Best Loved Hymns and Readings. Martin Manser
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or sorrow grown: First the blade and then the ear, Then the full corn shall appear: Grant, O harvest Lord, that we Wholesome grain and pure may be.
For the Lord our God shall come,
And shall take his harvest home; From his field shall purge away All that doth offend, that day; Give his angels charge at last In the fire the tares to cast, But the fruitful ears to store In his garner evermore.
Even so, Lord, quickly come;
Bring thy final harvest home; Gather thou thy people in, Free from sorrow, free from sin, There for ever purified In thy garner to abide: Come, with all thine angels come, Raise the glorious harvest-home!
Henry Alford (1810-71)
This hymn was written by the Italian Bianco da Siena. He trained originally as an apprentice in wool in Siena and at 17 became a member of a mystic lay order that followed St Augustine’s rule. He was the author of several hymns. This particular hymn, a favourite choice for weddings, asks the Holy Spirit to fill the hearts of the faithful with a deep sense of God’s presence. It owes its modern popularity to the tune (‘Down Ampney’) composed for this hymn by the English composer Ralph Vaughan Williams.
Come down, O love divine,
Seek Thou this soul of mine, And visit it with Thine own ardour glowing. O comforter, draw near, Within my heart appear, And kindle it, Thy holy flame bestowing.
O let it freely burn,
Till earthly passions turn To dust and ashes in its heat consuming; And let Thy glorious light Shine ever on my sight, And clothe me round, the while my path illuming.
Let holy charity
Mine outward vesture be, And lowliness become mine inner clothing; True lowliness of heart, Which takes the humbler part, And o’er its own shortcomings weeps with loathing.
And so the yearning strong,
With which the soul will long, Shall far outpass the power of human telling; For none can guess its grace, Till he become the place Wherein the Holy Spirit makes His dwelling.
Bianco da Siena (c.1350-1434)
Come live with me and be my love
Christopher Marlowe was first and foremost a playwright, the first great dramatist of the Elizabethan era and a major influence on the early work of William Shakespeare. This sensuous poem in praise of love, first published in 1599, is something of an oddity in his output. He appears to have written no other short poems and what we know of his life is completely at odds with the peaceable pastoral scene evoked here – though Marlowe’s subject must have been better off than the average shepherd to be able to offer his love golden buckles and silver dishes.
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, Woods, or steepy mountain yields.
And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle.
A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull, Fair lined slippers for the cold: With buckles of the purest gold.
A belt of straw, and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs, And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me, and be my love.
The shepherd’s swains shall dance and sing,
For thy delight each May-morning, If these delights thy mind may move; Then live with me, and be my love.
Christopher Marlowe (1564-93)
This consolatory poem is often recited at funerals to assuage the grief of mourners. The allusion in the title is to a vessel passing over an offshore ridge of sand, mud or shingle marking the entrance to a harbour or river, used here as an allegory for the departure of the soul at death.
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea.
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark;
For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crost the bar.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson (1809-92)
In its original form this hymn, initially entitled ‘The Song of the Seraphs’, was the work of Matthew Bridges, who became a Roman Catholic at the age of 48. Some 30 years later, however, an Anglican clergyman named Godfrey Thring felt the need to add new lines referring specifically to the resurrection and, with Bridges’ blessing (although it seems the two men never actually met), added a new verse describing Christ’s triumph over death. Like many other hymns, this appears in a number of variant forms, sometimes including alterations made subsequently by Percy Dearmer (1867-1936).
Crown Him with many crowns,
The lamb upon His throne; Hark! how the heavenly anthem drowns All music but its own: Awake, my soul, and sing Of Him who died for thee, And hail Him as thy matchless king Through all eternity.
Crown Him the Son of God
Before the worlds began; And ye who tread where He hath trod, Crown Him the Son of Man, Who every grief hath known That wrings the human breast, And takes and bears them for His own, That all in Him may rest.
Crown Him the Lord of love,
Behold His hands and side, Those wounds yet visible above In beauty glorified: No angel in the sky Can fully bear that sight, But downward bends his burning eye At mysteries so bright.
Crown Him the Lord of life,
Who triumphed o’er the grave, And rose victorious in the strife For those He came to save: His glories now we sing Who died, and rose on high; Who died eternal life to bring, And lives that death may die.
Crown Him the Lord of peace,
Whose power a sceptre sways From pole to pole, that wars may cease, And all be prayer and praise: His reign shall know no end, And round His pierced feet Fair flowers of paradise extend Their fragrance ever sweet.
Crown Him the Lord of years,
The Potentate of time, Creator of the rolling spheres, Ineffably sublime: All hail, Redeemer, hail! For Thou hast died for me: Thy praise shall never, never fail Throughout eternity.
Matthew Bridges (1800-94) and Godfrey Thring (1823-1903)