Part 5

These quotations must suffice for the psalms of the period between the Old and New Versions. Those who are interested in this not very attractive literature will find specimens of the principal British and American writers in Holland’s _Psalmists of Britain_ (1843), and Glass’s _Story of the Psalters_ (1888). When one looks at the two authorized metrical versions, and the many attempts made to supplant them, it is difficult to understand how the Church could so long have clung to the metrical Psalter, and could be so slow to use a hymn-book. Keble says of his own version—‘It was undertaken, in the first instance, with a serious apprehension, which has since grown into a full conviction, that the thing attempted is, strictly speaking, _impossible_.’ Yet scores have made the same fruitless effort since Keble failed.

Apart from the psalm-versions there are few hymns of the sixteenth century. George Gascoigne (d. 1577), a lawyer, poet, and courtier of Elizabeth’s day, and a descendant of Sir William Gascoigne, the judge who committed Henry V, when Prince of Wales, to prison, wrote a poem entitled ‘Good Morrow,’ from which a good hymn has been made, which is in many of the better school hymnals.

You that have spent the silent night In sleep and quiet rest, And joy to see the cheerful light That riseth in the East; Now clear your voice, now cheer your heart, Come help me now to sing; Each willing wight come bear a part, To praise the heavenly King.

Yet as this deadly night did last But for a little space, And heavenly day, now night is past, Doth show his pleasant face: So must we hope to see God’s face At last in heaven on high, When we have changed this mortal place For Immortality.

Unto which joys for to attain, God grant us all His grace, And send us, after worldly pain, In heaven to have a place: Where we may still enjoy that light, Which never shall decay: Lord, for Thy mercy lend us might To see that joyful day.[65]

Thomas Campion (1567-1619), a doctor of medicine, wrote some lovely hymns, ‘admirable for their union of melodious simplicity, beauty, and strong common sense.’[66] Josiah Conder included one in the section for Private Worship of the Congregational hymn-book, 1836.[67]

Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore, Never tired pilgrim’s limbs affected slumber more, Than my wearied sprite now longs to fly out of my troubled breast. O come quickly, sweetest Lord, and take my soul to rest!

Ever blooming are the joys of heaven’s high Paradise, Cold age deafs not there our ears nor vapour dims our eyes: Glory there the sun outshines, whose beams the Blessed only see. O come quickly, glorious Lord, and raise my sprite to Thee!

Here is another of Campion’s hymns.

View me, Lord, a work of Thine! Shall I then lie drowned in night? Might Thy grace in me but shine, I should seem made all of light.

Cleanse me, Lord, that I may kneel At Thine altar, pure and white: They that once Thy mercies feel, Gaze no more on earth’s delight.

Worldly joys, like shadows, fade, When the heavenly light appears: But the covenants Thou hast made, Endless, know nor days nor years.

In Thy Word, Lord, is my trust, To Thy mercies fast I fly; Though I am but clay and dust, Yet Thy grace can lift me high.

Campion is not mentioned in the _Dictionary of Hymnology_, but he deserves a place there.

One other hymn must be mentioned, ‘Jerusalem, my happy home.’ It is found in a MS. preserved in the British Museum, with the title ‘A Song Mad, by F. B. P. To the tune of Diana.’ Who the author was no one knows, but internal evidence indicates that he was a devout Roman Catholic. In the _Arundel Hymns_ it is attributed to Father Laurence Anderton, _alias_ John Beverley, S.J. The MS. has twenty-six verses, of which nineteen were printed in London in 1601. The hymn is probably based upon a passage in the _Meditations of St. Augustine_. The popular modern hymn, ‘Jerusalem, my happy home,’ which is now believed to have been written by Joseph Bromehead, Vicar of Eckington, near Sheffield, was no doubt suggested by this hymn, or one of the various versions of it, but has little verbal agreement except in the first and last verses. I give a portion of the original poem.

Hierusalem, my happie home, When shall I come to thee, When shall my sorrowes haue an end, Thy ioyes when shall I see.

O happie harbour of the saints, O sweete and pleasant soyle, In thee noe sorrow may be founde, Noe greefe, noe care, noe toyle.

