This is a poem by John Audelay, the fifteenth-century Shropshire priest and poet who wrote one of my favourite medieval Christmas carols. It's an unusual and touching poem, in which the speaker laments the loss of his childhood innocence. He goes through the seven deadly sins and describes in turn how children are incapable of each one - they aren't covetous because their treasures are little things like cherry-stones, they aren't slothful because they're always busy and active, they hate even hearing about lechery (this point makes me imagine little boys saying 'yuk!' when they see people kissing; I don't know if that's what Audelay was thinking of...). Whether all this is quite true or not - it's not exactly my memory of childhood! - it makes a poignant contrast to Audelay's conclusion about himself: 'And I in sin fall, alas, every day in the year!'
This article helpfully puts the poem in contemporary medieval context, but its theme is a universal one - 'shades of the prison-house begin to close about the growing boy'. Although it's somewhat schematic in its listing of the sins, there's a kind of rawness to it which reminds me of a famous scene in Piers Plowman where the poor wafer-seller Haukyn, representing the average person living in the world, has had it explained to him at length, in endless learned speeches, that humble poverty is the only way to live; he's overwhelmed, and at last he exclaims 'Alas! that I was not dead and buried after I was christened! So hard it is to live and do sin! Sin pursues us ever'; and he bursts into tears. Audelay's poem seems close to the same emotion.
The text is from Richard Greene, The Early English Carols (Oxford, 1977), no.412, p.245, with my translation below.
And God wold graunt me my prayer,
A child ayene I wold I were!
Fore pride in herte he hatis allone,
Worchip ne reuerens kepis he non,
Ne he is wroth with no mon;
In charete is alle his chere.
He wot neuer wat is envy;
He wol vche mon fard wele him by;
He couetis noght vnlaufully —
Fore chere-stons is his tresoure.
In hert he hatis lechori;
To here therof he is sory;
He sleth the syn of glotere,
Nother etis ne drynkis bot fore mystere.
Slouth he putis away algate,
And wol be bese erle and late;
Al wyckidnes thus he doth hate,
The vii dedle synus al in fere.
A gracious lyfe forsothe he has,
To God ne mon doth no trespas,
And I in syn fal, alas,
Euere day in the yere!
My joy, my myrth is fro me clene;
I turne to care, turment, and tene;
Ded I wold that I had bene
When I was borne, and layd on bere.
Fore better hit were to be vnboren,
Then fore my synus to be forelorne,
Nere grace of God that is beforne,
Almysdede and hole prayere.
Now other cumford se I non
Bot schryue me clene with contricion,
And make here trew satisfaccion,
And do my penans wyle Y am here.
If God would grant me my prayer, a child again I wish I were!
For pride in heart a child entirely hates; he does not care for honour or rank, and is never angry with any man; his bearing is all charity.
He does not know what envy is, he wishes for everyone to do well; he does not covet anything unlawfully, for cherry-stones are his only treasure.
In his heart he hates lechery, and to hear of it he is sorry; he slays the sin of gluttony, and does not eat or drink except out of necessity.
He drives away sloth in every way, and likes to be busy at all times. Thus he hates all wickedness and all the seven deadly sins together.
Indeed, he has a gracious life, and does no harm to God or man; and I fall into sin, alas, every day of the year!
My joy, my mirth is gone from me; I turn to sorrow, torment and suffering. I wish I had died when I was born, and been laid on the bier.
For it would be better never to have been born than to be lost because of my sins - were it not for the grace of God which came before, and deeds of alms, and holy prayer.
Now I see no other comfort but to confess myself entirely, with contrition, and make full satisfaction, and do my penance while I am here.
If God would grant me my prayer, a child again I wish I were!
Friday, 14 December 2012
Thursday, 13 December 2012
An Evening Hymn on St Lucy's Day
Hail, gladdening Light, of His pure glory poured
Who is the immortal Father, heavenly, blest,
Holiest of Holies, Jesus Christ our Lord.
Now we are come to the sun's hour of rest;
The lights of evening round us shine;
We hymn the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit divine.
Worthiest art thou at all times to be sung
With undefiled tongue,
Son of our God, giver of life, alone:
Therefore in all the world thy glories, Lord, they own.
Music by Charles Wood, words by John Keble, translating the ancient hymn Phos Hilaron. I am also very fond of John Stainer's setting of the same words:
Wednesday, 12 December 2012
Christ, whose glory fills the skies
Christ, whose glory fills the skies,
Christ, the true, the only Light,
Sun of Righteousness, arise,
Triumph o’er the shades of night;
Dayspring from on high, be near;
Day-star, in my heart appear.
Dark and cheerless is the morn
Unaccompanied by Thee;
Joyless is the day’s return
Till Thy mercy’s beams I see;
Till they inward light impart,
Glad my eyes, and warm my heart.
Visit then this soul of mine,
Pierce the gloom of sin and grief;
Fill me, Radiancy divine,
Scatter all my unbelief;
More and more Thyself display,
Shining to the perfect day.
