IIIEarly Modern Hymns

Finis.Finis.[68]

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 theChristian 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.

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 Williamof 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 knowThat in my verse the saints hymn God below.[69]

’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 transferredin extensoto 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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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 beBut for one moment without[71]Thee.

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 hisPsalms and Hymns, 1738, he omitted them fromhis 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 theMoravian Hymn-bookof 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 ofDevotions 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 theArundel Hymnshis verses are attributed to W. Austin (a Protestant contemporary). The followinghymn 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.

Jesu! all hail. Who for my sinDidst die, and by that death didst winEternal life for me;Send me Thy grace, good Lord! that IUnto the world and flesh may die,And hide my life with Thee.

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 woodPoured forth Thy life’s last drop of blood,Nailed to a shameful cross;O may we bless Thy love, and beReady, dear Lord, to bear for TheeAll grief, all pain, all loss.

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 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 againReturned in triumph, there to reignOf men and angels King;O may our parting souls take flightUp to that land of joy and light,And there for ever sing.[77]

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 weMay find Thy favour and to TheeOurselves for tribute bring.[79]

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 loveSuch worthless things as we?Why is Thy heart still towards usWho seldom think on Thee?

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.

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.

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

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 choirHim with cheerful notes admire;Chanting every day their lauds,[80]While the grove their song applauds.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Live for ever, glorious Lord!

Live by all Thy works adored:

One in Three, and Three in One,

Thrice we bow to Thee alone.

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

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 thoughtsTo more concerning cares;How to redeem our misspent time,With sighs, and tears, and prayers.

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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’sInn), 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.

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 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.

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.

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]

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.’

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 powersShine in these dark souls of ours;For, most duly,Thou art trulyGod and Man, we do confess;Hail, O Sun of Righteousness![82]

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—

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

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.

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 daysIn setting forth our Maker’s praise.

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 tideOf human care and crime,With whom the melodies abideOf 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.

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.

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 someOn 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.

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 mayAnd 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.

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 bestowOn 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.

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.

Other poems in this series are well worth preserving, though perhaps few would find favour with the average congregation. For the most part they run smoothly; the language is that of plain men, and the spirit of the festival finds happy expression in praise or prayer. His Communion hymn is intended to be sung during theadministration. It is interesting to find that those who are now adopting this custom are but reviving an ancient order. ‘We have a custom among us,’ he says, ‘that during the time of administering the blessed Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper there is some psalm or hymn sung, the better to keep the thoughts of the communicants from wandering after vain objects.’

But the piece which is most easily adapted to modern use is the poem, a paraphrase of Ps. cxlvii., which he prefixed to hisPreparation for the Psalter. I give the poem as Wither published it. Mr. Horder and Miss Wood[84]have shown how well it may be adapted to public worship.

Come, O come! in pious laysSound we God Almighty’s praise;Hither bring in one consent,Heart, and voice, and instrument.Music add of every kind;Sound the trump, the cornet wind;Strike the viol, touch the lute;Let no tongue nor string be mute;Nor a creature dumb be found,That hath either voice or sound.

Come, O come! in pious lays

Sound we God Almighty’s praise;

Hither bring in one consent,

Heart, and voice, and instrument.

Music add of every kind;

Sound the trump, the cornet wind;

Strike the viol, touch the lute;

Let no tongue nor string be mute;

Nor a creature dumb be found,

That hath either voice or sound.

Come, ye sons of human race,In this chorus take a place;And amid the mortal throng,Be you masters of the song.Angels, and supernal powers,Be the noblest tenor yours;Let in praise of God the soundRun a never-ending round;That our song of praise may beEverlasting as is He.

Come, ye sons of human race,

In this chorus take a place;

And amid the mortal throng,

Be you masters of the song.

Angels, and supernal powers,

Be the noblest tenor yours;

Let in praise of God the sound

Run a never-ending round;

That our song of praise may be

Everlasting as is He.

From earth’s vast and hollow womb,Music’s deepest bass may come;Seas and floods, from shore to shore,Shall their countertenors roar,To this concert, when we sing,Whistling winds your descants bring;That our song may over-climbAll the bounds of place and time,And ascend from sphere to sphere,To the great Almighty’s ear.

