Songs Shake the Walls of Jericho
October 09, 2014![]() |
Hymn Book |
Hymns of the Christian
Church. Latin Hymns and
Modern Hymns
Vol. 45, pp. 546-556;
also pp. 567-568 of The Harvard Classics
Do you know that
many of your favorite hymns have echoed for hundreds of years through
vast cathedrals, and resounded from the walls of Jericho during the
Crusades?
(Newman, author of
"Lead, Kindly Light," baptized Oct. 9, 1845.)
Latin
Hymns
Te Deum
Laudamus
Attributed
to Niceta of Remisiana (4th Century)
WE praise
thee, O God, we acknowledge thee to be the Lord.
All the earth doth
worship thee, the Father everlasting.
To thee all Angels cry
aloud: the Heavens, and all the Powers therein.
To thee Churubin and
Seraphin continually do cry,
Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord
God of Sabaoth;
Heaven and earth are
full of the Majesty of thy Glory.
The glorious company of
the Apostles praise thee.
The goodly fellowship
of the Prophets praise thee.
The noble army of
Martyrs praise thee.
The holy Church
throughout all the world doth acknowledge thee;
The Father, of an
infinite Majesty;
Thine honourable, true,
and only Son;
Also the Holy Ghost,
the Comforter.
Thou art the King of
Glory, O Christ!
Thou art the
everlasting Son of the Father.
When thou tookest upon
thee to deliver man, thou didst not abhor the Virgin’s womb.
When thou hadst
overcome the sharpness of death, thou didst open the Kingdom of
Heaven to all believers.
Thou sittest at the
right hand of God in the Glory of the Father.
We believe that thou
shalt come to be our Judge.
We therefore pray thee,
help thy servants whom thou hast redeemed with thy precious blood.
Make them to be
numbered with thy Saints in glory everlasting.
O Lord, save thy people
and bless thine heritage.
Govern them, and lift
them up for ever.
Day by day we magnify
thee;
And we worship thy
Name, ever world without end.
Vouchsafe, O Lord, to
keep us this day without sin.
O Lord, have mercy upon
us: have mercy upon us.
O Lord, let thy mercy
lighten upon us: as our trust is in thee.
O Lord, in thee have I
trusted: let me never be confounded.
Veni Creator Spiritus
Attributed to
Charlemagne. Tr. John Dryden (742–814)
CREATOR
SPIRIT, by whose aid
The world’s
foundations first were laid,
Come, visit every pious
mind;
Come, pour thy joys on
human kind;
From sin and sorrow set
us free,
And make thy temples
worthy thee.
O source of
uncreated light,
The Father’s promised
Paraclete,
Thrice holy fount,
thrice holy fire,
Our hearts with
heavenly love inspire;
Come, and thy sacred
unction bring
To sanctify us while we
sing.
Plenteous
of grace, descend from high,
Rich in thy sevenfold
energy;
Thou strength of his
almighty hand,
Whose power does heaven
and earth command,
Proceeding Spirit, our
defence,
Who dost the gift of
tongues dispense,
And crown’st thy gift
with eloquence.
Refine and
purge our earthy parts,
But O, inflame and fire
our hearts,
Our frailties help, our
vice control;
Submit the senses to
the soul,
And, when rebellious
they are grown,
Then lay thy hand, and
hold them down.
Chase from
our minds the infernal foe,
And peace, the fruit of
love, bestow;
And, lest our feet
should step astray,
Protect and guide us in
the way;
Make us
eternal truths receive
And practise all that
we believe
Give us thyself, that
we may see
The Father and the Son
by thee.
Immortal
honour, endless fame,
Attend the Almighty
Father’s name:
The Saviour Son be
glorified,
Who for lost man’s
redemption died;
And equal adoration be,
Eternal Paraclete, to
thee.
Hic Breve Vivitur
From “De Contemptu
Mundi” By Bernard of Morlaix. Tr. J. M. Neale (cir. 1125)
BRIEF life
is here our portion,
Brief
sorrow, short-lived care;
The life that knows no
ending,
The
tearless life, is there.
