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Hymn #15: Christ the Lord Is Risen Today

Oct4

Lyrics: Charles Wesley, 1739. Written in celebration of the first service of London’s first Wesleyan Chapel. This chapel was known as the Foundry Meeting House because Charles Wesley purchased an old foundry building to house his growing number of converts.

Music: EASTER HYMN, unknown author, first published in 1708.

Theme: For I delivered to you first of all that which I also received: that Christ died for our sins according to the Scriptures, and that He was buried, and that He rose again the third day according to the Scriptures . . . I Corinthians 15:3-4.
Black Resurrection

Christ the Lord is ris’n today, Alleluia!
Sons of men and angels say! Alleluia!
Raise your joys and triumphs high: Alleluia!
Sing ye heavens, thou earth reply. Alleluia!

Love’s redeeming work is done; Alleluia!
Fought the fight, the battle won: Alleluia!
Lo, our Sun’s eclipse is o’er; Alleluia!
Lo, He sets in blood no more. Alleluia!

Vain the stone, the watch, the seal; Alleluia!
Christ has burst the gates of hell. Alleluia!
Death in vain forbids him rise; Alleluia!
Christ hath opened paradise. Alleluia!

Lives again our glorious King! Alleluia!
Where, O Death is now thy sting? Alleluia!
Once he died our souls to save; Alleluia!
Where thy victory, O grave Alleluia!

Soar we now where Christ has led, Alleluia!
Following our exalted Head, Alleluia!
Made like him, like him we rise, Alleluia!
Ours the cross, the grave, the skies. Alleluia!

What though once we perished all, Alleluia!
Partners in our parents’ fall? Alleluia!
Second life we all receive, Alleluia!
In our heavenly Adam live. Alleluia!

Risen with Him, we upward move, Alleluia!
Still we seek the things above, Alleluia!
Still pursue and kiss the Son, Alleluia!
Seated on his Father’s throne. Alleluia!
The Resurrected Jesus Reveals Himself to Mary Near the Tomb

Scarce on earth a thought bestow, Alleluia!
Dead to all we leave below; Alleluia!
Heaven our aim and loved abode, Alleluia!
Hid our life with Christ in God; Alleluia!

Hid till Christ, our Life, appear, Alleluia!
Glorious in His members here; Alleluia!
Joined to Him, we then shall shine, Alleluia!
All immortal, all divine. Alleluia!

Hail the Lord of earth and heaven! Alleluia!
Praise to Thee by both be given! Alleluia!
Thee we greet triumphant now: Alleluia!
Hail, the Resurrection Thou! Alleluia!

King of glory, soul of bliss, Alleluia!
Everlasting life is this, Alleluia!
Thee to know, thy power to prove, Alleluia!
Thus to sing, and thus to love, Alleluia!

The “Alleluia” at the end of each line of the poem was not originally part of the Wesley’s hymn. An unknown editor added that responsive repetition to better fit words to music. Wesley’s original poem also had eleven verses, and I finally found all eleven in this post at Dr. Mark Roberts’ blog.

Andersonville by MacKinlay Kantor

Oct3

The front page of the copy of this Pulitzer prize-winning novel that I got from the library says that MacKinlay Kantor “planned the writing of Andersonville, his masterwork, for twenty-five years.” I can believe it. The novel is 750 pages long and almost unbelievably detailed in its treatment of the Confederate prison of war camp at Andersonville, Georgia. The style of writing is a little odd. The book is mostly made up of short story or novelette length vignettes of the experiences of different people, mostly men, in and around the prison. A few characters persist throughout the entire book–the Claffey family who own a plantation just outside the prison, another family of poor whites who live nearby. The Yankee prisoners themselves and the prison guards and Confederate officers who run the prison move through the book, making appearances, telling their own stories, but mostly they don’t survive. Sometimes we read from the perspective of one of these prisoners, and then the writing becomes almost esoteric, as the reader partakes of the stream of consciousness, muddled thoughts and actions of disease-ridden and psychologically confused, sometimes delirious, men.