I had never thought of Charles Wesley's 'Christ, whose glory fills the skies' as an Advent hymn before - it was written as a hymn for the morning, I believe - but I heard it sung at Evensong the other day, and it works well at this time of year. Perhaps it's because the phrase 'Sun of Righteousness' (which is from Malachi 4:2) recalls Wesley's other more famous Christmas hymn (and there's also this; I think he liked that image!). Or perhaps it's just the imagery of light triumphing over darkness which makes it so appropriate for this season - 'the year's midnight'.
Christ, the true, the only Light,
Sun of Righteousness, arise,
Triumph o’er the shades of night;
Dayspring from on high, be near;
Day-star, in my heart appear.
Dark and cheerless is the morn
Unaccompanied by Thee;
Joyless is the day’s return
Till Thy mercy’s beams I see;
Till they inward light impart,
Glad my eyes, and warm my heart.
Visit then this soul of mine,
Pierce the gloom of sin and grief;
Fill me, Radiancy divine,
Scatter all my unbelief;
More and more Thyself display,
Shining to the perfect day.
I had never thought of Charles Wesley's 'Christ, whose glory fills the skies' as an Advent hymn before - it was written as a hymn for the morning, I believe - but I heard it sung at Evensong the other day, and it works well at this time of year. Perhaps it's because the phrase 'Sun of Righteousness' (which is from Malachi 4:2) recalls Wesley's other more famous Christmas hymn (and there's also this; I think he liked that image!). Or perhaps it's just the imagery of light triumphing over darkness which makes it so appropriate for this season - 'the year's midnight'.
Tuesday, 11 December 2012
To the Beloved
This is a poem I came across recently, by Alice Meynell (1847-1922).
To the Beloved
Oh, not more subtly silence strays
Amongst the winds, between the voices,
Mingling alike with pensive lays,
And with the music that rejoices,
Than thou art present in my days.
My silence, life returns to thee
In all the pauses of her breath.
Hush back to rest the melody
That out of thee awakeneth;
And thou, wake ever, wake for me!
Thou art like silence all unvexed,
Though wild words part my soul from thee.
Thou art like silence unperplexed,
A secret and a mystery
Between one footfall and the next.
Most dear pause in a mellow lay!
Thou art inwoven with every air.
With thee the wildest tempests play,
And snatches of thee everywhere
Make little heavens throughout a day.
Darkness and solitude shine, for me.
For life's fair outward part are rife
The silver noises; let them be.
It is the very soul of life
Listens for thee, listens for thee.
O pause between the sobs of cares;
O thought within all thought that is;
Trance between laughters unawares:
Thou art the shape of melodies,
And thou the ecstasy of prayers!
To the Beloved
Oh, not more subtly silence strays
Amongst the winds, between the voices,
Mingling alike with pensive lays,
And with the music that rejoices,
Than thou art present in my days.
My silence, life returns to thee
In all the pauses of her breath.
Hush back to rest the melody
That out of thee awakeneth;
And thou, wake ever, wake for me!
Thou art like silence all unvexed,
Though wild words part my soul from thee.
Thou art like silence unperplexed,
A secret and a mystery
Between one footfall and the next.
Most dear pause in a mellow lay!
Thou art inwoven with every air.
With thee the wildest tempests play,
And snatches of thee everywhere
Make little heavens throughout a day.
Darkness and solitude shine, for me.
For life's fair outward part are rife
The silver noises; let them be.
It is the very soul of life
Listens for thee, listens for thee.
O pause between the sobs of cares;
O thought within all thought that is;
Trance between laughters unawares:
Thou art the shape of melodies,
And thou the ecstasy of prayers!
Monday, 10 December 2012
Three Thoughts: Worlds and Perspectives
I
Thomas Traherne, Centuries of Meditations, 1:19.
You never know yourself till you know more than your body. The Image of God was not seated in the features of your face, but in the lineaments of your Soul. In the knowledge of your Powers, Inclinations, and Principles, the knowledge of yourself chiefly consisteth; which are so great that even to the most learned of men, their Greatness is Incredible, and so Divine, that they are infinite in value.
Alas, the world is but a little centre in comparison of you! Suppose it millions of miles from the Earth to the Heavens, and millions of millions above the stars, both here and over the heads of our Antipodes, it is surrounded with infinite and eternal space; And like a gentleman's house to one that is travelling, it is a long time before you come unto it, you pass it in an instant, and leave it for ever. The Omnipresence and Eternity of God are your fellows and companions, and all that is in them ought to be made your familiar Treasures. Your understanding comprehends the World like the dust of a balance, measures Heaven with a span, and esteems a thousand years but as one day.
II
Bede, Historia ecclesiastica, II:13, reporting words supposedly spoken in 627 by one of the men of King Edwin of Northumbria, as they discussed the question of converting to Christianity.
O king, it seems to me that this present life of man on earth, in comparison to that time which is unknown to us, is as if you were sitting at table in the winter with your ealdormen and thegns, and a fire was kindled and the hall warmed, while it rained and snowed and stormed outside. A sparrow came in, and swiftly flew through the hall; it came in at one door, and went out at the other. Now during the time when he is inside, he is not touched by the winter's storms; but that is the twinkling of an eye and the briefest of moments, and at once he comes again from winter into winter. In such a way the life of man appears for a brief moment; what comes before, and what will follow after, we do not know. Therefore if this doctrine offers anything more certain or more fitting, it is right that we follow it.