And after fleshly
scandal,
And after
this world’s night,
And after storm and
whirlwind,
Is calm and
joy and light.
There grief is turned
to pleasure,
Such
pleasure as, below,
No human voice can
utter,
No human
heart can know:
The peace of all the
faithful,
The calm of
all the blest,
Inviolate, unvaried,
Divinest,
sweetest, best.
That peace,—but who
may claim it?
The
guileless in their way,
Who keep the ranks of
battle,
Who mean
the thing they say.
Strive, man, to win
that glory,
Toil, man,
to gain that light,
Send hope before to
grasp it,
Till hope
be lost in sight!
Urbs Sion Aurea
From “De Contemptu
Mundi” By Bernard of Morlaix. Tr. J. M. Neale (cir. 1125)
JERUSALEM the
golden,
With milk
and honey blest,
Beneath thy
contemplation
Sink heart
and voice oppressed
I know not, O, I know
not,
What social
joys are there,
What radiancy of glory,
What light
beyond compare!
They stand, those halls
of Zion,
Conjubilant
with song,
And bright with many an
angel
And all the
martyr throng.
And they who, with
their Leader,
Have
conquered in the fight,
Forever and forever
Are clad in
robes of white.
Jerusalem the glorious,
The glory
of the elect,
O dear and future
vision
That eager
hearts expect,
New mansion of new
people,
Whom God’s
own love and light
Promote, increase, make
holy,
Identify,
unite!
Jesu, Dulcis Memoria
St. Bernard of
Clairvaux Tr. E. Caswall (1091–1153)
JESU, the
very thought of Thee
With
sweetness fills the breast;
But sweeter far Thy
Face to see,
And in Thy
Presence rest.
No voice can sing, no
heart can frame,
Nor can the
memory find
A sweeter sound than
Jesu’s Name,
The Saviour
of mankind.
O Hope of every
contrite heart,
O Joy of
all the meek,
To those who ask how
kind Thou art,
How good to
those who seek!
But what to those who
find? Ah! this
Nor tongue
nor pen can show;
The love of Jesus, what
it is
None but
His loved ones know.
Jesu, our only Joy be
Thou,
As Thou our
Prize wilt be:
In Thee be all our
glory now,
And through
eternity.
Jesu, Dulcedo Cordium
St. Bernard of
Clairvaux. Tr. Ray Palmer (1091–1153)
JESUS, Thou
Joy of loving hearts!
Thou Fount
of Life! Thou Light of men!
From the best bliss
that earth imparts,
We turn
unfill’d to Thee again.
Thy truth unchanged
hath ever stood;
Thou savest
those that on Thee call;
To them that seek Thee,
Thou art good,
To them
that find Thee, All in All!
We taste Thee, O Thou
Living Bread,
And long to
feast upon Thee still!
We drink of Thee, the
Fountain Head,
And thirst
our souls from Thee to fill!
Our restless spirits
yearn for Thee,
Where’er
our changeful lot is cast;
Glad, when Thy gracious
smile we see,
Blest, when
our faith can hold Thee fast.
O Jesus, ever with us
stay!
Make all
our moments calm and bright!
Chase the dark night of
sin away,
Shed o’er
the world Thy holy light!
Dies Iræ, Dies Illa
Thomas A. Celano. Tr.
J. O’Hagan (d. 1275)
DAY of
wrath, that day whose knelling
Gives to flame this
earthly dwelling;
Psalm and Sibyl thus
foretelling.
Oh, what agony of
trembling,
When the judge mankind
assembling,
Probeth all beyond
dissembling.
Pealing wondrous
through the regions,
Shall the trumpet force
obedience,
And the graves yield up
their legions.
Startled death and
nature sicken,
Thus to see the
creature quicken,
Waiting judgment
terror-stricken.