What I took away from the book was a reminder that there really is evil in the world, that Auschwitz and the killing fields of Cambodia, are sadly not the only examples of men treating men like animals, and worse. Interestingly, although Kantor seems to have some sympathy for the Confederates caught on the losing end of a war that they saw as a battle for the survival of their way of life, nowhere does the book make the excuse for Andersonville that I have read before: that the Confederates themselves were malnourished and drained of resources and could not adequately feed or house thousands of Yankee prisoners. In the book, at least, there is plenty of food, just outside the prison walls, and the Claffeys and their neighbors even offer to help provide for the prisoners. But the cruelty of a few officers overrides any attempt to alleviate conditions at Andersonville. In this novel the infamous Captain Henry Wirz, commander of the prison, is a stupid, cruel German (reminding me again of Auschwitz) dictator whose wish is for all of the Yankees to die. And Wirz’s supervisor, General Winder, who is in charge of all of the Confederate prisoner of war camps, is even worse, if that is possible. The two of them make no excuses for their behavior; they are fighting their own war, against the Yankees, even those in prison. (No Geneva convention here.)

Andersonville won its Pulitzer Prize in 1956, several years after the horrors of the Holocaust of Hiter’s Germany had been revealed and somewhat assimilated, so I imagine that the echoes of those WW II atrocities are not unintended. The stories of how some of the Yankee prisoners at Andersonville kept some kind of human dignity even under the most degrading circumstances, and of how some became evil predators themselves, parallel stories of Hitler’s concentration camps and the conditions and choices made there. Andersonville is a disturbing book, but worth slogging through for the lessons and reminders it gives: evil can happen here, and good people can become enmeshed in that evil.

Hymn #16: O Sacred Head Now Wounded

Oct2

Lyrics; Attributed to Bernard of Clairvoux (12th century).
Translated from Latin to English by James Waddel Alexander.

Music: Original melody composed by Hans Leo Hassler. This melody was first used for the German version of the hymn in 1656. Then, Johann Sebastian Bach used his arrangement of the melody in his St. Matthew’s Passion and his Christmas Oratorio. Therefore, the tune has become closely associated with Bach.

Theme: Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Hebrews 12:2.

O sacred Head, now wounded, with grief and shame weighed down,
Now scornfully surrounded with thorns, Thine only crown;
How pale Thou art with anguish, with sore abuse and scorn!
How does that visage languish, which once was bright as morn!

What Thou, my Lord, hast suffered, was all for sinners’ gain;
Mine, mine was the transgression, but Thine the deadly pain.
Lo, here I fall, my Savior! ’Tis I deserve Thy place;
Look on me with Thy favor, vouchsafe to me Thy grace.

Men mock and taunt and jeer Thee, Thou noble countenance,
Though mighty worlds shall fear Thee and flee before Thy glance.
How art thou pale with anguish, with sore abuse and scorn!
How doth Thy visage languish that once was bright as morn!

Now from Thy cheeks has vanished their color once so fair;
From Thy red lips is banished the splendor that was there.
Grim death, with cruel rigor, hath robbed Thee of Thy life;
Thus Thou hast lost Thy vigor, Thy strength in this sad strife.

My burden in Thy Passion, Lord, Thou hast borne for me,
For it was my transgression which brought this woe on Thee.
I cast me down before Thee, wrath were my rightful lot;
Have mercy, I implore Thee; Redeemer, spurn me not!

What language shall I borrow to thank Thee, dearest friend,
For this Thy dying sorrow, Thy pity without end?
O make me Thine forever, and should I fainting be,
Lord, let me never, never outlive my love to Thee.

My Shepherd, now receive me; my Guardian, own me Thine.
Great blessings Thou didst give me, O source of gifts divine.
Thy lips have often fed me with words of truth and love;
Thy Spirit oft hath led me to heavenly joys above.

