Arthur S. Sullivan

Yes, the same Arthur Seymour Sullivan (1842-1900) who wrote such operettas as H. M. S. Pinafore and The Pirates of Penzance together with W. S. Gilbert, also wrote a substantial body of church music without any help from Gilbert. Cyberhymnal credits Sullivan with 32 hymn tunes. Besides holding up the musical half of the Gilbert-and-Sullivan musical-comedy team, Sir Arthur was also a church organist, professor and principal of a music school, conductor of oratorio societies and proms concerts, and the composer of serious operas and oratorios. Does it surprise you that no fewer than 17 of his hymn tunes have found their way into Lutheran service books? The real surprise is that, knowingly or not, you have probably sung music by Sir Arthur Sullivan in your church. It remains to be seen whether this is a good thing.

Angel Voices
It is a small step from 19th-century comic opera to this tune which, coincidentally, appeared as Hymn 240 of two different American Lutheran hymnals - both times paired with Francis Pott's hymn, "Angel voices ever singing." This interesting text praises God for creating the very music with which we praise Him, thereby assuring us that our songs of praise please Him. It contains some very worthy lines, such as: "Can it be that Thou regardest / Songs of sinful man? / Can we know that Thou art near us, / And wilt hear us? / Yea, we can!" The tune, however - charming as it may be in its dated fashion - is simply not of a churchly character.

Bishopgarth
A couple of American Lutheran hymnals paired this tune with the Harvest & Thanksgiving hymn, "To Thee, O Lord, our hearts we raise" - the one whose first stanza ends with the memorable lines: "The valleys stand so thick with corn / That even they are singing." Another hymn that has gone to this tune is "Who trusts in God, a strong abode." Both hymns have seen better tunes than this stately but bland melody, which reminds me of an alma mater.

Coena Domini
John Mason Neale's translation of a 7th-century Latin Communion hymn, "Draw nigh and take the body of the Lord," is converted into two-line stanzas to fit this tune in no fewer than three American Lutheran hymnals. This operation is certainly less brutal than cutting the five-phrase tune Old 124th to fit the four-line version of Neale's hymn. My only concern about Coena Domini is that shorter stanzas mean more musical repetition which, with this tune, may soon have a stupefying effect on the congregation.

Constance
You may recall that Gauntlett also had a tune called Constance, which I really liked. I don't really like the Constance of Sullivan, which appeared beside Bishopgarth in the 1917/18 Common Service Book as an alternate tune to "Who trusts in God, a strong abode." As a serenade for Irish tenor and piano, this would be a fine piece. As a hymn tune it is less practical than Bishopgarth; and as a tune for this particular hymn, less to my taste than the chorale Was mein Gott will.

I keep referring to "two American Lutheran Hymnals." One of them is the aforenamed Common Service Book; the other, its 1958 successor Service Book and Hymnal. So far, the tunes I have discussed appear in no other Anglophone Lutheran hymnals, with one exception: Coena Domini was also in SBH's successor, the Lutheran Book of Worship of 1978. I thought this might be worth noting as we assess the coincidence between the use of Sullivan's tunes and the pietistic, American-evangelicalism-tinged strain of Lutheranism represented by CSB, SBH, LBW, and now Evangelical Lutheran Worship. As I continue this post, I will point out further evidence of this, ahem, coincidence.

Falfield
CSB and SBH both pair this tune with H. F. Lyte's hymn on Christian obedience, "Jesus, I my cross have taken." The latter hymnal offers as an alternate tune G. T. Alexis's Seraphim, which is practically impossible to distinguish from Falfield in a blind taste test. CSB further sets "Savior, sprinkle many nations" to this tune. The Sullivan one, I mean. This mission text by Arthur C. Coxe came under fire for false doctrine in the 1920s, with the result that several replacement-stanzas were published in Missouri Synod hymnals from that time on.

Falfield brings out the native character of both hymns with a clarity from which LCMS congregations are fortunately spared by such tunes as O du Liebe and Hyfrydol. Perhaps if the selection of hymns in Lutheran books was subjected to a more rigorous discipline, such hymns would be dropped altogether, and there would be no need to quibble over which tune(s) should go with them.

Fortunatus
Since the 1970's, Carl Schalk's tune Fortunatus New has become "the" vehicle for Venantius Fortunatus's Passion hymn "Sing, my tongue, the glorious battle." I mention this only to put that tune's title in context as the successor to this tune by Arthur Sullivan. CSB, SBH, and LBW all paired this tune with the same medieval author's Easter hymn, "Welcome, happy morning, age to age shall say." There seem to be lots of tunes contending for this hymn, from Sei du mir gegruesset to Prince Rupert. I hate to admit it, non-Sullivan fan that I am, but his Fortunatus is as fortunate as any of them.

Golden Sheaves
The old Lutheran Hymnary - which is no more innocent of pietistic tendencies than was CSB or SBH - used this tune twice: for Nicholas von Zinzendorf's fine Reformation hymn, "We hail Thee, Lord, Thy Church's rock"; and for the aforementioned Harvest & Thanksgiving hymn, "To Thee, O Lord, our hearts we raise." Some hymns seem to gravitate toward Sullivan's music somehow. I think Dix's harvest hymn is the one that gives this tune its name. Perhaps this is as close to "chorale" as a light-opera composer can manage; it sounds vaguely like the national anthem of some high-altitude country. But as ear-pleasing and well-crafted as it is, it just doesn't sound churchly.

Hanford
Sullivan shows an uncharacteristic economy of material in this tune. Nevertheless, it sounds less like a churchly hymn than a patriotic chorus from a satirical, Victorian operetta. Melodramatic and dull at the same time (a most ingenious paradox!), this tune paired up with two hymns in CSB: "My God and Father, while I stray" and "Through good report and evil, Lord."

Heaven Is My Home
The archpietistic Concordia Hymnal (Augsburg Publishing House, 1932) paired this tune with Philip Bliss's horrid, camp-meetingly, decisionistic anthem "Almost persuaded now to believe." Far more significant, however, is this tune's widespread use with Thomas Taylor's deathbed spiritual "I'm but a stranger here," whose stanzas all end in the words of the tune's title. (This tune is sometimes called St. Edmund; but then, so is Charles Steggall's tune St. Edward.) Smacking of spartan little Reformed churches and old-time evangelism crusades, this tune is thoroughly repellent to every Lutheran sensibility - and it is married to a text that carries every Pietistic stereotype to a nauseating extreme.

Though I am sure I will lose as many friends for what I have to say about "I'm but a stranger here" as I did when I trashed "There is a fountain filled with blood," I can't help saying it: Every appearance of this hymn in an Anglophone Lutheran hymnal is a blow by the Anglophone against whatever is Lutheran in that book and in the church that uses it. In its smarmy sentimentality, in its unconsciousness of personal sin, and in its anti-incarnational renunciation of the world, it has much that should ingratiate it to quietists, anabaptists, sectarians, and people who are too depressed to live an active Christian life; but it says nothing to help people who struggle to live each day with one foot in this world and the other in the kingdom of God. It does not recognize that God's work is good, in this world too; or that my own sin is part of the evil that fills this world with so much misery.

The hymn conjures impossible, unreal imagery of an altogether worthless present world, through which the individual Christian floats like a soap bubble, disengaged, unaffected, and contributing nothing to the way the world is. Perhaps worst of all, it depicts the Christian hope as a kind of ascension or translation to a spiritual plane of existence, rather than a resurrection and restoration of all things, body and spirit made perfect together. It is dualistic and perhaps even docetistic, with a vaguely impersonal Savior and a Christian self that only seems to be here, but really isn't. In the final analysis, it is simply a brimming vat of self-indulgent shmaltz with no spiritually redeeming value. And it deserves the tune named after its too-oft-repeated refrain. I hope, however, that Anglophone Lutheranism does not yet deserve this hymn.