From earth’s vast and hollow womb,

Music’s deepest bass may come;

Seas and floods, from shore to shore,

Shall their countertenors roar,

To this concert, when we sing,

Whistling winds your descants bring;

That our song may over-climb

All the bounds of place and time,

And ascend from sphere to sphere,

To the great Almighty’s ear.

So, from heaven, on earth He shallLet His gracious blessings fall:And this huge wide orb we see,Shall one choir, one temple be;Where, in such a praise-full toneWe will sing what He hath done,That the cursèd fiends belowShall thereat impatient grow.Then, O come! in pious laysSound we God Almighty’s praise.

So, from heaven, on earth He shall

Let His gracious blessings fall:

And this huge wide orb we see,

Shall one choir, one temple be;

Where, in such a praise-full tone

We will sing what He hath done,

That the cursèd fiends below

Shall thereat impatient grow.

Then, O come! in pious lays

Sound we God Almighty’s praise.

Wither has been slow in winning his place among our sacred poets. He was a man of war from his youth, had a perilous gift of sarcasm, and lacked the caution and good sense which were so much needed in his troublous times. He was boycotted by the booksellers, satirized by Butler inHudibras, by Pope, Dryden, and Swift, and seemed likely to be forgotten, save as the butt of a former age. But Southey, Charles Lamb, Montgomery, Edward Farr, George Macdonald, F. T. Palgrave, Dr. Grosart, among others have recognized his merits. He was a devout man and courageous, for he not only fought on both sides in the Civil War, but with rarer bravery chose to remain inLondon during the Great Plague, and to render what little help he could to the sufferers in that awful visitation. The king is said to have spared his life at Sir John Denham’s good-naturedly contemptuous entreaty that he (Denham) might not be ‘the worst poet in England’; his contemporaries thought the prison cell a fit cage for the poet, but somehow he joined the lark, and sang at heaven’s gate.[85]

Samuel Crossman, who died in 1683, within a few weeks of his appointment to the Deanery of Bristol, makes up in quality what he lacks in quantity. Of his nine hymns—published in 1660—two or three have won an assured place in the hymn-book of the Church.

My life’s a shade, my daysApace to death decline.

My life’s a shade, my days

Apace to death decline.

and

Sweet place, sweet place aloneThe home of God most high.

Sweet place, sweet place alone

The home of God most high.

They are in a minor key, but they speak to the heart of the Christian pilgrim who seeks another country—his true fatherland. His other hymns are seldom met with. I quote one, omitting a verse.

‘If thou knewest the gift of God’ (John iv. 10).

This is the Gift, Thy Gift, O Lord!The token of Thy dearest love:The orient jewel of Thy Word;Sent down my thankfulness to prove.

This is the Gift, Thy Gift, O Lord!

The token of Thy dearest love:

The orient jewel of Thy Word;

Sent down my thankfulness to prove.

Great is his gift in all men’s eyes,Who gives himself, his friend to save:My Lord does more, for foes He dies,This Gift no parallel may have.

Great is his gift in all men’s eyes,

Who gives himself, his friend to save:

My Lord does more, for foes He dies,

This Gift no parallel may have.

But Lord! whil’st Thou thus gav’st to ThineOthers arose to vie with Thee:The world and Satan did combine,And they would needs a giving be.

But Lord! whil’st Thou thus gav’st to Thine

Others arose to vie with Thee:

The world and Satan did combine,

And they would needs a giving be.

Satan, sin’s pleasures offerèd,And almost forced them upon me:But while they bloomed, they witherèd,And Lord! Thy Gift my choice shall be.

Satan, sin’s pleasures offerèd,

And almost forced them upon me:

But while they bloomed, they witherèd,

And Lord! Thy Gift my choice shall be.

Then did the World its gayes present,And still alluring cried, See, See!Here’s that may rather give content;But Lord! Thy Gift my choice shall be.

Then did the World its gayes present,

And still alluring cried, See, See!

Here’s that may rather give content;

But Lord! Thy Gift my choice shall be.

These cannot give, they’d steal awayFrom me my heaven, my heart from Thee:Whate’er they offer, I’ll say nay,Still Lord! Thy Gift my choice shall be.

