn is found in the _Paedagogus_, or _Tutor_, of St. Clement of Alexandria (d. _cir._ 212). It has been translated into English by many writers. Dean Plumptre’s version is the best known. At the end of his treatise Clement ‘burst out into a kind of choral, dithyrambic ode, in anapæstic metre, the lines very short and abrupt, and the whole being more exclamatory and fervid than most later hymns.’

Curb for the stubborn steed, Making its will give heed; Wing that directest right The wild bird’s wandering flight; Helm for the ships that keep Their pathway o’er the deep; Shepherd of sheep that own Their Master on the throne, Stir up Thy children meek, With guileless lips to speak, In hymn and song, Thy praise, Guide of their infant ways. O King of saints, O Lord, Mighty all-conquering Word; Son of the Highest God, Wielding His wisdom’s rod; Our stay when cares annoy, Giver of endless joy; Of all our mortal race, Saviour, of boundless grace, O Jesus, hear!

Shepherd and Sower Thou, Now helm, and bridle now, Wing for the heavenward flight Of flock all pure and bright, Fisher of men, the blest Out of the world’s unrest, Out of sin’s troubled sea, Taking us, Lord, to Thee; Out of the waves of strife, With bait of blissful life, With choicest fish, good store, Drawing Thy nets to shore. Lead us, O Shepherd true, Thy mystic sheep, we sue, Lead us, O holy Lord, Who from Thy sons dost ward, With all prevailing charm, Peril, and curse, and harm; O path where Christ hath trod, O way that leads to God! O Word, abiding aye, O endless Light on high, Mercy’s fresh-springing flood, Worker of all things good, O glorious Life of all That on their Maker call, Christ Jesus, hear!

. . . . .

Our holy tribute this, For wisdom, life, and bliss, Singing in chorus meet, Singing in concert sweet, The Almighty’s Son. We, heirs of peace unpriced, We, who are born in Christ, A people pure from stain, Praise we our God again, Lord of our Peace!

I must add one other hymn, though it has been often translated, and is found in several modern hymn-books. There is a pretty little version in Longfellow’s _Golden Legend_, but the best is Keble’s fine rendering published in the _Lyra Apostolica_. It is a hymn for eventide, and was sung at ‘The Lighting of the Lamps.’ It has been sung at vespers in the Greek Church for many centuries, and is still in daily use.

Φῶς ἱλαρὸν ἁγίας δόξης ἀθανάτου Πατρός οὐρανίου, ἁγίου, µάκαρος, Ἰησοῦ Χριστέ, ἐλθόντες ἐπὶ τοῦ ἡλίου δύσιν, ἰδόντες φῶς ἑσπερινόν, ὑµνοῦµεν Πατέρα, καὶ Υἱόν, καὶ Ἅγιον Πνεῦµα Θεοῦ, ἄξιος εἶ ’ν πᾶσι καιροῖς ὑµνεῖσθαι φωναῖς ὁσίαις Υἱὲ Θεοῦ, ζωὴν ὁ διδούς· διὸ ὁ κοσµός σε δοξάζει.

Hail! gladdening Light of His pure glory poured, Who is the immortal Father, heavenly, blest, Holiest of Holies—Jesus Christ our Lord! Now we are come to the sun’s hour of rest, The lights of evening round us shine, We hymn the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit divine! Worthiest art Thou at all times to be sung With undefiled tongue, Son of our God, Giver of Life, alone! Therefore in all the world, Thy glories, Lord, they own.

3. _Latin._—The following hymn has not only intrinsic value, but peculiar interest on account of St. Augustine’s reference to it as having brought to his eyes the kindly relief of tears, as he thought of his mother laid that day in her grave.

Then I slept and rose up again, and found my sorrow diminished not a little and as I lay lonely on my bed I recalled the truthful verses of Thy Ambrose ... and I gave my tears, which I had restrained till now, leave to flow as they would.