Hierusalem, Hierusalem, God grant I once may see Thy endless ioyes, and of the same Partaker aye to bee.

Thy wales are made of precious stones, Thy bulwarkes diamondes square, Thy gates are of right orient pearle, Exceeding riche and rare.

Thy terrettes and thy pinnacles With carbuncles doe shine, Thy verie streetes are paued with gould, Surpassinge cleare and fine.

Thy houses are of ivorie, Thy windoes cristale cleare, Thy tyles are mad of beaten gould, O God that I were there.

There David standes with harpe in hand, As maister of the queere, Tenne thousand times that man were blest That might this musicke hear.

Our Ladie singes magnificat With tune surpassinge sweete, And all the virgins beare their parts Sitinge aboue her feete.

Te Deum doth Sant Ambrose singe, Sant Augustine dothe the like; Ould Simeon and Zacharie Haue not their songes to seeke.

There Magdalene hath left her mone, And cheerefullie doth singe, With blessed Saints whose harmonie In everie streete doth ringe.

Hierusalem, my happie home, Would God I were in thee, Would God my woes were at an end, Thy ioyes that I might see.

Finis. Finis.[68]

III Early Modern Hymns

II.—Seventeenth Century

When the seventeenth century opened there were, as we have seen, hardly any English hymns except such as may be taken from metrical versions of the Psalms. With the new century a new era begins; and though we are not yet in what George Macdonald calls ‘the zone of hymn-writing,’ we are soon able to gather the materials of a hymn-book of the modern type. It would be quite possible to compile a very good hymnal from writers who preceded Dr. Watts, if a wise editorial discretion were exercised in the omission of unsuitable verses and the revision of phrases offensive to modern taste.

Amongst the hymn-writers of the seventeenth century one name is pre-eminent—Thomas Ken (1637-1711), Bishop of Bath and Wells. His fame rests upon his three great hymns—Morning, Evening, and Midnight—for little else in his voluminous poetical works is suited to the worship of the sanctuary. In all the Christian choir there is no worthier name than that of Thomas Ken, whom neither fear nor flattery could move from the strait path of duty. He lived in the spirit of his own lines—

Let all thy converse be sincere, Thy conscience as the noonday clear; Think how all-seeing God thy ways, And all thy secret thoughts surveys.

He spent his earlier years of ministry in quiet places, amongst those who honoured and loved him, but later had some curious experiences as Lord Dartmouth’s chaplain at Tangier, where he testified with his accustomed resolution against evil-doers and evil-speakers, coming, as Samuel Pepys records, into collision with the afterwards infamous Colonel Kirke, because he preached against ‘the excessive liberty of swearing which we observe here.’

Amongst all the heroes of his day there was none with a more serene courage than ‘little Ken,’ who would not receive Charles’s mistress at his house—‘No, not for his kingdom’—and thus won his bishopric in as unlikely and as creditable a fashion as ever bishopric was earned. After that one is not surprised to find him, as one of the seven bishops, saying to James II, ‘We have two duties to perform, our duty to God and our duty to your Majesty. We honour you, but we fear God.’ Nor need we wonder that, notwithstanding his resistance of James’s illegal demands, he could not bring himself to take the oath of allegiance to William of Orange. Ken always had that infirmity of noble souls, ‘a weakness for the weaker side.’ As Dean Plumptre well says, ‘If he was in doubt it was safer, in quite another sense than that in which others counted safety, to take the losing and not the winning side.’

Ken was deprived in 1791, and the bishopric was offered to Beveridge, then Archdeacon of Colchestor. Had Ken been translated to heaven, or to Canterbury, Beveridge would have accepted the preferment with delight, for he had no nonjuring scruples and wished to be a bishop. But he too was a saint, and not unworthy to be Ken’s successor; so he would not take the place from which Ken had been thrust out, and waited thirteen years for ‘preferment,’ becoming Bishop of St. Asaph in 1704.

When Ken left the episcopal palace, Lord Weymouth honoured his own magnificent mansion of Longleat by welcoming Ken to its hospitable shelter, as Sir Thomas Abney, in widely different circumstances, made the great Nonconformist hymn-writer his guest twenty-five years later. Longleat was Ken’s home for twenty years. There he died, after long and acute suffering, soothed by the writing of hymns, and by the thought that they would be sung on earth while he praised God in heaven.