III
Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love, chapter 5
And in þis he shewed me a lytil thyng þe quantite of a hasyl nott, lyeng in þe pawme of my hand as it had semed, and it was as rownde as eny ball. I loked þer upon wt þe eye of my vnderstondyng, and I þought, 'What may þis be?' And it was answered generally thus: 'It is all þat is made.' I merueled howe it myght laste, for me þought it myght sodenly haue fall to nought for lytyllhed. & I was answered in my vnderstondyng: 'It lastyth & euer shall for god louyth it, and so hath all thyng his begynning by þe loue of god.' In this lytyll thyng I sawe thre propertees. The fyrst is þt god made it, þe secunde is þet god louyth it, & þe þrid is, þat god kepith it.
[And in this he shewed me a little thing, the size of a hazelnut, lying in the palm of my hand, as it seemed, and it was as round as a ball. I looked upon it with the eye of my understanding, and I thought, 'What can this be?' And it was fully answered thus: 'It is all that is made.' I marvelled how it could survive, for it seemed to me that it could suddenly have fallen into nothing, it was so little. And I was answered, in my understanding: 'It survives, and ever shall, because God loves it; and so everything has its beginning because of the love of God.' In this little thing I saw three properties. The first is that God made it, the second is that God loves it, and the third is that God keeps it.]
Thomas Traherne, Centuries of Meditations, 1:19.
You never know yourself till you know more than your body. The Image of God was not seated in the features of your face, but in the lineaments of your Soul. In the knowledge of your Powers, Inclinations, and Principles, the knowledge of yourself chiefly consisteth; which are so great that even to the most learned of men, their Greatness is Incredible, and so Divine, that they are infinite in value.
Alas, the world is but a little centre in comparison of you! Suppose it millions of miles from the Earth to the Heavens, and millions of millions above the stars, both here and over the heads of our Antipodes, it is surrounded with infinite and eternal space; And like a gentleman's house to one that is travelling, it is a long time before you come unto it, you pass it in an instant, and leave it for ever. The Omnipresence and Eternity of God are your fellows and companions, and all that is in them ought to be made your familiar Treasures. Your understanding comprehends the World like the dust of a balance, measures Heaven with a span, and esteems a thousand years but as one day.
II
Bede, Historia ecclesiastica, II:13, reporting words supposedly spoken in 627 by one of the men of King Edwin of Northumbria, as they discussed the question of converting to Christianity.
O king, it seems to me that this present life of man on earth, in comparison to that time which is unknown to us, is as if you were sitting at table in the winter with your ealdormen and thegns, and a fire was kindled and the hall warmed, while it rained and snowed and stormed outside. A sparrow came in, and swiftly flew through the hall; it came in at one door, and went out at the other. Now during the time when he is inside, he is not touched by the winter's storms; but that is the twinkling of an eye and the briefest of moments, and at once he comes again from winter into winter. In such a way the life of man appears for a brief moment; what comes before, and what will follow after, we do not know. Therefore if this doctrine offers anything more certain or more fitting, it is right that we follow it.
III
Julian of Norwich, Revelations of Divine Love, chapter 5
And in þis he shewed me a lytil thyng þe quantite of a hasyl nott, lyeng in þe pawme of my hand as it had semed, and it was as rownde as eny ball. I loked þer upon wt þe eye of my vnderstondyng, and I þought, 'What may þis be?' And it was answered generally thus: 'It is all þat is made.' I merueled howe it myght laste, for me þought it myght sodenly haue fall to nought for lytyllhed. & I was answered in my vnderstondyng: 'It lastyth & euer shall for god louyth it, and so hath all thyng his begynning by þe loue of god.' In this lytyll thyng I sawe thre propertees. The fyrst is þt god made it, þe secunde is þet god louyth it, & þe þrid is, þat god kepith it.
[And in this he shewed me a little thing, the size of a hazelnut, lying in the palm of my hand, as it seemed, and it was as round as a ball. I looked upon it with the eye of my understanding, and I thought, 'What can this be?' And it was fully answered thus: 'It is all that is made.' I marvelled how it could survive, for it seemed to me that it could suddenly have fallen into nothing, it was so little. And I was answered, in my understanding: 'It survives, and ever shall, because God loves it; and so everything has its beginning because of the love of God.' In this little thing I saw three properties. The first is that God made it, the second is that God loves it, and the third is that God keeps it.]
God creating the earth, from British Library MS. Royal 17 E VII
Friday, 7 December 2012
Veni redemptor gentium
The other day I promised a post on English translations of the Advent hymn 'Veni redemptor gentium', and since this is a hymn of St Ambrose, his feast-day seems a good time to post it. The hymn is fairly securely attributed to him, at least according to the evidence adduced on this site. Here's the Latin:
1. Veni, redemptor gentium,
ostende partum Virginis;
miretur omne saeculum:
talis decet partus Deum.
2. Non ex virili semine,
sed mystico spiramine
Verbum Dei factum est caro
fructusque ventris floruit.
3. Alvus tumescit Virginis,
claustrum pudoris permanet,
vexilla virtutum micant,
versatur in templo Deus.
4. Procedat e thalamo suo,
pudoris aula regia,
geminae gigas substantiae
alacris ut currat viam.