It is found in the Breviaries as a Saturday vesper hymn, and is a good example of the hymns of St. Ambrose. It has much of the strength and simplicity of Ken’s hymns.

Deus, creator omnium! Polique Rector! vestiens Diem decoro lumine, Noctem soporis gratiâ,

Artus solutos ut quies Reddat laboris usui: Mentesque fessas allevet Luctusque solvat anxios.

Grates peracto jam die Et noctis exortu preces, Voti reos ut adjuves, Hymnum canentes solvimus.

Te cordis ima concinant, Te vox canora concrepet, Te diligat castus amor, Te mens adoret sobria;

Ut, cum profunda clauserit Diem caligo noctium, Fides tenebras nesciat, Et nox fide reluceat.[53]

Dormire mentem ne sinas, Dormire culpa noverit; Castis fides refrigerans Somni vaporem temperet.

Exuta sensu lubrico Te cordis alta somnient, Nec hostis invidi dolo Pavor quietos suscitet.

Christum rogemus et Patrem, Christi Patrisque Spiritum, Unum potens per omnia Fove precantes Trinitas.[54]

The best English translation is by Mr. J. D. Chambers, late Recorder of New Sarum. I take it from his beautiful _Psalter; or, Seven Hours of Prayer of the Church of Sarum_.[55]

Maker of all things! God Most High! Great Ruler of the starry sky! Robing the day in beauteous light, In sweet repose the quiet night;

That sleep may our tired limbs restore, And fit for toil and use once more; May gently soothe the careworn breast, And lull our anxious griefs to rest.

We thank Thee for the day that’s gone, We pray Thee now the night comes on: O help us sinners as we raise To Thee our votive hymn of praise.

To Thee our hearts their music bring, Thee our united voices sing: To Thee our pure affections soar, Thee may our chastened souls adore.

So when the deepening shades prevail, And night o’er day hath dropped her veil: Faith may no wildering darkness know, But night with Faith’s own splendour glow.

O sleepless ever keep the mind! Our guilt in lasting slumbers bind; Let Faith pure Chastity renew, And freshen sleep’s lethargic dew.

From every wrongful passion free, O may our hearts repose in Thee; Nor envious fiend with harmful snare, Our rest with sinful terrors scare.

Christ, with the Father ever One! Spirit of Father and of Son! God over all of mighty sway, Shield us, great Trinity, we pray!

I would gladly linger awhile longer among these ancient hymns; but except as they have passed into our hymnals in the last two centuries, they hardly belong to my subject.

LITERATURE

The following notes may be useful to some readers:—Daniel’s _Thesaurus Hymnologicus_ (Leipsic, 1841-55); Mone’s _Hymni Latini Medii Aevi_ (Freiburg, 1853-4-5), Christ’s _Anthologia Graeca Carminum Christianorum_; Trench’s _Sacred Latin Poetry_ (1849): Duffield’s _Latin Hymns_ (1889); Macdonald’s _Latin Hymns of the Wesleyan Methodist Hymn-book_ (1899).

Neale’s _Mediaeval Hymns_, _Hymns of the Eastern Church_, _&c._; Chandler’s _Hymns of the Primitive Church_; William’s _Hymns from the Parisian Breviary_ (1839); Chambers’s _Lauda Syon_; Mant’s _Ancient Hymns from the Roman Breviary_; Chatfield’s _Songs and Hymns of the Greek Christian Poets_; Mrs. Charles’s _Christian Life in Song_; Moorsom’s _Renderings of Church Hymns_. See also articles in _Dictionary of Hymnology_, on ‘Greek,’ ‘Latin,’ and ‘Syriac,’ ‘Hymnody,’ ‘Te Deum,’ &c.

It should be remembered that many of the Breviary hymns are not ancient, but belong to the sixteenth, seventeenth, and eighteenth centuries.