’Twill heighten even the joys of heaven to know That in my verse the saints hymn God below.[69]

Ken’s hymns, as we now sing them, are selected from the thirty-seven verses of the originals, which were intended in the first place for the scholars of his old school—Winchester. As in most other cases, the popular selection is amply justified. The hymns abbreviated are much more serviceable alike for public and private devotion than if they were transferred _in extenso_ to our hymn-books. Like Sternhold, Herbert, and Watts, Ken was a musician, and loved to accompany himself on the lute or organ.

The morning hymn, which consists of fourteen verses, falls into three sections, addressed (1) to the soul, (2) to the angels, (3) to God. In the evening hymn two verses are addressed to the guardian angel. The following verses from the morning hymn are not usually found in modern hymnals—

Influenced by the Light Divine, Let thy own light in good works shine: Reflect all Heaven’s propitious ways, In ardent love, and cheerful praise.

Awake, awake,[70] ye heavenly choir, May your devotion me inspire, That I, like you, my age may spend, Like you, may on my God attend.

May I, like you, in God delight, Have all day long my God in sight, Perform, like you, my Maker’s will; O may I never more do ill!

Had I your wings, to heaven I’d fly, But God shall that defect supply, And my soul winged with warm desire, Shall all day long to heaven aspire.

I would not wake, nor rise again, Even heaven itself I would disdain; Wert not Thou there to be enjoyed, And I in hymns to be employed.

Heaven is, dear Lord, where’er Thou art, O never then from me depart; For to my soul ’tis hell to be But for one moment without[71] Thee.

The special charm of Ken’s hymns lies in their simplicity and suitability. In the plainest words he asks for just what every Christian feels that he needs, morning and evening, his whole life through. They are the first great English hymns, and are worthy to lead the devotions of the Church.

Ken’s influence upon later poets has been great. Charles Wesley, Keble, and Christopher Wordsworth were, to some extent, inspired by his hymns on the Festivals, whilst Newman desired to add Ken to the Calendar of English saints, and actually prepared a service for use on ‘Ken’s day.’[72]

Archbishop Alexander, himself a poet, preaching in Wells Cathedral at the festival commemorative of the bicentenary of Ken’s consecration, said—

Outside the Psalter, no lines have ever been so familiar to English Christians as Ken’s Morning and Evening Hymn. Other hymns have been more mystical, more impassioned, more imaginative—have perhaps contained profounder thoughts in their depth, have certainly exhibited richer colouring upon their surface. But none are so suitable to the homely pathos and majesty of the English Liturgy; none are so adapted to the character which the English Church has aimed at forming, the sweet reserve, the quiet thoroughness, the penitence which is continuous without being unhopeful. They are lines which the child may repeat without the painful sense that they are beyond him, and the man without the contemptuous sense that they are below him. They appeal to the man in the child, and the child in the man. They are at once a form of devotion, a rule of life, a breath of prayer, a sigh of aspiration. They are the utterances of a heart which had no contempt for earth, but which is at home among the angels. When we listen to them, or repeat them with congenial spirit, in whatever climate we may be, the roses of the English dawn and the gold of the English sunset are in our sky.[73]

Montgomery wrote of Ken’s three hymns that, ‘had he endowed three hospitals, he might have been less a benefactor to posterity.’[74] The importance of his hymns as setting a standard of simplicity and directness can hardly be overstated. Yet it is curious how slowly they won general acceptance. They were not printed in the supplement to the Book of Common Prayer till 1801, and though John Wesley included them in his _Psalms and Hymns_, 1738, he omitted them from his later publications and from his hymn-book. Dean Plumptre, however, says that both the hymns had appeared in some of the earlier collections of hymns for congregational use by English clergymen between 1750 and 1760. The three hymns are given in the _Moravian Hymn-book_ of 1754.