Homeland
SBH paired this tune with "For thee, O dear, dear country" - a cento from St. Bernard of Clairvaux's hymn "Of Contempt for the World," for which other hymnals favored tunes such as Ewing and Bona Patria. Two other hymnals used it for H. R. Haweis's hymn "The Homeland! O the Homeland!" Take two guesses as to where the tune got its title. The tune is quite consistent with Sullivan's signature style; in fact, one finds in his hymn tunes a remarkable, perhaps even disturbing homogeneity. It is no more inspired than his average work, and possibly slightly less; and the textual similarity between "The Homeland" and "I'm but a stranger here" suggests that this consistency is no accident. It really seems Sullivan's spirituality leaned toward hymns like this, in which we gaze continually on "the Homeland" (heaven) with eyes "wet with tears." I strongly believe that keeping such hymns around in today's church can only harm service attendance, when readily available drugs can achieve the same result.

Lux eoi
One minor pietistic hymnal of the early 20th century set the hymn "When upon the raging waters" to this tune, whose title means "Light of Dawn." The more potent combination of CSB and SBH, however, pairs this hymn with Christopher Wordsworth's Easter hymn, "Alleluia! Alleluia! Hearts to heaven and voices raise." This hymn brings at least two other tunes to mind, each ahead of Lux eoi in priority: In Babilone, and Beethoven's Hymn to Joy. It's not that Sullivan's tune lacks interest or originality; only, most of it is concentrated in the last two phrases, by which time you, too, will have been reminded of one or two better tunes.

Saints of God
The next-to-last phrase of this tune demonstrates a rhetorical device that pervades Sullivan's works: the same pattern of notes repeated twice in one phrase. Look up and down this list of Sullivan's hymn tunes and you will see the same effect in quite a few second-last or third-last phrases. I mention this mainly to stall before admitting that the Evangelical Lutheran Hymn-Book, the Anglophone hymnal that preceded The Lutheran Hymnal in the Missouri Synod, features this tune along with the Pentecost hymn, "Awake, Thou Spirit who didst fire." I don't have an opinion on the editorial position of ELHB, but I seem to recall one of my LCMS colleagues discussing a potential paper on whether or not a pietistic Trojan horse entered the Missouri Synod with that book. ELHB does have several of Sullivan's tunes in it, including Homeland as well as this mediocre bit of Romantic blandness.

Shepherd
ELHB again pairs this tune with "There is a land of pure delight," Isaac Watts's hymn about facing eternal life without fear. Watts, that master of metrical Psalm paraphrases and moralistic rhymes, may have been showing faithful adherence to a single (in this case, Old Testament) point of view; but I can't help feeling provoked by this hymn's lack of mention of Christ. Death and the life everlasting are presented as abstract doctrine, clothed in landscape imagery and an analogy to Moses viewing the promised land from across the Jordan, but with no reference to their context in Christ and the cross. How appropriate to pair that pale, spiritually useless text with this tritely theatrical little tune! And then, with one quick motion, to throw them as far from your hymnal as possible! By the way, William B. Bradbury's tune Bradbury is also sometimes called Shepherd. I will have uncivil things to say about that tune in due course.

St. Francis
The contemporary composer Giuseppe Moschetti is also responsible for a horrid tune by this name, but we don't speak of that. We speak, instead, of one of Sir Arthur's more attractive creations, which CSB set to "Father of heaven, who hast created all." Other tunes associated with this hymn, including John Dahle's St. Olaf and C. P. E. Bach's Apolutrosis, provide ample evidence that this hymn does not easily lend itself to musical setting, thanks to its unusual metre: 10.6.10.6.8.8.4. All three tunes have their weakness, Sullivan's no more than the others. None of them are as familiar as they should be, considering that this hymn - a fine infant-baptism text by Alfred Knapp - should be printed in every Lutheran hymnal and sung in every Lutheran church.

St. Gertrude
Here is the tune that keeps Arthur Sullivan's foot in the door of every Anglophone Protestant church, Lutheran included. One hymnal paired it with the text "Christian Leaguers, rally!" But most likely you know it as the tune to "Onward, Christian soldiers." It really marches along, aided in some hymnals by an "oom-pah, oom-pah" bass line. Author Sabine Baring-Gould originally intended it as a children's processional hymn, but whole congregations have appropriated it in the service of a militaristic vision of the church. Its "Christian warfare" rhetoric musters the troops against unnamed foes in a manner that many parishioners find exciting, while an impartial observer is more apt to find it funny - like a theatrical sounding, musical game, tinged with a hint of polka. To be sure, there is some merit in Baring-Gould's text, which repeats many of God's brightest promises and most urgent admonitions to the church; and it probably owes much of its popularity to the highly crafted and inspired work of Sullivan. I just wish I didn't feel such a childish fool while singing it!

St. Kevin
Of the numerous tunes paired with the John of Damacus/J. M. Neale Easter classic "Come, ye faithful, raise the strain," the chief contender these days seems to be Gaudeamus pariter, followed by this tune and the embarrassingly-titled Schwing dich auf. "Tied for second" isn't bad if there is room for an alternate tune or two. Favored by three hymnals, including CSB and SBH (the latter offering a Ludwig Lindeman tune called Soerg, o kjaere Fader as an alternate), St. Kevin is surely one of Sullivan's more successful efforts. Unusually churchly, well-written, catchy, and as joyful as this hymn needs to be, it would be welcome in my church any time.

Valete
Another of Sullivan's finest contributions to hymnody, this tune was paired with "Arm these Thy soldiers, mighty Lord" in ELHB. Wordsworth's confirmation hymn begs comparison to "Onward, Christian soldiers," another hymn for youth full of military rhetoric. This is a far better hymn, however, with specific and beneficial prayers addressed to each Person of the Trinity, and such spiritually mature sentiments as: "O grant us so to use Thy grace / That we may see Thy glorious face." I like both the text and the tune, and I wish that, together or separately, they might become more widely familiar.

Conclusion: Sullivan was, at bottom, a theatrical composer whose working habits demanded a certain proficiency in composing, rapidly and continuously, music of a consistent style and quality within a limited range of rhetorical effect. The impact on his church music is a tendency toward tedious and even mechanical sameness, combined with a type of sentimentality that seems more at home on the stage than in the pew. Now and then he proves me wrong with a work of hymn-tune art that deserves to be studied, enjoyed, and used to the glory of God. Also, Sullivan's spirituality, or theology, were apparently of a type that only occasionally or accidentally overlaps with Lutheran piety. He seems to have leaned toward pietistic renunciation texts and those with an affinity for pomp and circumstance. Even some of his best and most popular work is tainted by association with infantile and triumphalistic material (e.g. "Onward, Christian soldiers"). But a study of hymns touched by Sullivan's music also leads to the discovery of some excellent hymns whose words and music are unjustly neglected.

To put it crassly: Down with "Onward, Christian soldiers" and "I'm but a stranger here"; and up with "Arm these Thy soldiers" and "Father of heaven, who hast created all." Down with Heaven Is My Home; up with St. Francis, St. Kevin, and Valete!

398. Epiphany 5 (Series B)

The lessons for this service are Isaiah 40:21-31, 1 Corinthians 9:16-27 and Mark 1:29-39. The tune is VALETE by Arthur S. Sullivan (†1900), which the Ev. Luth. Hymn-Book paired with "Arm these Thy soldiers, mighty Lord." If I can actually choose a tune by Arthur Sullivan for one of my hymns, you can't say I never bend or change in my opinions.

At sunset, crowding at the door,
They brought the sick and demon-pressed
The Healer's blessing to implore,
And Jesus served them without rest.
At sunrise, His disciples found
Him praying in a desert place
Where Mary's Son, in Godhead bound,
Retired to seek the Father's grace.

"Let us move on, that I may preach,"
He said, "the reason I was sent."
Yea, Lord, the faithful still beseech:
Teach us Your will; bid us repent!
What of Your kingdom You reveal,
What costly medicine You pass,
Let it suffice our hurts to heal:
Your bath, Your pardon and Your mass.