III Early Modern Hymns

I.—Sixteenth Century

Before the Reformation England was rich in ballads, but had practically no hymns. Yet there are in that earlier period a few great names—Cædmon, Aldhelm, Bede, Alfred—which are beginning to appear in some modern hymnals.[56]

It is usual to date English hymnody from the days of Dr. Watts. Before his time, however, a considerable number of hymns had been written in English, a fair proportion of which were of high poetic character, and not unsuitable for public worship. But the idea of a hymn-book had hardly entered the mind of the Church. Many longed for ‘godly ballads’ to supplant the vain songs of the Court, the camp, and the street, but for the most part they longed in vain. We must not, however, overlook the preparation made during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.

The English Reformation had no poet, no one who could give the common people songs such as Luther had provided for the Germans. Myles Coverdale (1487-1569), Bishop of Exeter, saw how great the need was; but he could not supply it, though he did his best. His ‘Ghostly Psalms and Spiritual Songs, drawn out of the Holy Scripture for the comfort and consolation of such as love to rejoice in God and His Word,’ is an unsuccessful attempt to render into English some of the German hymns. He confesses that the verses are ‘rude in song and rhyme.’ Yet there is not wanting that yearning after God, that quiet trust in Christ, that turning to Him with hope and penitence and love which is the note of all Christian psalmody. I quote a few verses—modernizing the spelling—from what is, I think, his best effort.

I call on Thee, Lord Jesu Christ, I have none other help but Thee: My heart is never set at rest, Till Thy sweet word have comforted me. And steadfast faith grant me therefore, To hold by Thy word evermore. Above all thing Never resisting But to increase in faith more and more.

Lord, print into my heart and mind Thy Holy Spirit with ferventness; That I to Thee be not unkind, But love Thee without feignedness. Let nothing draw my mind from Thee, But ever to love Thee earnestly: Let not my heart Unthankfully depart From the right love of Thy mercy.

Give me Thy grace, Lord, I Thee pray, To love mine enemies heartily: Howbeit they trouble me alway, And for Thy cause do slander me, Yet, Jesu Christ, for Thy goodness, Fill my heart with forgiveness, That while I live I may them forgive That do offend me more or less.[57]

Coverdale’s hymns prepared the way for more successful efforts in the same direction. And it is pleasant to remember that the brave old reformer, who stood by his friend and tutor, Robert Barnes, the martyr, when he was summoned to appear before Wolsey as a heretic, and who devoted so many years to the translation of the Holy Scriptures, was one of the first who desired to make the English folk love godly hymns.

It is an ancient fashion to disparage Sternhold and Hopkins’s version of the Psalms, but it was a great advance upon Coverdale, and ‘marks an era in the history of sacred song.’[58] Sternhold died in 1549, and Coverdale survived him for twenty years. He was Groom of the Robes to both Henry VIII and Edward VI. Probably the popularity of Clement Marot’s[59] French version may have suggested to Sternhold the attempt to provide the English Court with similar sacred songs instead of the profane ballads which pleased both French and English courtiers. Henry had a sincere regard for him, and remembered him in his will. Edward loved to hear these metrical psalms sung by their author, and caused them to be ‘sung openly,’ so that others might learn to love them as he did. Sternhold was a modest man, and did not claim any great merit for his songs.

‘Albeit,’ he says, in his dedication to Edward VI, ‘I cannot give to your Majesty great loaves, or bring into the Lord’s barn full handfuls ... I am bold to present unto your Majesty a few crumbs which I have picked up from under the Lord’s board.’

Part of his version of Ps. xviii. is usually given as the best example of his work.

O God, my strength and fortitude, Of force I must love Thee.

There are some good verses in Ps. ix., which are of the same type.

O Lord, with all my heart and mind I will give thanks to Thee; And speak of all Thy wondrous works Unsearchable of me.

I will be glad and much rejoice In Thee, O God, most high; And make my songs extol Thy name Above the starry sky.

For evermore in dignity The Lord doth rule and reign; And in the seat of equity True judgement doth maintain.

With justice He doth keep and guide The world and every wight, With conscience and with equity He yieldeth folk their right.