After Ken the seventeenth century had no sweeter hymn-writer than John Austin (1613-69), who left St. John’s College, Cambridge, in 1640, on becoming a Romanist. He wrote two volumes of _Devotions in the Ancient Way of Offices_. These were ‘a family piece among Catholics,’ and were much used by devout Protestants. The nonjuring Bishop Hickes edited them for Protestant use, and John Wesley included seven of the hymns in his Charlestown hymn-book—a larger number than by any other author except Watts. Austin did not complete his work. ‘Death, for which he had fitted his soul by a well-spent life, interrupted his labours.... When he perceived death immediately seizing its prey, he gave up the ghost with these remarkable words: ... “Now, heartily for heaven, through Jesus Christ!”’[75]

Austin’s hymns are used chiefly outside his own communion,[76] though Romanism has no English hymn-writer to compare with him till the time of Faber. In the _Arundel Hymns_ his verses are attributed to W. Austin (a Protestant contemporary). The following hymn illustrates the similarity of Austin and Faber’s writing. Few readers would guess that one of these four verses was written two centuries after the others.

FROM DEATH TO LIFE

Jesu! all hail. Who for my sin Didst die, and by that death didst win Eternal life for me; Send me Thy grace, good Lord! that I Unto the world and flesh may die, And hide my life with Thee.

Jesu! who on that fatal wood Poured forth Thy life’s last drop of blood, Nailed to a shameful cross; O may we bless Thy love, and be Ready, dear Lord, to bear for Thee All grief, all pain, all loss.

Jesu! who by Thine own love slain, By Thine own power took’st life again, And from the grave didst rise; O may Thy death our souls revive, And at our death a new life give, The life that never dies.

Jesu! who to Thy heaven again Returned in triumph, there to reign Of men and angels King; O may our parting souls take flight Up to that land of joy and light, And there for ever sing.[77]

In this hymn the first verse is from Faber’s series on ‘The Life of our Lord,’[78] and the rest from Austin’s ‘Vespers for our Blessed Saviour.’ Wesley’s selection from the same hymn began with the verse—

Jesu! behold three kings from far, Led to Thy cradle by a star, Bring gifts to Thee their King: O guide us by Thy light, that we May find Thy favour and to Thee Ourselves for tribute bring.[79]

Of another hymn which Faber might have written, I give the first two verses—

Sweet Jesu! why, why dost Thou love Such worthless things as we? Why is Thy heart still towards us Who seldom think on Thee?

Thy bounty gives us all we have, And we Thy gifts abuse: Thy bounty gives us even Thyself, And we Thyself refuse.

Austin’s best hymns, however, are, I think, one for Monday morning, which Wesley entitled ‘Universal Praise,’ and the evening hymn, of which some verses will be familiar to most readers.

MORNING

Hark, my soul! how every thing Strives to serve our bounteous King: Each a double tribute pays; Sings its part, and then obeys.

Nature’s chief and sweetest choir Him with cheerful notes admire; Chanting every day their lauds,[80] While the grove their song applauds.

Though their voices lower be, Streams have too their melody; Night and day their warbling run: Never pause, but still sing on.

All the flowers that gild the spring, Hither their still music bring: If Heaven bless them, thankful they, Smell more sweet, and look more gay.

Only we can scarce afford, This short office to our Lord: We, on whom His bounty flows, All things gives, and nothing owes.

Wake! for shame my sluggish heart; Wake! and gladly sing thy part: Learn of birds, and springs, and flowers, How to use thy nobler powers.

Call whole nature to thy aid, Since ’twas He whole nature made: Join in one eternal song, Who to one God all belong.

Live for ever, glorious Lord! Live by all Thy works adored: One in Three, and Three in One, Thrice we bow to Thee alone.

EVENING

Lord! now the time returns, For weary man to rest, And lay aside those pains and cares With which our day’s opprest.

Or, rather, change our thoughts To more concerning cares; How to redeem our misspent time, With sighs, and tears, and prayers.

How to provide for heaven, That place of rest and peace, Where our full joys shall never fade, Our pleasures never cease.

Blest be Thy love, dear Lord! That taught us this sweet way, Only to love Thee for Thyself, And for that love obey.

O Thou, our soul’s chief hope! We to Thy mercy fly, Where’er we are, Thou canst protect; Whate’er we need, supply.