Let these content us, though a thorn
Afflict our flesh this little while;
From busy eve to lonely morn,
Sustain us through our every trial.
For we are washed in You, made pure,
Set free by Your absolving word;
We eat and drink the precious Cure
That Your self-offering conferred.

Now, while we eat and drink and bask
In Your good tidings, led by light,
That lesser boon we also ask:
Reach out and mend our earthly plight!
Soothe us in body and in mind;
Sustain us in our daily care
Till, healed at last, we wake to find
The golden morn You now prepare.

Tunes for 2-Line Hymns

For a general introduction to this thread, click here.

Let's begin the proceedings by explaining that the tunes below are arranged in order of meter. In my really vast alphabetical index of tunes, the melodies are designated by more or less distinctive titles, often based on the first line of the hymn in its original language. These are also arranged in a metrical index, organized according to how many lines are in each stanza of the hymn and how many syllables in each line. Thus we come to designations such as "8.7.8.7.8.8.7."—translating to seven lines with so many syllables per line. Apart from these are a number of hymns whose meter is designated as "Irregular" or "Peculiar," either because the number of syllables per line varies by stanza or because the meter is too fiddly to bother writing down since only one hymn (ideally) fits the tune.

So, ignoring the "Irr" and "PM" entries at the top of my metrical index, we start with the meter 8.8.+ Alleluias, also expressed as 8.4.8.4. or 8.4.8.8. Because the text of the hymn only has two lines per stanza, not counting Alleluias, it can be regarded as a 2-line hymn and thus, the smallest meter on the list. This category of tunes comprises only one tune:

Gen Himmel aufgefahren ist
a.k.a. Melchior, a.k.a. Morning Star
by Melchior Franck, 1627
I found this tune in two hymnals (CSB 542, ALH 376), both times set to the Epiphany hymn "A Star is moving through the sky." I prefer the ALH version, which ends with the double Alleluia. It's a beautiful, simple, arch-shaped tune (like the sky) with a jaunty rhythm that makes it especially memorable. Bright, joyful, and energetic, it makes for a hymn that could be taught to children with great profit.

Now we enter the slightly larger category of tunes in the 10.10. meter. There are three of them.

Cœna Domini
by Arthur S. Sullivan, 1874
Three hymnals (CSB 187, SBH 273, LBW 226) pair this hymn with the Communion hymn "Draw nigh and take the body of the Lord." This arrangement requires chopping a hymn usually sung in four-line stanzas into half-sized chunks, which means more repetition of the same tune. Perhaps appropriately, the tune sounds like the second half of a longer, better tune. It tries hard to make a distinct impression, but there's just too little of it to get a handle on. What there is of it sounds just a little to the sentimental side of completely nondescript, the leaps in the second phrase notwithstanding. Alternatives? The abbreviated version of Old 124th, though savagely butchered to fit a four-line hymn, at least has the virtue of sounding whole (though it isn't) and getting through the text in half as many fits.

Lammas
by Arthur H. Brown, 1889
This is the tune for "Draw nigh and take the body of the Lord" used in LHy 150 and ELHy 314. It is about equally unremarkable as Cœna Domini, and therefore painful to think of singing as many times as it would take to get through that hymn (which, in John Mason Neale's original translation, would be ten times). It's interesting to note that the Latin hymn was originally in two-line stanzas, though Neale's translation seems to work best in groups of four lines. Anyway, if I had to choose between one of these three 10.10. hymns, this is probably the one I would pick; but don't expect me to be happy about it.

Pax tecum
by George Thomas Caldbeck, c. 1877
Though this tune would also fit the words to "Draw nigh and take," I only found it paired with the hymn "Peace, perfect peace, in this dark world of sin," and that in two hymnals: CSB 413 and SBH 571. The text is not entirely without merit (Christ-centered, with more than one hint of the cross), but it runs toward tedium. What I have said about Cœna Domini and Lammas goes double for this tune: It’s amazing how brief a melody can be without leaving you wanting to hear more. Frankly, by the end of the first phrase I've lost interest. It might be hard to tell by the notes of the melody, but this tune is in the key of B-flat. It loses much of its vaguely sentimental, inconclusive effect when stripped of its harmony. Simple it is, yes; but it is also uninspired. So I think the time needed to teach it to a congregation, or even the children, could be better spent.

And finally, there is one two-line hymn in the 11.12. meter... sort of:

Resonet in laudibus (abbr.)
German carol, 14th century
It's really stretching a point to call this a hymn-tune or chorale. It is actually a fragment of a much longer tune, also known as Resonet in laudibus (a.k.a. Joseph lieber, Joseph mein), which we will come to by and by. And it is only named as a distinct hymn tune because two hymnals (LBW 68, LW 54), for some strange reason, parcel up the long Christmas carol "He whom shepherds once came phrasing" between three distinct tunes, though they have always combined to form one giant carol (the "Quempas"). Only the first of the three tunes, Quem pastorem, is ever heard on its own; more on that another time. Anyway, the Quempas is a wonderful, festive Christmas piece that can be divided between schoolchildren, choir, and congregation in a most effective way; though the LBW arrangement is superior to the LW one. The part of the carol represented by this tune fragment is the congregation's refrain, with the words: "God's own Son is born a child, is born a child; God and sinners are reconciled, are reconciled." And if you want to hear something breathtaking, listen to Michael Praetorius's arrangement of the Quempas as performed on this CD. You can thank me later.

NST 16

We continue our labor of (admonitory) love where we left off, in poking fun at the hymn selection of the Ambassador Hymnal, with its water-thin doctrinal content, glue-thick adherence to artistically inferior music, and general unsuitability for group worship in a church that bears the name Lutheran...

Hymn 606 is Nothing between (first line: Nothing between my soul and the Savior), with words and music by Methodist minister Charles A. Tindley (1852-1933), giving additional credit to one Dan Peterman (b. 1925) for his harmonically undistinguished, part-songy arrangement of the tune. The only moment where the music is remotely interesting is the rhythm of the words "Nothing preventing the least of his favor" in the refrain, especially surprising given the page layout of AH, which places this trip hazard right after a page break. Meanwhile, the text puts into each worshiper's mouth the boast, "I have renounced all sinful pleasure--Jesus is mine! There's nothing between." Is this one of those things that's OK to sing, even if it isn't necessarily true, because we hope that by singing it we will convince ourselves to do it? Either way, the message grates against Lutheran ideas in several ways. It smacks of decisionism, for one; it denies the means of grace, for another. With great effort one could correctly interpret this hymn as an expression of total devotion, but all the heavy lifting seems to take place at "my" end. What ever happened to "Jesus does it all"?

Hymn 608 is Lead, kindly Light, amid th'encircling gloom, John Henry Newman's (1801-90) words set to the tune "Lux Benigna" by John B. Dykes (1823-76). I have already said as much as I ought to about this hymn. At the risk of saying more than I ought, I might add that Newman phrases his anthem to Christ in such a way that you might think the only relevance He has for our life lies in His moral influence. Newman's piety seems to be all about Jesus' impersonal, mystical involvement in our journey of spiritual experience, rather than any objective, historical, flesh-and-bone facts about who He is and what He has done.

Hymn 609 is We would see Jesus, for the shadows lengthen, words by Anna B. Warner (1827-1915, the author of "Jesus loves me, this I know") set to the tune "Consolation" by Felix Mendelssohn-Bartholdy (1809-47). Having sung and played some lovely pieces by Mendelssohn, I find it hard to believe this straight-edged, square-cornered piece represents his original intentions. More likely, it has been adapted within an inch of losing all semblance to its maker's handiwork. Its gushy effeminacy, unfortunately, is probably authentic. The text takes its departure from "Sir, we would see Jesus" (John 12:21), a phrase that I saw engraved on a sign inside the pulpit of a church where I once preached. I find the point of that simple sign easier to take than this hymn, because for all the hymnist's (and the singers') avowed wish to see Jesus, they don't seem able to locate Him in the preached Word and the Sacraments. Apparently, if you follow Miss Warner's line of thought, you don't really get to see Jesus until we get to heaven. Meanwhile, we have to deal with the heaviness of such phrases as "Other lights are paling" and "Yet the spirit lingers" until one really feels a longing for death.