Here I will stand beside Thee, from Thee I will not part;
O Savior, do not chide me! When breaks Thy loving heart,
When soul and body languish in death’s cold, cruel grasp,
Then, in Thy deepest anguish, Thee in mine arms I’ll clasp.

The joy can never be spoken, above all joys beside,
When in Thy body broken I thus with safety hide.
O Lord of Life, desiring Thy glory now to see,
Beside Thy cross expiring, I’d breathe my soul to Thee.

My Savior, be Thou near me when death is at my door;
Then let Thy presence cheer me, forsake me nevermore!
When soul and body languish, oh, leave me not alone,
But take away mine anguish by virtue of Thine own!

Be Thou my consolation, my shield when I must die;
Remind me of Thy passion when my last hour draws nigh.
Mine eyes shall then behold Thee, upon Thy cross shall dwell,
My heart by faith enfolds Thee. Who dieth thus dies well.

I found this acoustic guitar rendition via Brandywine Books:

Hymn #17: In Christ Alone

Oct1

Lyrics: Stuart Townend

Music: Keith Getty

Theme: “Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to men by which we must be saved.”
Acts 4:12

The story of the composition of the contemporary worship hymn, In Christ Alone.

“I’ve been amazed by the response to this song,” says Townend. “We’ve had some incredible e-mails about how people have been helped by the song through incredibly difficult circumstances.”

One e-mail described how a U.S soldier serving in Iraq would pray through each verse of the song every day, and how the promises of God’s protection and grace helped to sustain him through the enormous pressures and dangers of life in a war zone.

Adrian Warnock interviews Keith Getty.

Adrian Warnock interviews Stuart Townend.

Jared (Gospel-Driven Church) has posted the lyrics and a youtube rendition of this hymn.

In Christ alone my hope is found,
He is my light, my strength, my song;
this Cornerstone, this solid Ground,
firm through the fiercest drought and storm.
What heights of love, what depths of peace,
when fears are stilled, when strivings cease!
My Comforter, my All in All,
here in the love of Christ I stand.

In Christ alone! who took on flesh
Fullness of God in helpless babe!
This gift of love and righteousness
Scorned by the ones he came to save:
Till on that cross as Jesus died,
The wrath of God was satisfied –
For every sin on Him was laid;
Here in the death of Christ I live.

There in the ground His body lay
Light of the world by darkness slain:
Then bursting forth in glorious Day
Up from the grave he rose again!
And as He stands in victory
Sin’s curse has lost its grip on me,
For I am His and He is mine –
Bought with the precious blood of Christ.

No guilt in life, no fear in death,
This is the power of Christ in me;
From life’s first cry to final breath.
Jesus commands my destiny.
No power of hell, no scheme of man,
Can ever pluck me from His hand;
Till He returns or calls me home,
Here in the power of Christ I’ll stand.

We sing this modern hymn, that is yet so grounded in the historic Christian faith and doctrine that it sounds tried and tested, in my church frequently. Each time we sing it I am reminded of the basic creed of the Christian church throughout history: We stand complete before God clothed in the life, death and resurrection of Christ alone.

I think this one is destined to become a classic, moving toward the top of the list.

Read Aloud Thursday: A Murder for Her Majesty

Oct1

IMG_0309A Murder for Her Majesty by Beth Hilgartner. Alice witnesses the murder of her musician father in Elizabethan England, and she runs away to hide from his murderers in York. There she becomes friends with the boys in the cathedral choir and joins the choir herself disguised as a boy. Can she remain hidden even though one of the murderers, Father Cooper, works at the cathedral, and even though the murder may have been committed by order of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth herself?

Me: Are you enjoying our read aloud book?

Betsy-Bee (10): Yes. It always seems as if these books are sort of boring at the beginning, but then when you get into them they get more interesting. This one is more interesting because it’s about kids, not grownups.