Open, then, with all
recorded,
Stands the book from
whence awarded
Doom shall pass with
deed accorded.
When the judge is
throned in session,
All things hid shall
find confession,
Unavenged be no
transgression.
Wretch, what then shall
be my pleading?
Who my patron
interceding?
Scarce the just
securely speeding.
Thou, O king of awful
splendour,
Saving grace dost
freely render;
Save me, fount of pity
tender.
Think, ’twas I, my
lost condition,
Caused, O pitying Lord,
thy mission;
Spare my soul that
day’s perdition.
Seeking me, thy
footstep hasted;
Me to save, the cross
was tasted,
Be not toil so mighty
wasted.
Righteous judge of
retribution,
Grant the gift of
absolution
Ere the day of
restitution.
Me my culprit heart
accuses;
Inmost guilt my face
suffuses;
Heal, O Lord, thy
suppliant’s bruises.
Thou who Mary’s sin
hast shriven,
Thou who broughtst the
thief to heaven,
Hope to me hast also
given.
Nothing worth is mine
endeavour,
Yet, in ruth, my soul
deliver
From the flame that
burns for ever.
With thy sheep, thy
chosen, place me,
Severed from the goats
embrace me;
On thy right-hand,
ransomed, place me.
When the reprobate
confounded
Lie with wrathful fire
surrounded,
May my call to bliss be
sounded.
Crushed to dust and
prostrate bending,
All my heart contrition
rending;
I implore thee, guard
my ending.
Oh, that awful day of
mourning,
When, from earthly dust
returning,
Guilty man shall bide
his sentence;
Spare him, God, for his
repentance.
Jesus, Lord, thy mercy
lending,
Grant them rest, thy
rest unending.
Stabat Mater
Jacobus de Benedictis.
Tr. D. F. Maccarthy (13th–14th Century)
BY the
cross, on which suspended,
With his bleeding hands
extended,
Hung that
Son she so adored,
Stood the mournful
Mother weeping,
She whose heart, its
silence keeping,
Grief had
cleft as with a sword.
Oh, that Mother’s sad
affliction—
Mother of all
benediction—
Of the
sole-begotten One;
Oh, the grieving,
sense-bereaving,
Of her heaving breast,
perceiving
The dread
sufferings of her Son.
What man is there so
unfeeling,
Who, his heart to pity
steeling,
Could
behold that sight unmoved?
Could Christ’s Mother
see there weeping,
See the pious Mother
keeping
Vigil by
the Son she loved?
For his people’s sins
atoning,
She saw Jesus writhing,
groaning,
’Neath
the scourge wherewith he bled;
Saw her loved one, her
consoler,
Dying in his dreadful
dolour,
Till at
length his spirit fled.
O thou Mother of
election,
Fountain of all pure
affection,
Make thy
grief, thy pain, my own;
Make my heart to God
returning,
In the love of Jesus
burning,
Feel the
fire that thine has known.
Blessed Mother of
prediction,
Stamp the marks of
crucifixion
Deeply on
my stony heart,
Ever leading where thy
bleeding
Son is pleading for my
needing,
Let me in
his wounds take part.
Make me truly, each day
newly
While life lasts, O
Mother, duly
Weep with
him, the Crucified.
Let me, ’tis my sole
demanding,
Near the cross, where
thou art standing,
Stand in
sorrow at thy side.
Queen of virgins, best
and dearest,
Grant, oh, grant the
prayer thou hearest,
Let me ever
mourn with thee;
Let compassion me so
fashion
That Christ’s wounds,
his death and passion,
Be each day
renewed in me.
Oh, those wounds do not
deny me;
On that cross, oh,
crucify me;
Let me
drink his blood I pray:
Then on fire,
enkindled, daring,
I may stand without
despairing
On that
dreadful judgment-day.
May that cross be my
salvation;
Make Christ’s death
my preservation;
May his
grace my heart make wise;
And when death my body
taketh,
May my soul when it
awaketh
Ope in
heaven its raptured eyes.
