613. Ecce nunc benedicite

A paraphrase of Psalm 134, the last of the Songs of Ascents or pilgrimage hymns (Pss. 120-134) and thus, the end of this series of hymns. Hear my sigh of relief! It's a quicky: a tiny little psalm, and for once I wasn't up to the challenge of out-economizing it. In fact, I had to repeat a bit from the beginning at the end to make it work. And again, I'm not turning up an existing tune to fit this text, so I did have to write one, below. ART: A Swedish priest giving the Aaronic benediction, photograph dedicated to the public domain.

Behold, bless ye the Lord,
Ye servants of the Lord,
Who vigil stand
With prayerful hand
Uplifted all night toward
The altar of the Lord.

The Lord is He who made
The heav'ns, in light arrayed,
And made earth, too:
May He bless you
From Zion. Bless the Lord,
Ye servants of the Lord!

612. Ecce quam bonum

A paraphrase of Psalm 133, a Song of Ascents or pilgrimage hymn by David. I'm a bit reluctant to write it, since I'm inordinately pleased with a musical setting of this psalm that I wrote some years ago. But a paraphrase it wasn't, so here goes. I am acquainted with only two tunes that would fit this text: Henry Jenner's mediocre QUAM DILECTA (cf. Service Book & Hymnal, "We love the place, O God", etc.) or the just slightly less unremarkable ST. CECILIA by Leighton G. Hayne, †1883 (CF. SBH, "Thy kingdom come, O God"). I'd rather go for the Hayne (below) than write another original tune. ART: Moses anointing Aaron, from the Medhurst Picture Torah, 1835.

O brethren, it is well
And pleasing to behold
For us as one to dwell,
Like oil most dearly sold—

Yea, oil most dearly sold
That, poured on Aaron's head,
Onto his garment's fold
And o'er his whiskers sped—

As Hermon's, Zion's dew
The mountainsides descend.
The Lord His word will do—
The blessing without end.

611. Memento, Domine

A paraphrase of Psalm 132, a Song of Ascents or pilgrimage hymn. It's the biggest one in the group (Pss. 120-134). Compared to other paraphrases in this set, I took more liberties with this one, stretching here and compressing there, and rearranging the thoughts in a more explicitly Christocentric manner. Tune: MAGDALEN by John Stainer, 1875 ("My hope is built on nothing less"). ART: David prepares to build God's house, an illustration of 1 Chronicles 22 from the Providence Lithograph Company, 1896, public domain.

Remember Lord, when David swore
That he would build Your house before
His own: and in return, his Son,
You vowed, would sit upon his throne.
From Bethlehem the tidings flew,
Wherefore we come to worship You.

Let us to Christ now go with haste,
The offered Victim touch and taste,
In flesh as our eternal Lord
To dwell with us has not abhorred.
His weakness now our ark of strength,
Let Israel shout for joy at length!

O Christ! We fall before Your feet,
Enthroned upon the mercy-seat.
Robe us in Your own righteousness,
Nor hide from us Your holy face.
As You once tabernacled here,
Encamp with us, our Savior dear!

Bless Zion, Lord, with holy food;
Provision her with all things good.
Let priests, in Your salvation clad,
And all Your saints shout and be glad.
Oh, lamps be lit! Oh, trumpet sound!
The Lord's Anointed One is crowned!

610. Domine, non est exaltum

A paraphrase of Psalm 131, a Song of Ascents or pilgrimage hymn by David. I struggled to make this hymn fit a tune in a different meter, but it was having none of it. Then I turned a page in my hymnal to BOYLSTON by Lowell Mason, 1832 ("Blest be the tie that binds"), and the words started to come. In a trickle, to be sure, but with so brief a psalm, it was enough. ART: An illustration by Jessie Willcox Smith, 1920, from "The Princess and the Goblin" by George MacDonald, public domain.

My heart, Lord, is not proud,
Nor are mine eyes grown vain;
My thoughts, by weighty things unbowed,
From mysteries abstain.

O soul, be calm and still
As child at mother's breast!
Upon the Lord, O Israel,
Your hope forever rest!

609. De profundis

A paraphrase of Psalm 130, a Song of Ascents or pilgrimage hymn. I approach this psalm with fear and trembling, since I don't expect my setting to hold a candle to Martin Luther's Aus tiefer Not. And I'm definitely not so arrogant that I'd choose the same tune. So, instead, here it is, arranged to fit the tune TENBURY by Frederick A.G. Ouseley, 1861 ("It is not death to die," etc.). ART: The oubliettes of Fort-la-Latte, Brittany, France, photographed by Pierre André Leclercq, 2017. Licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International license.

My whimper from the pit
I beg You, Lord, to hear.
To the petition I submit,
Incline a gracious ear.

Should You take note of sin,
Lord, who had dared appear?
But You forgive: the grounds wherein
I cry to You in fear.

I wait on You; my hope
Is in Your faithful word.
As eastward eyes for morning grope,
My soul waits for the Lord.

Hope, Israel, in the Lord!
For mercy dwells with Him,
Who bounteous goodness will afford
And Israel redeem.

608. Saepe expugnaverunt

A paraphrase of Psalm 129, a Song of Ascents or pilgrimage hymn. While it may seem, from the speed with which I'm shooting this series of hymns out, that they present no difficulty, believe me, I struggle mightily with their form and structure – some more than others. And when a particularly resistant text finally falls into place, as often as not, I find that without meaning to, I've invented a new metrical or syllabic verse form that compels me to write an original tune as well. So it is with this hymn. I could probably add a few syllables here and there to make it fit something, but I don't want to, since above all I prize economy of words. ART: A thatched roof in Lesotho, photograph by Tjeerd Wiersma, 2004. licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license.

Let Israel say: How often from my youth
The wicked have oppressed me for the truth!
Yet they won not in their attack,
Though plowing furrows in my back.
The Lord is just, redressing wrongs;
He cut apart their binding thongs.

Let those who tilt at Zion be turned back,
Like grass upon the housetops, withered black:
The mower's hand fills not with leaves,
Nor does the baler's arm with sheaves.
Then none who pass them in their shame
Shall say, "We bless you in God's name."

607. Beati omnes

A paraphrase of Psalm 128, a Song of Ascents or pilgrimage hymn. Tune: ICH DANK DIR SCHON by Michael Praetorius, 1610, as paired with "The King of love my Shepherd is" in The Lutheran Hymnal. ART: Michelangelo Cerquozzi, †1602, still-life with grapes, figs and other fruits, public domain.

Blest are you all who fear the Lord,
Who walk in His ways, tasting
Fruit of your labor as reward,
Yea, pleasure everlasting.

Well shall it go with you—your mate
A vinestock richly fruited,
Your children growing in full spate
Like olives, firmly rooted.

From out God's throne may you be blest
And be His city's blessing,
Till all your seed obtain the rest
To which your days are pressing.