These cannot give, they’d steal away

From me my heaven, my heart from Thee:

Whate’er they offer, I’ll say nay,

Still Lord! Thy Gift my choice shall be.

Richard Baxter (1615-91) is to Nonconformity what Ken is to Anglicanism. He might have been a bishop if he would, but preferred the rough ways of persecution for conscience’ sake to the pleasant pathsof ecclesiastical preferment. He wrote many hymns, and attempted, with as little success as others, a metrical version of the psalms. He is, and will be, known to our hymn-books by the exquisite verses taken from his long poem on the ‘Covenant and Confidence of Faith.’ These verses, beginning

Now it belongs not to my careWhether I die or live.

Now it belongs not to my care

Whether I die or live.

are in almost every hymn-book. Another of his hymns, in a brighter tone, is in many collections—

Ye holy angels bright.

The two following are not so well known. They are good in themselves, and very characteristic of their author.

As for my friends, they are not lost:The several vessels of Thy fleet,Though parted now, by tempests tost,Shall safely in the haven meet.

As for my friends, they are not lost:

The several vessels of Thy fleet,

Though parted now, by tempests tost,

Shall safely in the haven meet.

Still we are centred all in Thee;Members, though distant, of one Head,In the same family we be,By the same faith and Spirit led.

Still we are centred all in Thee;

Members, though distant, of one Head,

In the same family we be,

By the same faith and Spirit led.

Before the throne we daily meet,As joint petitioners to Thee;In spirit we each other greet,And shall again each other see.

Before the throne we daily meet,

As joint petitioners to Thee;

In spirit we each other greet,

And shall again each other see.

The heavenly hosts, world without end,Shall be my company above;And Thou, my best, my surest Friend,Who shall divide me from Thy love?

The heavenly hosts, world without end,

Shall be my company above;

And Thou, my best, my surest Friend,

Who shall divide me from Thy love?

The three following verses are in Miss Wood’sHymns for School Worship—a very striking selection of hymns suitable for intelligent young people.

Lord, though Thy Church in this dark worldDo but begin and learn Thy praise,Accept both it and us through Christ,Till it and us Thy glory raise.

Lord, though Thy Church in this dark world

Do but begin and learn Thy praise,

Accept both it and us through Christ,

Till it and us Thy glory raise.

Here trembling sin resists Thy grace;Of joy and sorrow we partake:Our broken hearts and broken peaceCan none but broken music make.

Here trembling sin resists Thy grace;

Of joy and sorrow we partake:

Our broken hearts and broken peace

Can none but broken music make.

Thy ways to us seem often dark,Thou crossest human wit and will:We murmur; but Thou dost Thy work;That’s wise and good, which we thought ill.

Thy ways to us seem often dark,

Thou crossest human wit and will:

We murmur; but Thou dost Thy work;

That’s wise and good, which we thought ill.

If Austin is the Faber of the seventeenth century, John Mason (d. 1694), whom Baxter called ‘the glory of the Church of England,’ is its Newton. There is in Mason the same childlike simplicity which is the charm of the Olney hymns, with an added quaintness which belongs to the earlier century. He is one of the minor poets of the sanctuary, but in his own time he was amongst the best of the evangelical hymn-writers. Mason was born a Dissenter, but entered the Anglican Church. His friend, Thomas Shepherd (1665-1739), who also wrote some noteworthy hymns, seceded from the Establishment, and was for a few years pastor of the church at Nottingham, where Doddridge subsequently ministered. Of the hymns of these good men, George Macdonald and Mr. Horderexpress a high opinion, comparing them favourably with those of Dr. Watts. Mr. Horder justly says that Mason would have reached a higher standard had his lot been cast in a ‘hymn-singing age.’

Some of Mason’s verses are too racy for congregational use, e.g. this from ‘A Song of Praise for Health’—

Their earnest cries do pierce the skies,And shall I silent be?Lord, were I sick as I am well,Thou shouldst have heard from me.The sick have not more cause to prayThan I to praise my King;Since nature teaches them to groanLet grace teach me to sing.

Their earnest cries do pierce the skies,

And shall I silent be?

Lord, were I sick as I am well,

Thou shouldst have heard from me.