He is Protector of the poor, What time they be opprest; He is in all adversity Their refuge and their rest.

All they that know Thy holy name, Therefore do trust in Thee; For Thou forsakest not their suit, In their necessity.

But sure the Lord will not forget The poor man’s grief and pain; The patient people never look For help of God in vain.

The Old Version, which bears the name of Sternhold and Hopkins, was the work of several hands. John Hopkins was the largest contributor. Of his life little is known. Warton called him not the least of the British poets of his day, and his versions are generally considered superior to Sternhold’s. They are no doubt smoother, but I cannot see that they have more poetry in them. Sometimes his lines are ridiculously divided, and it is difficult to imagine that at any period they could have been regarded as tolerable.

It was, however, a psalm of Hopkins’s which comforted John Wesley after hearing a sermon, of which he disapproved, at Bow, in 1738. ‘God answered the thoughts of my heart, and took away my fear, in a manner I did not expect, even by the words of Thomas Sternhold. They were these (sung immediately after the sermon)’—

Thy mercy is above all things, O God; it doth excel; In trust whereof, as in Thy wings, The sons of men shall dwell.

Within Thy house they shall be fed With plenty at their will; Of all delights they shall be sped, And take thereof their fill.

Because the well of life most pure, Doth ever flow from Thee; And in Thy light we are most sure, Eternal light to see.

From such as Thee desire to know, Let not Thy grace depart; Thy righteousness declare and show To men of upright heart.

William Whittingham, Calvin’s brother-in-law, and Knox’s successor as pastor of the English congregation at Geneva, contributed about twelve psalms, including the cxix., which runs to over 700 lines. In 1563 he became Dean of Durham, and was excommunicated by the Archbishop of York (father of George Sandys). He died in 1579, and was buried in the cathedral in which he is said to have destroyed the image of St. Cuthbert and other ancient monuments which were obnoxious to his Puritan taste. Other writers were John Pullain, another Genevan exile; Robert Wisdome, who was frightened into a recantation of his ‘errors’ by Bishop Bonner, but shortly after recanted again; Thomas Norton, who wrote the version of Ps. cxlvii., beginning—

Praise ye the Lord, for it is good Unto our God to sing; For it is pleasant, and to praise It is a comely thing.

William Kethe, author of ‘All people that on earth do dwell;’ John Marckant, and John Craig.[60] John Marckant, vicar in 1559 of Great Clacton, and of Shopland 1563-8, was the author of four psalms in the Old Version. But he is remembered by ‘The Lamentation of a Sinner,’ which is one of the redeeming features of the book. It is known in modern times almost exclusively in Heber’s revision. The original is admirable in its pathos and simplicity.

THE LAMENTATION OF A SINNER

O Lord, turn not Thy face away From him that lies prostrate, Lamenting sore his sinful life, Before Thy mercy-gate. Which gate Thou openest wide to those That do lament their sin, Shut not that gate against me, Lord, But let me enter in.

And call me not to mine account, How I have livèd here; For then I know right well, O Lord, How vile I shall appear. I need not to confess my life, I am sure Thou canst tell, What I have been, and what I am, I know Thou knowest it well.

O Lord, Thou knowest what things be past, And eke the things that be; Thou knowest also what is to come, Nothing is hid from Thee. Before the heavens and earth were made, Thou knowest what things were then, As all things else that have been since Among the sons of men.

And can the things that I have done, Be hidden from Thee then? Nay, nay, Thou knowest them all, O Lord, Where they were done and when. Wherefore with tears I come to Thee, To beg and to entreat, Even as the child that hath done ill, And feareth to be beat.

So come I to Thy mercy-gate, Where mercy doth abound, Requiring mercy for my sin, To heal my deadly wound. O Lord, I need not to repeat, What I do beg or crave: Thou knowest, O Lord, before I ask, The thing that I would have.

Mercy, good Lord, mercy I ask, This is the total sum, For mercy, Lord, is all my suit, Lord, let Thy mercy come.