5. Aequalis aeterno Patri,
carnis tropaeo cingere,
infirma nostri corporis
virtute firmans perpeti.
6. Praesepe iam fulget tuum
lumenque nox spirat novum,
quod nulla nox interpolet
fideque iugi luceat.
7. Sit, Christe, rex piissime,
tibi Patrique gloria
cum Spiritu Paraclito,
in sempiterna saecula. Amen.
This is my favourite form of this hymn:
The music has such a wonderful, elegant movement to it! But we're considering the words, which in this case are by J. M. Neale. As usual, he does a splendid job:
1. Come, Thou Redeemer of the earth,
And manifest Thy virgin birth:
Let every age adoring fall;
Such birth befits the God of all.
2. Begotten of no human will,
But of the Spirit, Thou art still
The Word of God in flesh arrayed,
The promised Fruit to man displayed.
3. The virgin womb that burden gained
With virgin honour all unstained;
The banners there of virtue glow;
God in His temple dwells below.
4. Forth from His chamber goeth He,
That royal home of purity,
A giant in twofold substance one,
Rejoicing now His course to run.
5. From God the Father He proceeds,
To God the Father back He speeds;
His course He runs to death and hell,
Returning on God’s throne to dwell.
6. O equal to the Father, Thou!
Gird on Thy fleshly mantle now;
The weakness of our mortal state
With deathless might invigorate.
7. Thy cradle here shall glitter bright,
And darkness breathe a newer light,
Where endless faith shall shine serene,
And twilight never intervene.
8. All laud to God the Father be,
All praise, eternal Son, to Thee;
All glory, as is ever meet,
To God the Holy Paraclete.
Rendering Ambrose's concise Latin into equally concise English is so difficult, and Neale does it so well. Isn't verse 7 beautiful? We may wonder whether a cradle really 'glitters', but even so, you can't fault it.
This American translation, by William M. Reynolds, is also excellent:
1. Savior of the nations, come;
Virgin’s Son, here make Thy home!
Marvel now, O heaven and earth,
That the Lord chose such a birth.
2. Not by human flesh and blood;
By the Spirit of our God
Was the Word of God made flesh,
Woman’s offspring, pure and fresh.
3. Wondrous birth! O wondrous Child
Of the virgin undefiled!
Though by all the world disowned,
Still to be in heaven enthroned.
4. From the Father forth He came
And returneth to the same,
Captive leading death and hell
High the song of triumph swell!
5. Thou, the Father’s only Son,
Hast over sin the victory won.
Boundless shall Thy kingdom be;
When shall we its glories see?
6. Brightly doth Thy manger shine,
Glorious is its light divine.
Let not sin o’ercloud this light;
Ever be our faith thus bright.
7. Praise to God the Father sing,
Praise to God the Son, our King,
Praise to God the Spirit be
Ever and eternally.
Catherine Winkworth Englished a German translation of the hymn, rather well:
1. Redeemer of the nations, come!
Ransom of earth, here make Thy home!
Bright Sun, oh dart Thy flame to earth,
For so shall God in Christ have birth!
2. Thou comest from Thy kingly throne,
O Son of God, the Virgin's Son!
Thou Hero of a twofold race,
Dost walk in might earth's darkest place.
3. Thou stoopest once to suffer here,
And risest o'er the starry sphere;
Hell's gates at Thy descent were riven,
Thy ascent is to highest Heaven.
4. One with the Father! Prince of might!
O'er nature's realm assert Thy right,
Our sickly bodies pine to know
Thy heavenly strength, Thy living glow.
5. How bright Thy lowly manger beams!
Down earth's dark vale its glory streams,
The splendour of Thy natal night
Shines through all Time in deathless light.
I love 'hero of a twofold race'!
And another from David Thomas Morgan (1809-1886), whose longer lines give him a bit more space to work with:
1. O come, Redeemer of mankind, appear,
Thee with full hearts the virgin born we greet;
Let every age with rapt amazement hear
That wondrous birth which for our God is meet.
2. Not by the will of man, or mortal seed,
But by the Spirit's breathed mysterious grace
The Word of God became our flesh indeed,
And grew a tender plant of human race.
3. Lo! Mary's virgin womb its burden bears;
Nor less abides her virgin purity;
In the King's glory see our nature shares;
Here in His temple God vouchsafes to be.
4. From His bright chamber, virtue's holy shrine
The royal Bridegroom cometh to the day;
Of twofold substance, human and divine,
As giant swift, rejoicing on His way.
5. Forth from His Father to the world He goes,
Back to the Father's face His way regains,
Far down to souls beneath His glory shows,
Again at God's right hand victorious reigns.
6. With the eternal Father equal, Thou,
Girt with our flesh dost triumph evermore,
Strengthening our feeble bodies here below
With endless grace from Thine own living store.
7. How doth Thy lowly manger radiant shine!
On the sweet breath of night new splendor grows;
So may our spirits glow with faith divine,
Where no dark cloud of sin shall interpose.
8. All praise and glory to the Father be,
All praise and glory to His only Son,
All praise and glory, Holy Ghost, to Thee,
Both now, and while eternal ages run.