It strikes me, just now, how interesting it is to see 608 and 609 on facing pages, when one is all about making the best of this life, the other about marking time until the next. Isn't it amazing that such opposites can exist side-by-side without bursting the shackles of tackiness?

610 is Jesus, Rose of Sharon (first line: "Jesus, Rose of Sharon, bloom within my heart"), with words by Ida A. Guirey (no dates given, early 20th century) and the tune "Rose of Sharon" by Charles H. Gabriel (1856-1932). When I look at the list of all the songs to which the latter contributed, I feel a sense of despair. It's not that it isn't a nice tune; in fact, as harmonically sedentary, echoey part-songs go, it's quite lovely. And except for the premillennial implications of the last stanza ("Till the nations own Thy Sov'reignty complete..."), the text makes nice use of the Rose-of-Sharon metaphor. Except for one thing: Song of Songs 2:1, where the biblical image of "rose of sharon" appears, seems to apply it not to Christ but to His Bride. How embarrassing! For four whole stanzas we're addressing Him as the female character to whom, moreover, He stands as Bridegroom. Tsk.

611 is Teach me Thy Way, O Lord, a hymn in the same meter as "Nearer, my God, to Thee"--which is worth mentioning because there are many such hymns and they all breathe the same spirit. Both the lyrics and the tune ("Camacha") are by one B. Mansell Ramsey (1849-1923), whose fame now rests almost solely on this hymn. It's all quite nice, in a nothing-special way that contrasts depressingly with the hundreds of outstanding Lutheran hymns left out of this book. Perhaps as a sign that Ramsey was more musician than hymnographer, the overall pleasantness of the hymn almost obscures the fact that it calls on Jesus, in all kinds of troubling situations, not for His comfort or grace, but for information and advice: "Teach me Thy Way," again and again.

612 is I'm but a stranger here, a hymn by Thomas Rawson Taylor (1807-35), wedded to the tune "St. Edmund" by Arthur S. Sullivan. Click the link on the composer's name and you'll see that I've already thrown this hymn down and stamped on it. I am ashamed to say this hymn has even infected the piety of my own Missouri Synod, going all the way back to The Lutheran Hymnal (1941), so what I say about it discomfits me as much as anyone else; but I am not the only one. My ears still sting from the harangue on this hymn, of which one of my seminary profs unburdened himself over a decade ago. The gist was that one can sincerely sing a hymn like this only if one believes either that Christ's death and resurrection obliterated the incarnation, or that He was only ever "made man" in appearance only. This thought seems to lie implicit behind all such hymns of pietistic renunciation; because what Christ did not assume, He did not redeem. Hence this life and all that it has in it is meaningless; the only real thing awaits us in heaven. This is a hymn that should fit right into the spirituality of Christians who now, more and more widely, opt for cremation rather than burial; because they have imbibed the idea, in common with pagan culture, that after the soul departs, the body is a worthless empty shell.

On the other hand, a Christianity founded on the conviction that God and Man became one Person in Christ, never again to be separated, will also insist on the distinctive practice of Christian burial--the planting of a seed still precious to the Lord who redeemed it; the respectful preservation of an honored vessel; the peaceful slumbering of a saint who will one day soon be awakened, transformed, and glorified for eternity. The body, and the material world in which it lives, are not just so much dead weight to be sloughed off so that the spirit can be free; rather, when your soul and body are separated in death, your soul pines for the part of yourself that you have left behind, until the whole "you" is reconstituted again. Because the eternal Son became flesh, died, lives again, and now sits at the Father's right hand, all creation has been renewed and sanctified to the holy use of God's holy people. Even while it writhes in birth pangs and awaits the deliverance to come, it is still God's world where He has called us to live, and how we live in that calling is of great consequence. To say, "I'm but a stranger here, Heaven is my home," etc., is basically to deny all that and say, "Phooey on this life! It's all just a tedious layover before our flight to the real destination." My prayer is that a few who read this will give this serious thought. Perhaps then this hymn will stick in their throat as it does in mine.

615 is More about Jesus (first line: "More about Jesus would I know"), with words by Eliza E. Hewitt (1851-1920) and the tune "Sweney" by John R. Sweney (1837-99). It's a catchy little part-song number with a jaunty, swinging rhythm concealing its static harmony. But rather than teaching us more about Jesus, it goes on and on for four stanzas (with a refrain), ceaselessly pounding the moral imperative to learn more about Jesus. Stanza 2 prays, "Spirit of God, my teacher be, Showing the things of Christ to me"--prior to any hint of how one gets access to that Spirit. Stanza 3 does locate where you can learn "more about Jesus"--"in His Word...hearing His voice in ev'ry line," which at least saves the hymn from failing to tell you how to learn more about Jesus; but the accent seems to be on absorbing useful information about Jesus rather than finding Him coming into your life through Word and Sacrament. "More about Jesus" is all very well, but once you have absorbed all the data available about Him, are all your problems supposed to be solved?

623 is Face to Face with Christ my Savior, a hymn in the meter of "What a Friend we have in Jesus," with words by Carrie E. Breck (1855-1934) and music by Grant C. Tullar (1869-1950), the author of a well-known devotional poem called "The Weaver." Again, the assumption of this hymnal seems to be that as "conservative" Lutherans, it behooves us to preserve a given slice of the past. Unfortunately, the slice selected by AH is the American Protestant culture of the mid- to late 19th century, a crucible in which anything distinctively Lutheran must boil away. The emphasis in this particular hymn is so inimical to Lutheran theology that it can only turn up the flame. For now we look forward to seeing Jesus "far beyond the starry sky," but until then, "Only faintly now I see Him, With the darkened veil between..." In other words, He is not with us as He promised (Matthew 18:20; 28:20); rather He is separated from us by an infinitely vast distance, if not actually separated from His assumed humanity; and so we cannot, in our present life, participate in full communion with Him through Word and Sacrament. What a bummer it would be to believe this. I don't think I would be able to wait to meet Jesus face to face; I would probably blow my brains out.

Then come several hymns I haven't the heart to pick apart except to remark on their "old-time religion" part-song music, which (I find) suffuses worship with the lukewarm, sickly sweetness of spiritual sentimentality, a flavor that generally makes me want to spit. Thus the tunes "Han skal öppna Pärleporten" by Elsie Ahlwén (set to 625 "He the pearly gates will open"), "Saved by Grace" by George C. Stebbins (626, first line "Some day the silver cord will break"), and "Ahnfelt" by Oskar Ahnfelt (627, "There many shall come from the east and the west") tease my tonsils and test my gag reflex, especially the Ahnfelt one because its polka-band banality replaces a beautiful Swedish tune called "Der mange skal komme."

629 is the U.S. national anthem, "The Star-Spangled Banner," including all four stanzas--most of which you only knew existed because your 10th grade U.S. history teacher forced you to learn one of them by heart. It's nice to know where to look in case you need to find those other stanzas, but it's strange to think of them being sung in church--particularly the bloodthirsty lines consigning all enemies of the star-spangled banner to "the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave," etc. 630 is "America, the Beautiful," 631 "My country! 'tis of thee," 632 the "Battle Hymn of the Republic," 633 a patriotic hymn by Leonard Bacon (1802-81) identifying the Plymouth Pilgrims as "our fathers," and 634 "O Canada" (in the interest of being fair and balanced). I guess when your church body is centered in Minnesota, you have to take extra care to make sure you're covered in case the wind blows your church across the border. Happily, this is not the Lutheran hymnal that contains "Maple Leaf Forever"--though I assure you, there is such a book.