Adeste Fideles, Called
“The Portuguese Chapel Hymn.”
Anonymous. Tr. J. R.
Beste (15th–16th Century)
HASTEN, ye
faithful, glad, joyful, and holy,
Speed
ye to Bethlem to honour the Word;
See there the King of
angels is born lowly—
Oh,
come and kneel before him;
Oh,
come and all adore him;
Oh come, oh come,
rejoicing to honour the Lord.
God of the Godhead,
true Light unabated,
Mary
the Virgin has borne the Adored;
True God eternal,
begot, uncreated—
Oh,
come and kneel before him;
Oh,
come and all adore him;
Oh come, oh come,
rejoicing to honour the Lord.
Sing, all ye angels,
till echoes rebounding
Swell
through your halls, for ever be heard;
‘Glory to God,’
through all heaven resounding—
Oh,
come and kneel before him;
Oh,
come and all adore him;
Oh come, oh come,
rejoicing to honour the Lord.
Praise to the Infant,
who this day descended;
Glory
to thee, blessed Jesus adored;
Word, in whom two
natures join, yet unblended—
Oh,
come and kneel before him;
Oh, come and all adore
him;
Oh
come, oh come, rejoicing to honour the Lord.
O Deus, Ego Amo Te
Attributed To St.
Francis Xavier. Tr. Edward Caswall (1506–1552)
MY God,
I love thee: not because
I hope for
heaven thereby,
Nor because they who
love thee not
Must burn
eternally.
Thou, O my Jesus, Thou
didst me
Upon the
Cross embrace;
For me didst bear the
nails and spear,
And
manifold disgrace.
And grief and torments
numberless,
And sweat
of agony;
Yea, death itself; and
all for me
Who was
thine enemy.
Then why, O Blessèd
Jesu Christ,
Should I
not love thee well?—
Not for the hope of
winning heaven,
Nor of
escaping hell;
Not with the hope of
gaining aught,
Not seeking
a reward;
But as thyself hast
lovèd me,
O
ever-loving Lord!
E’en so I love thee
and will love,
And in thy
praise will sing,
Solely because thou art
my God,
And my
eternal King.
Modern Hymns
The Pillar of Cloud
John Henry Newman
(1801–1890)
LEAD, kindly
Light, amid the encircling gloom,
Lead
thou me on!
The night is dark, and
I am far from home,—
Lead
thou me on!
Keep thou my feet! I do
not ask to see
The distant scene—one
step enough for me.
I was not ever thus,
nor prayed that thou
Shouldst
lead me on;
I loved to choose and
see my path; but now
Lead
thou me on!
I loved the garish day,
and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will:
remember not past years!
So long thy power hath
blest me, sure it still
Will
lead me on,
O’er moor and fen,
o’er crag and torrent, till
The
night is gone,
And with the morn those
angel faces smile
Which I have loved long
since, and lost awhile.
Nearer, My God, to Thee
Sarah Flower Adams
(1805–1848)
NEARER, my
God, to thee,
Nearer to
thee!
E’en though it be a
cross
That
raiseth me,
Still all my song would
be,
Nearer, my God, to
thee,
Nearer to
thee!
Though like the
wanderer,
The sun
gone down,
Darkness be over me,
My rest a
stone,
Yet in my dreams I’d
be
Nearer, my God, to
thee,
Nearer to
thee.
There let the way
appear
Steps unto
heaven;
All that thou send’st
to me
In mercy
given;
Angels to beckon me
Nearer, my God, to
thee,
Nearer to
thee.
Then, with my waking
thoughts
Bright with
thy praise,
Out of my stony griefs
Bethel I’ll
raise;
So by my woes to be
Nearer, my God, to
thee,
Nearer to
thee.
Or if on joyful wing
Cleaving
the sky,
Sun, moon, and stars
forgot,
Upwards I
fly,
Still all my song shall
be,
Nearer, my God, to
thee,
Nearer to
thee!
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