And finally a fifteenth-century translation from the hymnal I mentioned the other day, British Library, MS. Additional 34193. This was the first hymn I encountered from that collection and it was the translation of the 'cradle' verse which most attracted me - 'no cloudes black, no darkness noctiall!' It's rather Dunbar-esque. There are some nice bits of alliteration, too: 'from the chosen chamber of chaste cleanness' and 'banners of bliss' and best of all, 'This is the feast of our felicity'.
Come now, gud lord, now come, owr savyowr,
Come, shew thy byrth of mary, modyr & mayde;
Discende, gude lord, ryght frome thy heyvenly towre;
Now lat all worldys merueyll & be dysmayde,
How in owr kynd lyst to be Areyde,
And os þe son bemes peryth in þe glace,
Thy modyr mayd permaynyng os sche was.
Partles of mannes knolege or mixture,
Thys holy byrth, thys blessyd natiuite,
Whan god to mane is ioynyd in nature,
The holy gost by grace did hyt so be;
Thys is the fest of owr felicite,
Yn wyche þe wombe of þe uirgyne
The frute of lyff tyll vs did sontyfie.
The sacred wombe and cloystyr virginale,
Evyr vnwemmed and inviolate,
Thowgh it be fore ful sklendyr and small
[line missing in the manuscript]
The baners of blys bene splaied & preparate,
Ther can no thynge thys reherce,
loo, god and mane in temple is convers!
ffrom þe chosyne chambyr of chast clennes
Procedyng, and pure paleys of plesance,
Thurgh hys grace owr myscheff to reydres,
A myghty Gyant off dowbyll substance,
ffor to reypresse þe feendis fowle pywssance,
ffrome heyvyne tyl Erth hys cowrs hath swetyly tak
To cause owr joye and owr fynaunce to make.
Of þe fadyr eternall, generate
By generacyone enarrable,
In owr nature be comene incarnate,
So passyng owte be manes mercyable,
In to thys world and eftsone reyturnable,
Whane he hath putte the feendes to silence,
Vnto þe fadyr by merveilows ascence.
O goddes sone, evyn and peregalle
Vnto the fadyr in hys deytee,
In mannes wed by trophe trivmphall,
We the beschen, arreaye þi maieste,
Support well wyth þat owr infirmite,
Ne cause us not to fallene in Rvyne;
Conseruf us, lord, by thy uertu dyvyne.
The bestys crybbe, the humble assys Stall,
As pure gold Burned most fayr And bryght
Noo clowdys Blak, noo darknes noctyall,
May defare þe beemes of þis light;
Most orient and most persaunt of myght
Owr feyth, owr hope, & all owr hole creaunce
Ys in thys dey and all owr Esperance.
Too owr lord god, fadyr omnipotent,
Be yeuone lawd with joy ond all honowr,
And to þe sone that in þis fest is sent,
To help vs and ben owr savyowr,
And to þe holy gost, owr cownfortowr,
As well in erth os in the heyvyns hye,
Now and euer, Amen incessauntly.
That is:
Come now, good Lord, now come, our Saviour,
Come, show thy birth of Mary, mother and maid;
Descend, good Lord, down from thy heavenly tower.
Now let all worlds marvel and be dismayed,
How in our kind he wills to be arrayed;
And as the sunbeam appeareth in the glass,
Thy mother a maid remained, as she was,
Without man's knowledge or mixture;
This holy birth, this blest nativity,
When God to man is joinèd in nature -
The Holy Ghost by grace caused it so to be.
This is the feast of our felicity,
In which the womb of the virgin
The fruit of life to us did sanctify.
The sacred womb and cloister virginal,
Ever unstainèd and inviolate,
Though it before slender was and small
[...]
The banners of bliss are displayed and prepared;
There can no thing this truth explain or tell,
Lo, God and man within this temple dwell!
From the chosen chamber of chaste cleanness
Proceeding, and pure palace of pleasance, [joy]
Through his grace our sorrows to redress,
A mighty giant of double substance,
For to repress the fiend's foul puissance,
From heaven to earth his course did sweetly take
To cause our joy, and our redemption make.
Of the Father eternal, generate
By generation inerrable,
In our nature become incarnate,
So passing forth by means merciful,
Into this world and soon again returning,
When he hath made the fiends silent,
Unto the Father by marvellous ascent.
O God's Son, equal and peregalle [fully equal]
Unto the Father in his deity,
In mankind's weeds, by victory triumphal,
We thee beseech, show forth thy majesty,
Support us well in our infirmity,
And cause us not to fall in ruin;
Preserve us, Lord, by thy virtue divine.
The beasts' crib, the humble asses' stall,
As pure gold burned most fair and bright;
No clouds black, no darkness noctial,
May impede the beams of this light;
Most orient and most piercing of might,
Our faith, our hope, and all our whole creance [belief]
Is in this day, and all our esperance. [hope]
To our Lord God, Father omnipotent,
Be given laud with joy and all honour,
And to the Son who in this feast is sent,
To help us and to be our Saviour,
And to the Holy Ghost, our comforter,
As well in earth as in the heavens high,
Now and ever, Amen incessantly.
1. Veni, redemptor gentium,
ostende partum Virginis;
miretur omne saeculum:
talis decet partus Deum.
2. Non ex virili semine,
sed mystico spiramine
Verbum Dei factum est caro
fructusque ventris floruit.