Me: We haven’t quite finished the book. What do you think is going to happen?

BB: Well, Alice just got kidnapped by Father Cooper and the others, and she told them that she told her music teacher everything. So they’re going to keep her alive until they check on that. But she really told Geoffrey about everything, and Geoffrey and the other choir boys are going to tell Master Kenton. I don’t think that Master Kenton will believe them at first, but they’ll do something to make him believe. Then, they’ll have a grown-up to help them rescue her.

Me: What do you think will happen, Z-baby?

Z-Baby (8): In all those books like that there’s always a happy ending.

BB: Everybody know that it’s going to be a horrible book otherwise.

Me: Don’t bad things ever happen in books?

BB: Yeah, sometimes bad things happen, but it always turns out happy in the end. Unless it’s a horrible book.

Me: Well, if you already know how it will end, then what makes it interesting?

Z-baby: Well, all the chapters end with this Big Wondering, and you want to know what’s going to happen next.

BB: And if you start a book you have to finish it to know for sure what will happen. But some books are so boring that you don’t even care about what will happen next.

Me: What do you think is the most importatn part of this book, A Murder for Her Majesty, the characters, the plot (story) or the ideas?

BB: I think it’s a kind of good idea because it’s about a girl who dresses up like a boy to save her life because she’s being chased by murderers. I would never think of that idea, but if it was to save my life, then it would be scary, but I would do it.

Me: Do you think you could get away with pretending to be a boy?

BB: I’ve tried before, and I don’t think so. If it were a boy dressing me up to look like a boy then maybe I would. Maybe it’s because I have long hair.

Me: Well, she cut her hair. Would you cut off your hair to save your life?

BB: I’d do almost anything to save my life.

Me: What about the setting for this book? It’s in a cathedral. Have you ever been in a cathedral?

BB: No, it’s a big, big church.

Me: Would like to visit a cathedral?

BB: Only with my friends.

Me: What about singing in a cathedral choir?

BB: I only like dancing in front of people, not singing.

Me: And what’s your favorite word that you learned from the book?

BB (retorted): It’s NOT my favorite word. I get annoyed by that word “retorted” because the author uses it over and over. It’s weird.

Me: Anything else?

BB: Well, I wouldn’t exactly feel very comfortable in a house full of boys. I’d like at least one girl.

Z-baby: All I’d say is that it’s a good book.

If you read closely, you can glean from our conversation that A Murder for Her Majesty has a good, attention-getting plot and premise. The writing is OK, but the overuse of adverbs and synonyms for “said” is a bit annoying. And the setting is interesting. It’s also set around Christmas time, so it would be a good book for reading aloud in December, particularly if Elizabethan times were on the history agenda.

Hymn #18: The Old Rugged Cross

Sep30

Lyrics: George Bernard

Music: George Bernard

Theme: But God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom the world is crucified unto me, and I unto the world. Galatians 6:14

Silver crucifix lying on open Bible


On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross,
The emblem of suffering and shame;
And I love that old cross where the dearest and best
For a world of lost sinners was slain.

So I’ll cherish the old rugged cross,
Till my trophies at last I lay down;
I will cling to the old rugged cross,
And exchange it some day for a crown.

O that old rugged cross, so despised by the world,
Has a wondrous attraction for me;
For the dear Lamb of God left His glory above
To bear it to dark Calvary.

In that old rugged cross, stained with blood so divine,
A wondrous beauty I see,
For ’twas on that old cross Jesus suffered and died,
To pardon and sanctify me.

To the old rugged cross I will ever be true;
Its shame and reproach gladly bear;
Then He’ll call me some day to my home far away,
Where His glory forever I’ll share.

Islam has its crescent and sword, Marxism its hammer and sickle. Buddhists have statues of the Buddha himself, laughing or serious, according to one’s taste. Other religions and philosophies have their symbols of power and victory.