So, in the last analysis, being American (or, at minimum, Canadian) is at least as much intrinsic to the piety of this hymnal as being Lutheran. Perhaps more so; because its hymn selection is thoroughly steeped in American cultural Christianity, and where that conflicts with Lutheran teachings--well, you can guess which one is set aside....

NST 8

Henceforth NST="Norwegian-Style Tackiness." Further to yesterday's post, we go on to wallow in the spiritual and artistic tackiness of Hymns 451-475 of the Ambassador Hymnal, late of the Assoc. of Free Lutheran Congregations. Believe me, I am doing all that I can to be lenient. And I'm trying not to have too much fun!

Hymn 454 is Thy life was giv'n for me, a Frances R. Havergal hymn about which I have amply expressed myself here, under Joseph Barnby's (1838-96) tune "Pro me Perforatus". At least AH has the good taste to opt for the "I ought to meet Jesus halfway" version rather than the abysmally tacky "Jesus as a Jewish mother" redaction used in, for example, The Lutheran Hymnal (Concordia Publishing House, 1941, Hymn 405). I'm going to be irritated by the odor of synergism either way; why should I take a guilt trip with it?

457 is Fanny Crosby's Pass me not, O gentle Savior, set to the tune "Pass Me Not" by William H. Doane (1831-1915). Nowadays this music inspires a certain bemused horror, inspired perhaps by racial memories of insufferably girlish old ladies bundled from ankle to chin in ruffles and black bombazine. It's like a Sunday School song for 40-year-old virgins who do not go gently into that good night. And the lyrics inhabit a strange spiritual universe in which Jesus drops in on each person individually... if they're so lucky. "While on others Thou art calling, Do not pass me by." Actually, apart from that line (repeated five times in four stanzas) the text does have some merit... but not enough to enable me to keep my hands and feet still through the entire recital.

458 is Rise up, O men of God by William P. Merrill (1867-1954), set to the tune "Festal Song" by William H. Walter (1825-93). The latter is pretty much a vanilla hymn tune, but the words are strongly spiced with ideas about the ministry. If my interpretation is correct, Mr. Merrill expected an awful lot of the pastors of his generation: "Bring in the day of brotherhood And end the night of wrong..." Whew! I hope the validity of my Synod's ordination and call is never judged according to that standard! In all the generations of pastors, faithful and otherwise, the goal quoted above hasn't been achieved yet. And then there's this bit: "The Church for you doth wait, Her strength unequal to her task: Rise up, and make her great." Whoa! I thought the pastoral office was mediated by the Church! If her strength is unequal, than so is her pastor's. He can no more "make her great" than he can right all wrongs and inaugurate an era of peace and brotherhood. Whatever power they have between them is the power of Christ working in and through them. It is enough to ask that pastors serve the Church faithfully, and in faithfulness to Christ!

I have already alluded to Adelaide A. Pollard's Have Thine own way, Lord and its eponymous tune by George C. Stebbins. What can I say about it that won't make me sound like a broken record? First off, in this day and age it sounds a little fishy to ask Jesus to "have his way" with us. In Stanza 1 "I" ask Jesus, the divine Potter, to mold me like clay "while I am waiting, yielded and still." Service while you wait! Isn't that great? This conjures imagery of a patient trying not to squirm while his doctor fiddles with... never mind. There's something a bit off about the word "yielded," though. Who yielded me? Stanza 2 requires you to sing the awkward phrase "wash me just now" relatively fast. Stanza 3 prays, "Wounded and weary, Help me, I pray"--showcasing either a misplaced modifier or an incongruously profound description of how Christ helps us. Theologically it is not without merit, but as a work of poetry it falls embarrassingly flat.

461 is Sabine Baring-Gould's (1834-1924) Onward, Christian soldiers, an OK children's processional hymn that has evolved into a campy congregational conceit of militant religious zeal. I already said plenty about it (though without rejecting it out of hand) under the tune "St. Gertrude" in my post on hymn-tune composer Arthur S. Sullivan (1842-1900).

462 is More love to Thee, O Christ, Elizabeth Prentiss's (1818-78) ripoff of "Nearer, my God, to Thee," with an appropriately cheap-sounding tune (also titled "More Love to Thee") by William Doane. Actually it's kind of a touching song, a very personal expression of "Lord, I believe, help my unbelief" (Mark 9:24) from a heart marked by sorrow. I have nothing against songs of intimate, private devotion. It's just that they aren't the same as hymns for public, congregational worship. Hymnal editors need to think more clearly about this distinction when they choose hymns, and perhaps assign songs like this to a separate book for personal, home use. Why do I think this matters? Because I know from experience that churches are jealous of their dollars and cents. Nothing says "bad stewardship" quite like filling the pews with a book of ditties that don't meet the objectives of corporate worship.

464 is Something for Thee, also known by its first line "Savior, Thy dying love." Sylvanus D. Phelps's (1816-95) text gushes warmly about my ardent desire to render something to the Lord for all his benefits to me, which is all very well to be sure. Each stanza builds steadily, through a combination of poetic meter and shrewd phrasing, to a climactic "something for Thee." If you read the text carefully, there's nothing wrong with it. But I suspect that, swept away in its rhetorical rip-tide, many who sing this hymn overlook the phrases about what Jesus gives us and focus relentlessly on what "I" bring to Jesus. Robert Lowry's arch-sentimental tune "Something for Jesus," even more than Barnby's "Winterton" (which TLH paired with the hymn), supports this me-centered, feelings-driven tendency all the way.

465 is Once to every man and nation, powerful words by the American Romantic poet James Russell Lowell (1819-91) set to the magnificent Welsh tune "Ebenezer" by Thomas J. Williams (1869-1944). To me this poem has the same sort of appeal as Rudyard Kipling's "If": a stirring call to moral decision and public action, but spiritually applicable only within the pale of "civil religion." Christ is named in this hymn, as are spiritually stirring terms such as "martyrs" and "Calvaries" and "Cross." But when you get to the bottom of it, we may as easily be singing about secular politics as matters of the faith. Plus, I become suspicious of Lowell's epistemology when he says, "New occasions teach new duties; Time makes ancient good uncouth; They must upward still and onward Who would keep abreast of truth."

468 is Nearer, still nearer, close to Thy heart, with words and music by Lelia N. Morris (1862-1929). The tune "Morris" sounds like an exercise written by an undergraduate student in music theory class, complete with a rare example of the use of augmented-sixth chords in hymnody. (Music profs may want to distribute this hymn as an extra-credit exercise on their "harmonic analysis" exam.) Surprisingly or not, one bizarre harmonic twist late in the game does not save the music from sounding stiff and under-powered. As to the text, the fact that the last line of each stanza is repeated isn't the only reason it feels sluggish and thin. Its author evidently belonged to the "say very little by means of many words" school of poetry. What she does say is OK, though its emphasis comes down on faith as the individual's "close personal relationship with Christ."

469 is All the way my Savior leads me, another Fanny Crosby/Robert Lowry collaboration in which Lowry blows several obvious opportunities to make his music interesting and artistically effective. Miss Fanny, on the other hand, goes on and on about how Jesus guides us through life, but I have misgivings about how she thinks this guidance takes place. Stanza 1 doesn't throw much light on it: it could be by example, or by moral precept, or by information learned from reading the Bible... Who can say? So, none the wiser, we begin singing verse 2 and are surprised to hear that He "feeds me with the living bread" and quenches my thirst with water gushing from a Rock (with a capital R). Could she actually be talking about Baptism and the Lord's Supper? I wish I could say with certainty, but Miss Fanny never expresses herself more clearly than that. Verse 3 sheds very little additional light: "Perfect rest to me is promised..." So perhaps Jesus' guidance is embodied (at least in part) in the promise of eternal life? I suppose if I wanted a dogmatic treatise, I wouldn't get a Fanny Crosby hymn. But from long experience singing, playing, and studying Lutheran hymns I can confidently say that you can have a warm, devotional song and a clear confession of faith at the same time! Why not demand it, every time?