3. Alvus tumescit Virginis,
claustrum pudoris permanet,
vexilla virtutum micant,
versatur in templo Deus.
4. Procedat e thalamo suo,
pudoris aula regia,
geminae gigas substantiae
alacris ut currat viam.
5. Aequalis aeterno Patri,
carnis tropaeo cingere,
infirma nostri corporis
virtute firmans perpeti.
6. Praesepe iam fulget tuum
lumenque nox spirat novum,
quod nulla nox interpolet
fideque iugi luceat.
7. Sit, Christe, rex piissime,
tibi Patrique gloria
cum Spiritu Paraclito,
in sempiterna saecula. Amen.
This is my favourite form of this hymn:
The music has such a wonderful, elegant movement to it! But we're considering the words, which in this case are by J. M. Neale. As usual, he does a splendid job:
1. Come, Thou Redeemer of the earth,
And manifest Thy virgin birth:
Let every age adoring fall;
Such birth befits the God of all.
2. Begotten of no human will,
But of the Spirit, Thou art still
The Word of God in flesh arrayed,
The promised Fruit to man displayed.
3. The virgin womb that burden gained
With virgin honour all unstained;
The banners there of virtue glow;
God in His temple dwells below.
4. Forth from His chamber goeth He,
That royal home of purity,
A giant in twofold substance one,
Rejoicing now His course to run.
5. From God the Father He proceeds,
To God the Father back He speeds;
His course He runs to death and hell,
Returning on God’s throne to dwell.
6. O equal to the Father, Thou!
Gird on Thy fleshly mantle now;
The weakness of our mortal state
With deathless might invigorate.
7. Thy cradle here shall glitter bright,
And darkness breathe a newer light,
Where endless faith shall shine serene,
And twilight never intervene.
8. All laud to God the Father be,
All praise, eternal Son, to Thee;
All glory, as is ever meet,
To God the Holy Paraclete.
Rendering Ambrose's concise Latin into equally concise English is so difficult, and Neale does it so well. Isn't verse 7 beautiful? We may wonder whether a cradle really 'glitters', but even so, you can't fault it.
This American translation, by William M. Reynolds, is also excellent:
1. Savior of the nations, come;
Virgin’s Son, here make Thy home!
Marvel now, O heaven and earth,
That the Lord chose such a birth.
2. Not by human flesh and blood;
By the Spirit of our God
Was the Word of God made flesh,
Woman’s offspring, pure and fresh.
3. Wondrous birth! O wondrous Child
Of the virgin undefiled!
Though by all the world disowned,
Still to be in heaven enthroned.
4. From the Father forth He came
And returneth to the same,
Captive leading death and hell
High the song of triumph swell!
5. Thou, the Father’s only Son,
Hast over sin the victory won.
Boundless shall Thy kingdom be;
When shall we its glories see?
6. Brightly doth Thy manger shine,
Glorious is its light divine.
Let not sin o’ercloud this light;
Ever be our faith thus bright.
7. Praise to God the Father sing,
Praise to God the Son, our King,
Praise to God the Spirit be
Ever and eternally.
Catherine Winkworth Englished a German translation of the hymn, rather well:
1. Redeemer of the nations, come!
Ransom of earth, here make Thy home!
Bright Sun, oh dart Thy flame to earth,
For so shall God in Christ have birth!
2. Thou comest from Thy kingly throne,
O Son of God, the Virgin's Son!
Thou Hero of a twofold race,
Dost walk in might earth's darkest place.
3. Thou stoopest once to suffer here,
And risest o'er the starry sphere;
Hell's gates at Thy descent were riven,
Thy ascent is to highest Heaven.
4. One with the Father! Prince of might!
O'er nature's realm assert Thy right,
Our sickly bodies pine to know
Thy heavenly strength, Thy living glow.
5. How bright Thy lowly manger beams!
Down earth's dark vale its glory streams,
The splendour of Thy natal night
Shines through all Time in deathless light.
I love 'hero of a twofold race'!
And another from David Thomas Morgan (1809-1886), whose longer lines give him a bit more space to work with:
1. O come, Redeemer of mankind, appear,
Thee with full hearts the virgin born we greet;
Let every age with rapt amazement hear
That wondrous birth which for our God is meet.
2. Not by the will of man, or mortal seed,
But by the Spirit's breathed mysterious grace
The Word of God became our flesh indeed,
And grew a tender plant of human race.
3. Lo! Mary's virgin womb its burden bears;
Nor less abides her virgin purity;
In the King's glory see our nature shares;
Here in His temple God vouchsafes to be.
4. From His bright chamber, virtue's holy shrine
The royal Bridegroom cometh to the day;
Of twofold substance, human and divine,
As giant swift, rejoicing on His way.
5. Forth from His Father to the world He goes,
Back to the Father's face His way regains,
Far down to souls beneath His glory shows,
Again at God's right hand victorious reigns.
6. With the eternal Father equal, Thou,
Girt with our flesh dost triumph evermore,
Strengthening our feeble bodies here below
With endless grace from Thine own living store.
7. How doth Thy lowly manger radiant shine!
On the sweet breath of night new splendor grows;
So may our spirits glow with faith divine,
Where no dark cloud of sin shall interpose.