Christians have the cross. We may pretty it up and hang it on a gold chain, but at its heart Christianity is about an old rugged cross, an instrument of torture and death. A cross is not much of a victory. A cross is not about becoming powerful or defeating all one’s enemies. A cross in Roman times meant only one thing: a slow and painful death.

And yet . . .

Reading My Library

Sep29

Reading My Library

Now this project is a fantastic idea! Carrie and her little boys are planning to read through all the books in the picture book section of the library from A to Z. If my children were a little younger, I’d join in. Maybe when the grandchildren come along . . .

Hymn #19: Crown Him WIth Many Crowns

Sep29

Lyrics: Matthew Bridges, stanzas 1, 5, 6, and 9, 1851.
Godfrey Thring, stanzas 2-4, 7-8.

Music: DIADEMATA, Geroge Elvey, 1868.

Theme: His eyes were as a flame of fire, and on his head were many crowns; and he had a name written, that no man knew, but he himself. Revelation 19:12.

Crown Him with many crowns, the Lamb upon His throne.
Hark! How the heav’nly anthem drowns all music but its own.
Awake, my soul, and sing of Him who died for thee,
And hail Him as thy matchless King through all eternity.

Crown Him the virgin’s Son, the God incarnate born,
Whose arm those crimson trophies won which now His brow adorn;
Fruit of the mystic rose, as of that rose the stem;
The root whence mercy ever flows, the Babe of Bethlehem.

Crown Him the Son of God, before the worlds began,
And ye who tread where He hath trod, crown Him the Son of Man;
Who every grief hath known that wrings the human breast,
And takes and bears them for His own, that all in Him may rest.

Crown Him the Lord of life, who triumphed o’er the grave,
And rose victorious in the strife for those He came to save.
His glories now we sing, who died, and rose on high,
Who died eternal life to bring, and lives that death may die.

Crown Him the Lord of peace, whose power a scepter sways
From pole to pole, that wars may cease, and all be prayer and praise.
His reign shall know no end, and round His piercèd feet
Fair flowers of paradise extend their fragrance ever sweet.

Crown Him the Lord of love, behold His hands and side,
Those wounds, yet visible above, in beauty glorified.
No angel in the sky can fully bear that sight,
But downward bends his burning eye at mysteries so bright.

Crown Him the Lord of Heav’n, enthroned in worlds above,
Crown Him the King to whom is giv’n the wondrous name of Love.
Crown Him with many crowns, as thrones before Him fall;
Crown Him, ye kings, with many crowns, for He is King of all.

Crown Him the Lord of lords, who over all doth reign,
Who once on earth, the incarnate Word, for ransomed sinners slain,
Now lives in realms of light, where saints with angels sing
Their songs before Him day and night, their God, Redeemer, King.

Crown Him the Lord of years, the Potentate of time,
Creator of the rolling spheres, ineffably sublime.
All hail, Redeemer, hail! For Thou has died for me;
Thy praise and glory shall not fail throughout eternity.

In my church, we sang verses one, four, five and six combined with the last. I remember the last two lines of that final verse, but not the first two because we sang the first two lines of verse six with the last two lines of the ending stanza. ‘Cause that’s the way the Baptist hymnal had it.

Ros’ Haruo thinks four crowns aren’t enough, and we should probably sing all nine verses. I tend to agree.

Texas Tuesday: The Log of a Cowboy by Andy Adams

Sep29

The Log of a Cowboy: A Narrative of the Old Trail Days by Andy Adams. The trail drive that is described in this memoir took place in 1882 when the author would have been about twenty-three years old. According to this biography, the book is not exactly a true memoir, but is a fictional reconstruction based on the many adventures of the author while working with cattle and horses on the western trail. The book was published in 1903.