Whether we sleep or wake, To Thee we both resign; By night we see as well as day, If Thy light on us shine.

Whether we live or die, Both we submit to Thee: In death we live as well as life, If Thine in death we be.

William Austin (d. 1633) had not the devotional fervour of his younger namesake (he does not seem to have been a relative, though both were of Lincoln’s Inn), but he is among the noteworthy hymn-writers of a time when hymns were few. As his poems are little known, I give a charming little hymn and two verses of a bright Christmas carol—

What a gracious God have we, In His gifts of grace how free! How intent our prayers to hear, And to them that pray how near.

How to balmy mercy prone, And to kind compassion. How regardfully He wakes, For His chosen servants’ sakes.

How He gives them grace to pray, And then to their suits gives way. How He prompts each good desire, And blows up that spark to fire.

He hath set no greater task, To obtain of Him but ‘Ask!’ No exacter search to find, But to seek with humble mind.

No more pains heaven to unlock, But with spotless hands to knock. Yet He joys to see man press Him, And to wrestle till He bless him![81]

. . . . .

All this night bright angels sing; Never was such carolling. Hark! a voice which loudly cries, ‘Mortals, mortals, wake and rise; Lo! to gladness, Turns your sadness; From the earth is risen a Sun, Shines all night, though day be done.’

Hail, O Sun! O blessèd Light, Sent into this world by night; Let Thy rays and heavenly powers Shine in these dark souls of ours; For, most duly, Thou art truly God and Man, we do confess; Hail, O Sun of Righteousness![82]

George Wither (1588-1667), lawyer, soldier, poet, Cavalier, Roundhead, Puritan, Anglican, was a writer of many hymns. He finds a secluded corner in a few modern hymnals; but had there been what we call hymn-books in his day, he would have been a considerable contributor. His hymns are more of the Evangelical than the Puritan type. His songs of the Church form a ‘Christian Year,’ and some of the hymns for Saints’ days are much more original and poetic than those commonly in use. Here are three verses for—

ST. MATTHEW’S DAY

For God doth not a whit respect Profession, person, or degree; But maketh choice of His elect From every sort of men that be, That none might of His love despair, But all men unto Him repair.

For those, oh let us therefore pray, Who seem uncallèd to remain; Not shunning them, as cast away, God’s favour never to obtain: For some awhile neglected are, To stir in us more loving care.

And for ourselves, let us desire, That we our avarice may shun; When God our service shall require, As this Evangelist hath done, And spend the remnant of our days In setting forth our Maker’s praise.

There is nothing in these simple lines of the exquisite beauty of Keble’s poem on St. Matthew’s Day, one verse of which would reconcile the least ecclesiastical of us to the observance of saints’ days—

There are in this loud stunning tide Of human care and crime, With whom the melodies abide Of the everlasting chime; Who carry music in their heart, Through dusky lane and wrangling mart; Plying their daily task with busier feet, Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat.

But as a hymn to be sung in church or to be read in the hour of private devotion, Wither’s lines compare very favourably with those of Bishop Ken,[83] Bishop Wordsworth, and even Dr. Monsell.

Wither’s hymn for Whit Sunday is a very appropriate ‘devotion’ for that festival. Here are four of its six verses—

Exceeding faithful in Thy word, And just in all Thy ways, We do acknowledge Thee, O Lord, And therefore give Thee praise: For as Thy promise Thou didst pass, Before Thou went’st away, Sent down Thy Holy Spirit was, At His appointed day.

Now, also, Blessed Spirit, come, Unto our souls appear; And of Thy graces shower Thou some On this assembly here: To us Thy dove-like meekness lend, That humble we may be, And on Thy silver wings ascend, Our Saviour Christ to see.

O let Thy cloven tongues, we pray, So rest on us again, That both the truth confess we may And teach it other men. Moreover, let Thy heavenly fire, Inflamèd from above, Burn up in us each vain desire, And warm our hearts with love.

Vouchsafe Thou likewise to bestow On us Thy sacred peace; We stronger may in union grow, And in debates decrease; Which peace, though many yet contemn, Reformèd let them be; That we may, Lord, have part in them, And they have part in Thee.