8. All praise and glory to the Father be,
All praise and glory to His only Son,
All praise and glory, Holy Ghost, to Thee,
Both now, and while eternal ages run.
And finally a fifteenth-century translation from the hymnal I mentioned the other day, British Library, MS. Additional 34193. This was the first hymn I encountered from that collection and it was the translation of the 'cradle' verse which most attracted me - 'no cloudes black, no darkness noctiall!' It's rather Dunbar-esque. There are some nice bits of alliteration, too: 'from the chosen chamber of chaste cleanness' and 'banners of bliss' and best of all, 'This is the feast of our felicity'.
Come now, gud lord, now come, owr savyowr,
Come, shew thy byrth of mary, modyr & mayde;
Discende, gude lord, ryght frome thy heyvenly towre;
Now lat all worldys merueyll & be dysmayde,
How in owr kynd lyst to be Areyde,
And os þe son bemes peryth in þe glace,
Thy modyr mayd permaynyng os sche was.
Partles of mannes knolege or mixture,
Thys holy byrth, thys blessyd natiuite,
Whan god to mane is ioynyd in nature,
The holy gost by grace did hyt so be;
Thys is the fest of owr felicite,
Yn wyche þe wombe of þe uirgyne
The frute of lyff tyll vs did sontyfie.
The sacred wombe and cloystyr virginale,
Evyr vnwemmed and inviolate,
Thowgh it be fore ful sklendyr and small
[line missing in the manuscript]
The baners of blys bene splaied & preparate,
Ther can no thynge thys reherce,
loo, god and mane in temple is convers!
ffrom þe chosyne chambyr of chast clennes
Procedyng, and pure paleys of plesance,
Thurgh hys grace owr myscheff to reydres,
A myghty Gyant off dowbyll substance,
ffor to reypresse þe feendis fowle pywssance,
ffrome heyvyne tyl Erth hys cowrs hath swetyly tak
To cause owr joye and owr fynaunce to make.
Of þe fadyr eternall, generate
By generacyone enarrable,
In owr nature be comene incarnate,
So passyng owte be manes mercyable,
In to thys world and eftsone reyturnable,
Whane he hath putte the feendes to silence,
Vnto þe fadyr by merveilows ascence.
O goddes sone, evyn and peregalle
Vnto the fadyr in hys deytee,
In mannes wed by trophe trivmphall,
We the beschen, arreaye þi maieste,
Support well wyth þat owr infirmite,
Ne cause us not to fallene in Rvyne;
Conseruf us, lord, by thy uertu dyvyne.
The bestys crybbe, the humble assys Stall,
As pure gold Burned most fayr And bryght
Noo clowdys Blak, noo darknes noctyall,
May defare þe beemes of þis light;
Most orient and most persaunt of myght
Owr feyth, owr hope, & all owr hole creaunce
Ys in thys dey and all owr Esperance.
Too owr lord god, fadyr omnipotent,
Be yeuone lawd with joy ond all honowr,
And to þe sone that in þis fest is sent,
To help vs and ben owr savyowr,
And to þe holy gost, owr cownfortowr,
As well in erth os in the heyvyns hye,
Now and euer, Amen incessauntly.
That is:
Come now, good Lord, now come, our Saviour,
Come, show thy birth of Mary, mother and maid;
Descend, good Lord, down from thy heavenly tower.
Now let all worlds marvel and be dismayed,
How in our kind he wills to be arrayed;
And as the sunbeam appeareth in the glass,
Thy mother a maid remained, as she was,
Without man's knowledge or mixture;
This holy birth, this blest nativity,
When God to man is joinèd in nature -
The Holy Ghost by grace caused it so to be.
This is the feast of our felicity,
In which the womb of the virgin
The fruit of life to us did sanctify.
The sacred womb and cloister virginal,
Ever unstainèd and inviolate,
Though it before slender was and small
[...]
The banners of bliss are displayed and prepared;
There can no thing this truth explain or tell,
Lo, God and man within this temple dwell!
From the chosen chamber of chaste cleanness
Proceeding, and pure palace of pleasance, [joy]
Through his grace our sorrows to redress,
A mighty giant of double substance,
For to repress the fiend's foul puissance,
From heaven to earth his course did sweetly take
To cause our joy, and our redemption make.
Of the Father eternal, generate
By generation inerrable,
In our nature become incarnate,
So passing forth by means merciful,
Into this world and soon again returning,
When he hath made the fiends silent,
Unto the Father by marvellous ascent.
O God's Son, equal and peregalle [fully equal]
Unto the Father in his deity,
In mankind's weeds, by victory triumphal,
We thee beseech, show forth thy majesty,
Support us well in our infirmity,
And cause us not to fall in ruin;
Preserve us, Lord, by thy virtue divine.
The beasts' crib, the humble asses' stall,
As pure gold burned most fair and bright;
No clouds black, no darkness noctial,
May impede the beams of this light;
Most orient and most piercing of might,
Our faith, our hope, and all our whole creance [belief]
Is in this day, and all our esperance. [hope]
To our Lord God, Father omnipotent,
Be given laud with joy and all honour,
And to the Son who in this feast is sent,
To help us and to be our Saviour,
And to the Holy Ghost, our comforter,
As well in earth as in the heavens high,
Now and ever, Amen incessantly.