470 is Make me a captive, Lord by George Matheson (1842-1906), a Scottish theologian and hymn-writer (best known for "O Love that will not let me go"), of whom Wiki makes the following fascinating observation: "His exegesis owes its interest to his subjective resources rather than to breadth of learning; his power lay in spiritual vision rather than balanced judgment, and in the vivid apprehension of the factors which make the Christian personality, rather than in constructive doctrinal statement." I actually think the author of those words meant them as a compliment! But I digress. I think the hymn may be a poetical portrait of the apostles Peter and John, emphasizing their shortcomings as followers and asking God's help in overcoming them. I think it's a very interesting poem, but not much of a hymn. For one thing, it doesn't apply equally to everyone in the congregation. It's like one of those hokey, "creative worship" confessions of sin in which all the people are required to admit to specific sins of which few, if any, are really guilty. This poem should be distributed in a volume of devotional verse, rather than taking up valuable space in a hymnal. And George W. Martin's (1828-81) "Leominster," without exaggeration one of the boringest hymn tunes of all time, adds less than zero incentive to sing this hymn, even after Arthur Sullivan's valiant efforts as an arranger.

471 is I am Thine, O Lord, a Fanny Crosby-William Doane yawner whose custom-made tune ("I am Thine") was evidently designed for part-singing. I'll grant one thing to this school of hymn writers: they understood how to write music that lay within the reach of a congregation expected to sing in four parts. The result, however, is particularly tedious in this latter day when some entire congregations have trouble carrying a tune; so the organist nods his head sleepily while changing chords about once every bar. The text, meanwhile, is nothing to write home about. Exactly how does Miss Fanny think Christ will "draw me nearer...to the cross where Thou hast died"? It can't be by means of the Lord's Supper, since the same hymn uses the word "commune" in the context of an individual believer's prayer life. So exactly how one can be sure of this "communion" is unclear; perhaps it's a matter of using one's imagination!

472 is based on Am I a soldier of the cross by the British Empire's foremost didactic/moralistic poet, Isaac Watts (1674-1748). I say "based on" because the abbreviation "alt." is appended to the credit line. The tune by Thomas A. Arne (1710-1778) is a nice little Classical thing, dressed in the same frilly collar as Watts's text. It only qualifies for this menagerie of tackiness by dint of the poet's apparent regret at not being allowed to suffer persecution and martyrdom. Oh, what a trial it must be to belong to the Religious Establishment! But what if I must fight in order to reign in heaven? Does the pain of knowing that I should be suffering, but am not, count as suffering? Zounds, what a cross!

474 is Lead me to Calvary, a still-copyrighted hymn by Jennie Evelyn Hussey (1874-1958) with an eponymous tune written by William Kirkpatrick, evidently just before his death in 1921. The refrain sums up the hymn: "Lest I forget Gethsemane, Lest I forget Thine agony, Lest I forget Thy love for me, Lead me to Calvary." In exactly what sense does Miss Jennie Evelyn expect to be led to Calvary? In a dream? a vision? a willful act of make-believe? Or are we talking about personal sufferings? Though the last possibility is suggested by stanza 4, this type of poetry is anything but self-explanatory. If it means what I think it means, I can see some devotional value in it. But because it takes so much thought and guess-work to arrive at that interpretation, I wouldn't wish it on the congregation.

Not just this hymn, but this whole thread constantly reminds me of a principle my vicarage bishop taught me: If you don't tell the people clearly how they are to locate Christ--if you leave their pious imagination to fill in the blanks--they will come up with a subjective, man-centered answer unsanctioned by God's Word. It is an inevitable consequence of our perverse, sinful nature, combined with the American culture in which we are all steeped whether we like it or not. So if you don't direct them to Word and Sacrament, you are failing in your duty to preach them to Christ. (See also my hermeneutical "Principle 9").

And finally (for today), Hymn 475 is Teach me to pray, words and music by Albert S. Reitz (1879-1906). Yet another example of a hymn that is neither fresh and contemporary nor truly and venerably old - and I say this not only of the vintage of the hymn, but of its middle-of-the-road character. This whole genre of hymns, in fact, has a Laodicean tendency to poetical, musical, and spiritual lukewarmness that makes one want to spew it out of one's mouth (Revelation 3:16). The tune is a bland blend of beer-hall stalwartness and warbly-voiced, teetotaling sentimentality. The text is an absurd demonstration of how not to do what it asks God to teach us to do. And the refrain raises the remarkable petition: "Grant me Thy power, boundless and free: Power with men and power with Thee." In stanza 3, one may spot another occurrence of the dread word "just," in the sense that made my 10th-grade social-studies teacher ban it from his classroom, and that has grown to vast stature in the language of Evangelical prayer: "Lord, I just ask..." etc. If you sing this hymn, be thankful that Jesus is more patient than I. For if someone nagged me the way the petitioner nags Christ in this prayer-hymn, they wouldn't get through stanza 4 without a smackdown.

Tunes for 12-Line Hymns

It's been years since I've added to this thread, where I meant to go through the hymn tunes that I found in 20th century, English-language, Lutheran hymnals in a systematic way, with critical comments. I previously covered hymn tunes with two or three phrases of melody and tunes with 13 or more. A key to hymnal abbreviations is here. With allowances for my survey of all the hymnals in my possession still being incomplete (I've been very busy!), here's what I've discovered so far about hymn tunes with exactly 12 phrases. Spoiler alert: With only a few exceptions, this isn't a very distinguished bunch, in my opinion. I guess you could call it a case of music avenging itself on poets' prolixity.

Irr.

Salve festa dies (not counting repeats)
This is the tune to "Hail thee, festival day," which I already covered in the 13+ size category, because with repeats, it comes to 16 lines. Or something.

Nyt yløs, sieluni

This "irregular" melody is paired with the hymn "Arise, my soul, arise" in SBH, LBW and CW. Also known as Suomi, it's a striking and memorable Finnish folktune with a strong, confident character, somewhere on the serious side of jubilant. While I'm sure it would make a smashing choir piece, I think it could also be learnable by the congregation, and I don't think its ethnic color detracts from its churchliness. By the way, that's a customized Amen at the end.

PM

Luther League Hymn

This 1893 tune by George C.F. Haas is technically in the 7675 7676 7686 meter, but I guess that's unique enough to qualify it for the "Peculiar Meter" designation. On the other hand, a lot of the tunes below also hang out in a meter of their own, so ... Anyway, this relic of a youth organization of yesteryear went with the hymn "O Christians! leagued together" in CSB, ALH and SBH. Full of tricky intervals, chromatic shlurps and rhythmic complications, it's structurally loose, sprawling and complex. Yet it's also pompous, poppish, shmaltzy and trite. So, I don't consider it worth the challenge of teaching it to a congregation. A glee club maybe, if they feel like singing the Horst Wessel song for Luther's youth.

Now

Carl Schalk's tune, dated c. 1969, goes with Jaroslav Vajda's communion hymn "Now the silence, now the peace" in LBW and CW, and (cue impious laughter) a post-communion hymn also in CW, also by Vajda, called "Then the glory, then the rest." About the "Now" side of this "Now / Then" dyad I have previously vented my feelings. Regarding the tune, I don't see a future for it apart from the Vajda hymn(s), such as it/they is/are. Sorry, Vajda's text seems to be interfering with my ability to write a coherent sentence. While it's the lyrics that really bring out my mean side, I'll give Schalk's tune its due and say I've never cared for it, either. It's a strange, ambivalently churchly, ambivalently cheerful, ambivalently attractive thing that might be too far-out for the congregation to catch on in just one run-through, and not interesting enough to make multiple repeats worthwhile.