With Sternhold and Hopkins began the reign of the metrical Psalter. The attempt to turn the whole book of Psalms into verse for congregational use has had a curious fascination. No one has attained more than very partial success, not even Watts or Keble. In Julian’s long list of those who have essayed to render the Psalms into English verse, are many names upon which one lingers with interest. Queen Elizabeth, Sir Thomas Wyatt, Archbishop Parker, Sir Philip Sidney and his sister, the Countess of Pembroke, Bishop Hall, George Wither, George Herbert, George Sandys, John Milton, General Fairfax, Richard Baxter, Joseph Addison, Cotton Mather, Christopher Smart, and great numbers in more recent times.

Of the multitude of these forgotten psalms the majority, even of the best, are but literary curiosities, myriads are not even curious, they are simply dull. A few little-known psalms of these early days I quote either for their own or their authors’ sake. The following by Queen Elizabeth is characteristically vigorous in expression. I have modernized the spelling—

PSALM XIV

Fools, that true faith yet never had, Say in their hearts there is no God! Filthy they are in their practice, Of them not one is godly wise.

From heaven the Lord on man did look To know what ways he undertook; All they were vague and went astray, Not one He found in the right way.

In heart and tongue have they deceit, Their lips throw forth a poisoned bait; Their minds are mad, their mouths are wode,[61] And swift they be in shedding blood.

So blind they are no truth they know, No fear of God in them will grow. How can that cruel sort be good Of God’s dear folk which suck the blood?

On Him rightly shall they not call, Despair will so their hearts appall. At all times God is with the just, Because they put in Him their trust.

Who shall therefore from Sion give That health which hangeth on our belief. When God shall take from His the smart, Then will Jacob rejoice in heart. Praise to God![62]

In the sandy desert of the metrical Psalters there are, however, some wells of living water. Such are the psalms of Sir Philip Sidney and his sister, and those of George Sandys. The metre, for the most part, as well as the language, makes them unsuitable for use in the congregation; but I think many readers will be glad to see the following verses. The verses from Ps. xix. are by Sir Philip, and the version of Ps. xciii. is by the Countess of Pembroke.

PSALM XIX

The heavenly frame sets forth the fame Of Him that only thunders; The firmament, so strangely bent, Shows His hand working wonders.

Day unto day doth it display, Their course doth it acknowledge: And night to night succeeding right In darkness teach clear knowledge.

There is no speech, nor language, which Is so of skill bereavèd, But of the skies the teaching cries They have heard and conceivèd.

There he no eyne, but read the line From so fair book proceeding; Their words be set in letters great For everybody’s reading.

PSALM XCIII

Clothed with state and girt with might, Monarch-like Jehovah reigns: He who earth’s foundation pight,[63] Pight at first, and yet sustains: He whose stable throne disdains Motion’s shock, and ages’ flight: He who endless One remains, One the same in changeless plight.

Rivers, yea, though rivers roar, Roaring though sea-billows rise; Vex the deep, and break the shore, Stronger art Thou, Lord of skies. Firm and true Thy promise lies Now and still as heretofore: Holy worship never dies In Thy house where we adore.

George Sandys (1577-1643) was a true poet. Dryden called him ‘the best versifier of the former age,’ and Richard Baxter said, ‘I must confess after all that, next the Scripture poems, there are none so savoury to me as Mr. George Herbert’s and Mr. George Sandys’s.’ Charles the First comforted himself with Sandys’s psalms during his imprisonment at Carisbrooke.

He is even yet little known to our hymn-books, though a few of his psalms make, with a little adaptation, good hymns. The _Methodist Hymn-book_ contains two—

Thou who art enthroned above[64] (Ps. xcii.).

Ye who dwell above the skies (Ps. cxlviii.).

His version of Ps. lxvi. also has some good lines. It begins—

Happy sons of Israel, Who in pleasant Canaan dwell: Fill the air with shouts of joy, Shouts redoubled from the sky. Sing the great Jehovah’s praise, Trophies to His glory raise.