The sick have not more cause to pray

Than I to praise my King;

Since nature teaches them to groan

Let grace teach me to sing.

Here is a verse from his ‘Song of Praise for the Birth of Christ’—

The wakeful shepherds near their flocksWere watching for the morn;But better news from heaven was brought—Your Saviour Christ is born.In Bethlehem the Infant lies,Within a place obscure;O little Bethlehem, poor in wallsBut rich in furniture!

The wakeful shepherds near their flocks

Were watching for the morn;

But better news from heaven was brought—

Your Saviour Christ is born.

In Bethlehem the Infant lies,

Within a place obscure;

O little Bethlehem, poor in walls

But rich in furniture!

One of his best hymns, perhaps the very best, is

How shall I sing that MajestyWhich angels do admire?Let dust in dust and silence lie:Sing, sing, ye heavenly choir.Thousands of thousands stand aroundThy throne, O God, most high:Ten thousand times ten thousand soundThy praise; but who am I?

How shall I sing that Majesty

Which angels do admire?

Let dust in dust and silence lie:

Sing, sing, ye heavenly choir.

Thousands of thousands stand around

Thy throne, O God, most high:

Ten thousand times ten thousand sound

Thy praise; but who am I?

Thy brightness unto them appears,Whilst I Thy footsteps trace:A sound of God comes to my ears,But they behold Thy face:They sing because Thou art their Sun,Lord, send a beam on me:For where heaven is but once begun,There Hallelujahs be.

Thy brightness unto them appears,

Whilst I Thy footsteps trace:

A sound of God comes to my ears,

But they behold Thy face:

They sing because Thou art their Sun,

Lord, send a beam on me:

For where heaven is but once begun,

There Hallelujahs be.

Enlighten with faith’s light my heart,Inflame it with love’s fire,Then shall I sing and bear a partWith that celestial choir.I shall, I fear, be dark and coldWith all my fire and light,Yet when Thou dost accept their gold,Lord, treasure up my mite.

Enlighten with faith’s light my heart,

Inflame it with love’s fire,

Then shall I sing and bear a part

With that celestial choir.

I shall, I fear, be dark and cold

With all my fire and light,

Yet when Thou dost accept their gold,

Lord, treasure up my mite.

How good art Thou whose goodness isOur parent, nurse, and guide:Whose streams do water ParadiseAnd all the earth beside!Thine upper and Thy nether springsMake both Thy worlds to thrive:Under Thy warm and sheltering wingsThou keep’st two broods alive.

How good art Thou whose goodness is

Our parent, nurse, and guide:

Whose streams do water Paradise

And all the earth beside!

Thine upper and Thy nether springs

Make both Thy worlds to thrive:

Under Thy warm and sheltering wings

Thou keep’st two broods alive.

Thy arm of might, most Mighty King,Both rocks and hearts doth break;My God, Thou canst do everythingBut what would shew Thee weak.Thou canst not cross Thyself, or beLess than Thyself, or poor;But whatsoever pleaseth Thee,That canst Thou do, and more.

Thy arm of might, most Mighty King,

Both rocks and hearts doth break;

My God, Thou canst do everything

But what would shew Thee weak.

Thou canst not cross Thyself, or be

Less than Thyself, or poor;

But whatsoever pleaseth Thee,

That canst Thou do, and more.

Who would not fear Thy searching eye,Witness to all that’s true?Dark hell and deep hypocrisyLie plain before its view.Motions and thoughts, before they grow,Thy knowledge doth espy;What unborn ages are to doIs done before Thine eye.

Who would not fear Thy searching eye,

Witness to all that’s true?

Dark hell and deep hypocrisy

Lie plain before its view.

Motions and thoughts, before they grow,

Thy knowledge doth espy;

What unborn ages are to do

Is done before Thine eye.

Thy wisdom which both makes and mendsWe ever much admire;Creation all our wit transcends,Redemption rises higher.Thy wisdom guides strayed sinners home,’Twill make the dead world rise,And bring those prisoners to their doom,Its paths are mysteries.

Thy wisdom which both makes and mends

We ever much admire;

Creation all our wit transcends,

Redemption rises higher.

Thy wisdom guides strayed sinners home,

’Twill make the dead world rise,

And bring those prisoners to their doom,

Its paths are mysteries.