5.5.6.5.6.5.6.5.5.5.6.5.

Judas Maccabæus

Adapted from a theme in Georg Frederick Handel's oratorio of the same name, this tune goes with "Thine is the glory, risen conquering Son" in SBH, LBW and (a departure from its editors' otherwise sound judgment) ELHy. It's a mess of notes for the congregation to navigate, so it'll probably be performed slowly, with ponderous dignity – perhaps by choir or soloists; perhaps with brass instruments, if available. It resonates with coronation marches and Baroque theatre music; in the churchly context, with carillons pealing over the roofs of Presbyterian and Episcopal churches. It's written for virtuoso performers, not Grandma Smurf and Uncle Shmedly. In the past, I've repeatedly referred to a law that I totally made up, but still consider binding: a law against butchering themes from classical composers as hymn tunes. This is the parade example, and I use the word "parade" advisedly.

6.5.6.5.4.5.6.5.5.4.6.4.

Harre, meine Seele

This 1827 tune by Henri A. C. Malan is set to the hymn "Wait, my soul, with patience" in LHA. It has a certain modest appeal, though its long, halting succession of short phrases may test the patience of a congregation trying to learn it. Nevertheless, I've warmed to it since I first looked at it decades ago – I then described it as "meandering and totally uninspired ... an embarrassment" – and I wouldn't rule out giving it a shot sometime.

6.5.6.5.6.5. D

Forward

Also known as Smart, this tune by Henry Smart (1813-79) is paired with "Forward! be our watchword" in SBH. It's a cheerful, rambling melody with a certain motivic unity that keeps it just this side of collapsing into an unstructured mess. One vote against using it in congregational singing will come from those people who find the melodic range taxing; though it could be transposed down a step or two.

Hermas

Frances Ridley Havergal's 1871 tune has been used with "Golden harps are sounding" (CSB, ALH, TCH and SBH), "On our way rejoicing" (TCH, SBH and LBW) and "Who is on the Lord's side?" (LHA). It's an interestingly structured hymn, though most of that structure becomes evident in the last third of it, which reprises phrases from the first two-thirds. It could end at the 2/3 point, but then it would be completely through-composed, with no repeated phrases; a bit of a trade-off, in terms of structure. Anyway, it's a cheerful little tune, full of childlike simplicity, though perhaps a bit pedestrian. Whether you need this hymnal will depend, I guess, on how much you care about those texts. In my devotional life, I've lived without them quite comfortably.

Mann

Named after its composer, a certain F.A. Mann, this tune went with "Standing at the portal of the opening year" in ALH – a first line that doesn't particularly grab me. The tune doesn't cop much of a feel, either: uninspired, over-long and dull, with a subtle militancy and an odor of rustic pietism. The New Year's text by Frances R. Havergal actually isn't bad. Someone might do it a favor and write a new tune for it, and deliver it from this tune's sepia-toned image of 19th century Protestantism.

Onward

John E. Roe wrote this tune c. 1870, and CSB paired it with "From the eastern mountains," a children's hymn for Epiphany whose refrain, for some reason, pronounces "shines" with two syllables. It's a nicely structured tune with attractive material, blending childlike innocence with a touch of majesty.

Prince Rupert

Gustav Holst (1874-1934) adapted this tune from an old English march, and LW paired it with the Easter/Ascension/Pentecost anthem "Welcome happy morning" (see also the next tune and, in a different translation, Salve festa dies). I'll grant that it would sound wonderful with a trumpet doubling the melody line. But folks who are used to a hymn beginning and ending in the same key (or its parallel minor/major) may be thrown off a tich by this tune's ambivalence between G minor and its relative major, B-flat. Very martial in its pomp and circumstance, it comes with an accompaniment that veers widely from hymnal norms and that many organists may find difficult; similarly, its instrumentally conceived intervals may go over better, vocally, with the choir than the congregation. I think the great composer law (or curse) applies again.

Sei du mir gegrüsset

TLH and CW pair "Welcome happy morning" with this tune, which I think may be the happiest pairing of the lot. Though the melody is a little square and perhaps on the stiff side, it is also transparently simple and free of off-putting surprises, and therefore most approachable for congregational singing. It also has a bright energy and an air of pride, not quite tipping over into pompousness, well suited to this hymn. Parts of it may remind you of the tune Old 124th (think, "Draw near and take the body of the Lord").

St. Gertrude

Everybody seems to know this 1871 tune by Arthur S. Sullivan (yes, he of "Gilbert and" fame) as the tune to "Onward, Christian soldiers." At least, that's the consensus of CSB, TLH, ALH, SBH, LHA, LBW, LW and CW, to name only 20th century books that I've been through from cover to cover. Additionally, TCH pairs it with "Christian Leaguers, rally" – which, I guess, harks back to another youth organization similar to the Luther League and the Walther League. It's a catchy enough tune, but it's too late to worry about whether it would be hard to teach to your congregation; they already know it. Some days, you might wince at its tones of theatricality and militaristic triumphalism, especially arrangements with an oom-pah bass line. It has a secular appeal, even when used with a "Christian warfare" hymn, like a children's musical game or vehicle for mass propaganda. I'd like to get rid of it, personally, but it's here to stay.

6. 12 lines

O Seigneur

This tune comes from Trente quatre pseaumes de David (Geneva, 1551), and LBW threads the hymn "When morning gilds the skies" into it – a hymn that, in shorter stanzas, I'm accustomed to singing to Laudes Domini. The phrases glom together in groups of three, an organizational scheme that may help impress this rather long tune on the memory. Suitably cheerful and energetic in character, it nevertheless has something prayerful about it. I'd like to suggest pronouncing the word "praised" at the end of every third phrase with two syllables ("praisèd") rather than slurring the last two notes; but, of course, that would make the meter designation 6.6.7.6.6.7. D.

6.6.11.6.6.11. D

The Ash Grove

I knew this Welsh folktune from a book of children's songs that I played out of as a young piano student. One of my music theory profs in college said she couldn't hear it without thinking of Girl Scout campfires. Nevertheless, LBW, LW and CW (again, speaking only for the 20th century) set it to the post-communion hymn "Sent forth by God's blessing," and LBW and CW also use it with "Let all things now living." It's an attractive, exuberant little tune that's fun to play and sing, though organists need to think hard about their tempo before they start playing it because it has a tendency to go too fast.

7.6.7.6.7.6. D

Honor

This hymn tune appears without citation in ALH, set to "All glory, laud and honor." This arrangment, of course, requires the stanzas to be broken up differently than with, say, Valet will ich dir geben. Is it worth that? I wonder. It has a solid structure, but it's bland and uninspired; some of its intervals, including wide leaps and chromatic shlurps, could make it challenging for the congregation to learn; and although it has that pomp-and-circumstance aspect to it that jives with a Palm Sunday procession, I just don't love the smarm factor it brings with it. Stick with Valet, mkay?

7.6.7.6.7.6.7.6.7.6.8.6.

Wir pflügen

This 1800 tune by Johann A. P. Schulz has been misattributed to Laurentius Laurentii (c. 1700), probably because he authored the hymn "Rejoice, all ye believers," to which ALH sets this tune. However, it is more widely and (judging by its title) originally paired with "We plough the fields, and scatter," as witnessed by CSB, SBH, LHA and LBW. (It is also, by the way, superior to a tune caled "We plow the fields" by R. Bay, in the 7.6.7.6. D meter, used with the same text in TCH.) There are drawbacks to this tune, however. It has an extremely wide melodic range (an octave and a fifth); its long succession of musical phrases are unevenly inspired and through-composed, without a repeat; and different hymnals disagree, perhaps confusingly, about exactly how it goes. (Some variants are shown above.) So, it has pros and cons. Beware, however, of SBH's performance direction ("briskly"); the organist needs to take the congregation's skill level into account when setting a tempo.