Thursday, 6 December 2012
Carols for St Nicholas
St Nicholas was a very popular saint in the Middle Ages, and with all the colourful stories about him, it's not difficult to see why. There are several vernacular carols and poems in his honour from medieval England, and in fact one of the very earliest surviving English songs is a prayer to St Nicholas (one of the songs of Godric of Finchale, who died in 1170):
Sainte Nicholaes godes druð
tymbre us faire scone hus
At þi burth at þi bare
Sainte nicholaes, bring vs wel þare.
Saint Nicholas, God’s beloved,
Build us a fair bright house;
At the birth, at the bier,
Saint Nicholas, bring us safely there.
You can listen to Godric's song here.
And here are two later carols, which are both from the manuscript BL Sloane 2953 (c.1400) - an important manuscript of carols which also contains 'Lullay myn lykyng', 'Adam lay ybounden', and 'I sing of a maiden' among many others.
The first carol is straightforward enough, and just recounts Nicholas' most famous miracles; the rescue of the 'clerks' from the butcher's barrel is frequently depicted, as you can see from the images in this post. The other carol focuses on one miracle, the saving of three girls from prostitution - not by throwing money through the window, as usually told, but by promising them nice husbands! However, it ends abruptly and perhaps the end of it has been lost; I'll post both, and you can make of them what you will.
Make ye merry, as ye may,
And syng with me, I you pray.
In Patras ther born he was,
The holy buschop Seynt Nycholas,
He wyst mekyl of Godes gras,
Throw vertu of the Trinite.
He reysyd thre klerkes fro deth to lyfve
That wern in salt put full swythe,
Betwyxt a bochere and his wyfve,
And was hid in privyte.
He maryid thre maydenys of myld mod;
He yaf hem gold to here fod,
He turnyd hem from ille to good,
Throw vertu of the Trynyte.
Another he dede sykerly:
He savyd a thef that was full sly,
That stal a swyn out of his sty;
His lyf thann savyd he.
God grawnt vs grace here, eld and yyng,
Hym to serve at his plesyng;
To hevene blysse he us bryng,
Throw vertu of the Trinite.
That is:
Make ye merry, as ye may,
And sing with me, I you pray.
In Patara there born he was,
The holy bishop Saint Nicholas;
He knew much of God's grace,
Through power of the Trinity.
He raised three clerks from death to life
Who had been put in salt full swythe, [very quickly]
By a butcher and his wife,
And hidden were in privite. [secrecy]
He married three maidens of mild mood; [disposition]
He gave them gold for their food, [sustenance]
He turned them from ill to good,
Through power of the Trinity.
Another deed he did, certainly:
He saved a thief who was very sly,
Who stole a pig out of its sty;
His life then saved he.
God grant us grace here, old and young,
Him to serve at his pleasing;
To heaven's bliss may he us bring,
Through power of the Trinity.
St Nicholas in a fourteenth-century East Anglian breviary, BL Stowe 12, f. 225
And carol no.2:
Alle maydenis, for Godes grace,
Worchepe зe seynt Nicolas.
Seynt Nicholas was of gret poste
for he worchepid maydenis thre
that wer sent in fer cuntre
Common wommen for to be.
Her fader was man in powre aray
onto his dowteris he gan say,
"Dowteris, зe must away;
Non lenger kepe зou I may!
"Dowteris, myn blyssing I зou зeue
for catel wil not with me þryue;
зe must with зowr body leue,
зour wordis зe must dryue."
þe eldest dowter swor be bred of qwete,
"I haue leuere beggyn myn mete
& getyn me good qwer I may gete
þan ledyn myn lyf in lecheri."
þe medil dowter seyde so mote che the
"I hadde leuere hangyd & drawyd be
with wylde hors to or þre
þan ledin myn lyf in lecheri."
þe зonger lechery gan to spyse
& preyid saynt nicholas as che was wise;
"saynt nicholas as he was wyse
Help vs fro lechri!"
Saynt nicholas at þe townys ende
conseylid þo maydenis hom to wynde
& þrow godis grace he xulde hem synde
husbondis þre good & hind.
Or:
All maidens, for God's grace,
Honour ye Saint Nicholas.
Saint Nicholas was of great poste [power]
For he gave help to maidens three
Who were sent into a far country
Common women for to be. [to become prostitutes]
Their father was a man of poor array;
To his daughters he did say,
"Daughters, ye must away;
No longer keep you I may!
"Daughters, my blessing I you give,
But business will not with me thrive;
Ye must by your bodies live,
Your words ye must drive."
The eldest daughter swore by bread of wheat,
"I would rather beg my meat
And find my food where I may it get
Than lead my life in lechery."
The middle daughter said, so mote she thee ['so may she thrive' - an oath]
"I would rather hanged and drawn be
With wild horses two or three
Than lead my life in lechery."
The younger lechery did despise
And prayed to Saint Nicholas, for she was wise;
"Saint Nicholas, as he was wise,
Save us from lechery!"
Saint Nicholas at the town's end
Counselled those maidens home to wend
And through God's grace he would them send
Husbands three, good and hend. [kind]
St Nicholas saves the clerks (wall-painting from Bishopsbourne, Kent)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)