The trail drive begins in Brownsville, where a herd of 3100 some-odd head of cattle, purchased from Mexico, were headed toward Montana to be delivered to the U.S. government for the use of the Blackfoot Indians on reservation there. Andy joins the trail drive as a cowboy, one of the youngest in the group, and he tells us how he earns his pay: crossing rivers, breaking up stampedes, spending long, sometimes boring, nights and days in the saddle, and pulling steers out of the mud and quicksand, among other tasks. It’s an exciting story, told in an old-fashioned style, but definitely readable for the average junior high/high school student and suitable for reading aloud to younger students.

Only a couple of negative issues are worth mentioning and either discussing or censoring (for younger students): the cowboys’ casually racist attitudes are portrayed accurately and without comment or qualification. Within the first few pages of the book, Andy names his beloved black horse, N—- Boy. The Indians and Negroes in the books are the butt of jokes, pathetic creatures without much self-respect and not gaining any respect from the cowboys either. Although the scenes that involve either black people or Native Americans are not many, they are sprinkled throughout the book, so it’s a discussion that should take place as you read the book. The cowboys are also inveterate gamblers, and although the downside of this vice is shown, they also have a winning streak in one town that might deceive less careful readers into thinking that gambling pays off.

With those caveats, the book is a good read especially for those interested in cowboys and life in the late 1800’s on the cattle range. I wondered if the author of this book took a look at this memoir; it seems as if The Log of a Cowboy would be required reading for anyone who wanted to write a novel set on a cattle drive or among cowboys. In fact, as I think of it, Ms. Hemphill’s Adventurous Deeds of Deadwood Jones might be a good antidote to the occasional racist prejudice expressed in The Log of a Cowboy.

Hymn #20: There Is a Fountain

Sep28

Original Title: Praise for the Fountain Opened

Lyrics: William Cowper

Music: CLEANSING FOUNTAIN attributed to Lowell Mason.

I prefer Mason’s tune, maybe because of its familiarity, but here’s an alternate tune from Red Mountain Church:

Theme: In that day there shall be a fountain opened to the house of David and to the inhabitants of Jerusalem for sin and for uncleanness. Zechariah 13:1.

More about William Cowper and his other hymn on this list: God Moves in a Mysterious Way.

Cowper wrote There Is a Fountain after his first major depressive episode in which he tried three times to commit suicide. As you can see from the portrait (attributed to George Romney and borrowed from Wikipedia), Cowper was a handsome man.

Jawan McGInnis: “I am a evil wretched person who deserves hell and eternal damnation….yet, the Lord has washed away all those guilty stains through the death of his son. Redeeming love is amazing. I like this version (Red Mountain) in particular because it’s a bit slower and the melody is so beautiful.”

This hymn is at the top of Eldest Daughter’s list.

There is a fountain filled with blood drawn from Emmanuel’s veins;
And sinners plunged beneath that flood lose all their guilty stains.
Lose all their guilty stains, lose all their guilty stains;
And sinners plunged beneath that flood lose all their guilty stains.

The dying thief rejoiced to see that fountain in his day;
And there have I, though vile as he, washed all my sins away.
Washed all my sins away, washed all my sins away;
And there have I, though vile as he, washed all my sins away.

Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood shall never lose its power
Till all the ransomed church of God be saved, to sin no more.
Be saved, to sin no more, be saved, to sin no more;
Till all the ransomed church of God be saved, to sin no more.

E’er since, by faith, I saw the stream Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme, and shall be till I die.
And shall be till I die, and shall be till I die;
Redeeming love has been my theme, and shall be till I die.

Then in a nobler, sweeter song, I’ll sing Thy power to save,
When this poor lisping, stammering tongue lies silent in the grave.
Lies silent in the grave, lies silent in the grave;
When this poor lisping, stammering tongue lies silent in the grave.

Lord, I believe Thou hast prepared, unworthy though I be,
For me a blood bought free reward, a golden harp for me!
’Tis strung and tuned for endless years, and formed by power divine,
To sound in God the Father’s ears no other name but Thine.