7.6.7.6.7.6.7.6.7.7.7.6.

Hankey

William Gustavus Fischer (1835-1912) wrote this sentimental favorite, known to generations of Sunday School kids as the tune to "I love to tell the story." Besides children's hymnals, the hymn (with this tune) is also in TCH, SBH, LBW and CW. I must admit that I liked it when it was taught to me in kindergarten, though I'm no longer in love with its sentimentality or the fact that Katherine Hankey's text fails to actually tell the story that it professes to love telling. The lyrics are man-centered, vapid and self-congratulatory to a degree that, I think, condemns the tune by association. Quoting myself writing decades ago: "It's a shame that so much time and trouble is wasted teaching this difficult, through-composed, and worthless hymn to little children. Its persistent popularity (perhaps on the wane these days, but not necessarily for good reasons) makes it especially dangerous to Lutheranism." There. The I's have it.

7.8.7.8.7.6.7.6.7.6.7.6.

Nun lob, mein’ Seel’

Also known as Kugelmann, this 15th century tune was published in Hans Kugelmann's Concentus Novi, Augsburg, 1540. It is set to the eponymous hymn "My soul, now bless thy Maker" in at least ELHb, ALH, TLH, LHA, LBW, LW, CW and ELHy, as well as "I know my faith is founded" (TLH, LW, CW, ELHy), "O living Bread from heaven" (TLH, ELHy), "One is our God and Father" (LHy, LHA) and "To Thee all praise ascendeth" (LHy). (Two of these last three may actually be centos of the same hymn by Johann Rist.) It has also received the chorale prelude treatment from (among others) Buxtehude, Pachelbel, J.G. Walther and Jan Bender, for what it's worth. Worthy of such musical luminaries, it's a fantastic piece that touches base in more keys than the average hymn tune and actually implies more than one home key (G major and its relative, E minor). For all its great length and adventurousness, it's tightly organized and falls under the voice well, moves with grace and energy and sticks in the memory. Again, organists need to stop and think before starting to play it: in this case, because of a tendency toward morbid slowness; it should be played with a light touch.

Min sjæl, min sjæl, lov Herren

Also known as "My soul, now bless," this is an alternate tune to Nun lob (immediately above) by Ludvig M. Lindeman (1812-87). LHy and TCH set it to "My soul, now bless thy Maker" and TCH also pairs it with "To Thee all praise ascendeth." It's an admirable effort to set a long, challenging text to music, and fairly successful; I just don't think it holds a candle to the Kugelmann piece. However, as an alternative tune, there might be some life in it yet. In its favor are its unremittingly bright cheerfulness and a rhythm more given to taking it quickly. However, I would recommend transposing it down a couple steps from its current, throat-straining key.

8.7.8.7.8.7. D

Maple Leaf Forever

Amazingly enough, TCH features the song "In days of yore, from Britain's shore," set to this 19th century tune by Alexander Muir. The facing page has "The Star Spangled Banner," to which I reckon this song is the Canadian equivalent. Since it's presumably well-known to Canadians, I won't belabor any of its technical challenges; after all, it's made of simple enough material. I'm a bit at a loss to stammer out how I feel about the tastefulness of putting patriotic songs in the hymnal, whether American or Canadian; but I'm especially struck by the bugly sound of this tune. (I said "bugly," not "fugly," right?) In my mind's ear, a brass band joins in. Forget you saw this.

Morgenlied

Frederick C. Maker's 1876 tune is paired with "Christ is risen! Alleluia!" in CSB and LBW. Written in a really high key, I could see it being transposed down, like, a third. Maybe even a fourth. Again, it's a tightly structured tune, which may help sell it to the congregation, but its theatrical pomp makes me question whether I want to do that. The score includes such markings as "unison" and "harmony," "rit." and "a tempo," which suggest that it may work better for the choir.

8.8.7.8.8.7. D

O Mensch, bewein

Also known as "Es sind doch selig alle," "Old 113th," "Psalm 36," and "Psalm 68" – my goodness! – this tune comes from Matthias Greitter's Kirchenamt (Strasbourg, 1525). Except for one note being raised a half-step, its first phrase is identical to that of the better known tune "Lasst uns erfreuen." However, the rest of the tune is quite distinctive and, I think, very handsome and expressive. I wish it was more widely used. In 20th century anglophone Lutheranism, it only turns up twice that I know of: with "Here at Thy cross I hail Thee now" in LHA, and "O sinner, come thy sin to mourn" in ELHy. The latter is the hymn that gives the tune its name, a marvelous penitential Passion hymn that inspired beautiful chorale preludes by Jan Sweelinck, J.S. Bach, Johann Pachelbel, Max Reger and Helmut Walcha. Bach also used it in his St. Matthew Passion. I'm super-convinced that this is a hymn that must be taught to English-speaking Lutherans.

8.8.8.6. 12 lines

Den store hvide flok (1)

This piece by Lindeman was the first tune to "Behold a host, arrayed in white" in LHy. It's a nice number, lacking the excesses of the more popular second tune (below), though perhaps erring on the side of dullness. It sounds like a typical Norwegian chorale, but it pales next to the heart-string-tugging folktune everyone knows and loves. Somebody really should write a hymn to go with it (and not as a never-used alternate tune) before it vanishes entirely.

Den store hvide flok (2)

Also known as "Great White Host," "Behold a host" and "Symphony," this 17th century Norwegian folktune owns "Behold a host, arrayed in white," so far as LHy (second tune), ALH, TCH, TLH, SBH, LBW, LW, ELHy and CW are concerned. It's a bit of a workout; and LHy dangerously employs repeat signs in its page layout, on which I blame a disastrous error I made one time when I lost track of whether I had played that repeat in the last stanza during a live service. If looks could kill, that congregation would have fried me to a crisp. Many hymnals have Edvard Grieg's harmonization of the tune, which is a bit on the barbershoppy side. All the same, it's an unforgettable piece that I've heard many a congregation sing with more than their usual gusto on All Saints' Day.

8.9.8.8.9.8.6.6.4.4.4.8.

Wachet auf

Philipp Nicolai wrote this tune in 1599, together with his hymn "Wake, awake, for night is flying." If you want to know how important this hymn is within Lutheranism, observe that it's known as the King of Chorales. (Nicolai also wrote the Queen, but that's a story for another day.) ELHb, LHy, CSB, TCH, TLH, SBH (with two versions), LHA, LBW, LW, CW and ELHy all have this text-tune combo. But wait; there's more! Nicolai's tune also goes with "Blessed are the heirs of heaven" in LHy and LHA; "By the holy hills surrounded" in the same two books; "Christians, prayer may well employ you" (LHy, ALH, TLH LHA, LW, CW and ELHy); "Glorious Majesty, before Thee" (SBH and LBW); "Gracious God, our heavenly Father" (LHA); "Holy Jesus! Fountain streaming" (LHy and ALH); and "Praise the Lord through every nation" (LHy and ALH). Across all those hymnals, there are many variants of the melody, which I tried to represent in the two versions above. The rhythmic version, especially, poses some musical challenges for the singing congregation; it has some pretty wild intervals in it and an unusual meter that every organist approaches in his or her own way. SBH and ELHy feature arrangements harmonized by J.S. Bach. Nevertheless, it is a uniquely powerful, nay, stunning hymn, expressing tremendous courage and exultant praise. The fact that so many different hymn-writers wrote lyrics to go with it, to the point where Wachet auf became all but a standard meter for Lutheran hymnwriting, testifies to its appeal. It has been used in symphonies, ballets and cantatas, entering the popular consciousness on a level that explodes misconceptions about the accessibility of even a difficult chorale.

And there I gladly leave the subject of 12-line hymn tunes. Funnily enough, when we skinny down to 11 phrases, we find only seven tunes to deal with. So, maybe I won't be so intimidated, and the next installment on this thread won't hang fire for quite so long.