Shepherd’s poems were called ‘Penitential Cries,’ and were published with Mason’s Songs of Praise in 1693. His best-known hymn begins

Alas, my God, that we should beSuch strangers to each other!O that as friends we might agree,And walk, and talk together!

Alas, my God, that we should be

Such strangers to each other!

O that as friends we might agree,

And walk, and talk together!

Most of his hymns have vigour and freshness, but there is generally something which hinders them from becoming hymns of the first class. The following verses are taken from a hymn entitled, ‘Lamenting the Loss of First Love,’ and were probably known to Cowper—

O that my soul was now as fairAs it has sometimes been,Devoid of that distracting careWithout, and guilt within.

O that my soul was now as fair

As it has sometimes been,

Devoid of that distracting care

Without, and guilt within.

There was a time when I could treadNo circle but of love;That joyous morning now is fled,How heavily I move!

There was a time when I could tread

No circle but of love;

That joyous morning now is fled,

How heavily I move!

Unhappy soul, that thou should’st forceThy Saviour to depart,When He was pleasèd with so coarseA lodging in thy heart!

Unhappy soul, that thou should’st force

Thy Saviour to depart,

When He was pleasèd with so coarse

A lodging in thy heart!

How sweetly I enjoyed my God!With how divine a frame!I thought, on every plant I trodI read my Saviour’s name.

How sweetly I enjoyed my God!

With how divine a frame!

I thought, on every plant I trod

I read my Saviour’s name.

O might those days return again,How welcome they should be!Shall my petition be in vain,Since grace is ever free?

O might those days return again,

How welcome they should be!

Shall my petition be in vain,

Since grace is ever free?

Lord of my soul, return, return,To chase away this night;Let not Thine anger ever burn;God once was my delight.

Lord of my soul, return, return,

To chase away this night;

Let not Thine anger ever burn;

God once was my delight.

Other hymn-writers of this period are almost or entirely unknown to modern hymnals. One or two names may, however, be mentioned. Matthew Henry wrote a number of ‘family hymns’; Benjamin Keach (1640-1704) not only wrote hymns by the hundred, but published a defence of congregational singing under the title—The Breach repaired in God’s Worship.

William Barton may be taken as a fair example of the poorer hymn-writers of the time. There is little to choose between the best and the worst of hisSix Centuries of Hymns. The work was dedicated to Sir Matthew Hale, who had spoken a good word for thehymns to the Mayor and Aldermen of Leicester, in which town Barton had been minister of St. Martin’s Church. Led by Dr. Julian’s statement that these hymns ‘deserve more attention from compilers than they have hitherto received,’ I have searched them diligently, but in vain. I am most impressed that such dull productions could ever have been popular.

There is, indeed, something very pathetic in the author’s evident satisfaction with his work and in his son’s pride in his father’s ‘pious and laborious undertaking,’ which he was led to attempt, ‘finding that the ancient usage of our speech in Sternhold and Hopkins’s translation was become obsoletely contemptuous to many people of this age.’ This filial editor believed that the hymn-book ‘would sufficiently manifest its excellency in the perusal,’ a belief which the extensive circulation of its many editions may be taken to justify. Barton’s first book, his version of the Psalms, was published in 1644, and the last edition was printed in 1768. During a great part of that period it was probably the standard psalter of the Nonconformist congregations. His hymns are usually brief, and he was careful to use familiar metres, having a special weakness for ‘delicate and expeditious tunes.’ His psalms and hymns owed their long life to the poverty of rivals, but one cannot be surprised that Enoch Watts, in urging his brother ‘to oblige the world by showing it your hymns in print,’ should say that ‘honest Barton chimes us asleep.’

The following verses are a fair specimen—

My Saviour, my Beloved One,Is mine and I am His;Chief of ten thousand He alone,Pure red and white He is.Made sin for us that knew no sin,That so we might be madeThe righteousness of God in Him,By whom the price was paid.

My Saviour, my Beloved One,

Is mine and I am His;

Chief of ten thousand He alone,

Pure red and white He is.

Made sin for us that knew no sin,

That so we might be made

The righteousness of God in Him,

By whom the price was paid.

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