The day Thou gavest...

The day Thou gavest, Lord, is ended,
The darkness falls at Thy behest;
To Thee our morning hymns ascended,
Thy praise shall sanctify our rest.

We thank Thee that Thy church, unsleeping,
While earth rolls onward into light,
Through all the world her watch is keeping,
And rests not now by day or night.

As o’er each continent and island
The dawn leads on another day,
The voice of prayer is never silent,
Nor dies the strain of praise away.

The sun that bids us rest is waking
Our brethren ’neath the western sky,
And hour by hour fresh lips are making
Thy wondrous doings heard on high.

So be it, Lord; Thy throne shall never,
Like earth’s proud empires, pass away:
Thy kingdom stands, and grows forever,
Till all Thy creatures own Thy sway.

I heard this hymn quoted in a talk by Glenn Davies last night on the central coast. It does its time: the sun never sets on the British empire church. But I think it carries a lovely sense of the whole church and that somewhere on earth prayer and praise is always ascending to God.

Garage Hymnal: My Father's World

This is my Father's world. O let me ne'er forget
That though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet.
This is my Father's world: the battle is not done;
Jesus who died shall be satisfied,
And earth and heaven be one.

Garage Hymnal have released a new album, the self titled Garage Hymnal (their third...unless you count the album distributed by the then SUEU Ancon band called Garage Hymnal). I won't comment on the musical abilities of the album - despite my ten years on brass instruments in the Blue Mountains City Band - but track number 10, Father's World, is an awesome song. Here it is in it's entirety (according to the Book of Common Praise 1947):

This is my Father's world, and to my listening ears

All nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres.

This is my Father's world: I rest me in the thought

Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;

His hand the wonders wrought.

This is my Father's world, the birds their carols raise,

The morning light, the lily white, declare their Maker's praise.

This is my Father's world: He shines in all that's fair;

In the rustling grass I hear Him pass;

He speaks to me everywhere.

This is my Father's world. O let me ne'er forget

That though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet.

This is my Father's world: the battle is not done;

Jesus who died shall be satisfied,

And earth and heaven be one.

h/t to the OC Supertones and NT Wright for introducing me to the song.

English Hymns and meta-narrative

England is a story. Is a story that has come define the sceptered island and to a large part, the English speaking western world. It is a story that is full of contradictions. Notably, this story is founded upon the principles of freedom, liberty and equity; however it is fed and sustained by the story of empire.
The English story is constituted and defined by its own meta-narrative - which is most commonly expressed in the national and anthems of England.
This story tells of England, the divinely appointed vicegerent who is allotted as the steward on this globe of freedom and right, of morals and justice. Not only is this the "White Man's burden", it is every decent Englishman's burden - to bring "civilisation to the uncivilised"; to resist the tyranny of European tyrants, whether it be 1940, 1805, 1588, or 60AD; to set men free and stave off the encroaches of popery; to challenge the ugly power off rule at home (1215, 1641, 1688), and give power to those who don't have it (begrudgingly in 1830 and 1833). This is the story of Magna Carta, the Glorious Revolution, the Armada, Waterloo, the Charist movement and so much more. This is a land of hope and glory, where the people shall never be slaves, and the King, crowned as Solomon to the splendour of Handel, shall be sent victorious and reign happy and glorious over his new Israel.
This is the English story, well, at least what we've been told for the past three centuries. This next series of posts will analyse how famous English Hymns and Anthems were written as an embodiment of this story. Until then, ponder these words:

When Britain first at Heav'n's command

Arose from out the azure main;

Arose, arose from out the azure main;

This was the charter, the charter of the land,

And guardian angels sang this strain:

Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves!

Britons never, never, never will be slaves!

Rule, Britannia! Britannia, rule the waves!

Britons never, never, never will be slaves!

10 points for the identity and location of the statue. Another 10 points for the irony in the symbolism of the statue.

This is my Father's World

This is my Father’s world, and to my listening ears
All nature sings, and round me rings the music of the spheres.
This is my Father’s world: I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;
His hand the wonders wrought.

This is my Father’s world, the birds their carols raise,
The morning light, the lily white, declare their Maker’s praise.
This is my Father’s world: He shines in all that’s fair;
In the rustling grass I hear Him pass;
He speaks to me everywhere.

This is my Father’s world. O let me ne’er forget That though the wrong seems oft so strong, God is the ruler yet.
This is my Father’s world: the battle is not done:
Jesus Who died shall be satisfied,
And earth and Heav’n be one.

This is my Father’s world, dreaming, I see His face.
I ope my eyes, and in glad surprise cry, “The Lord is in this place.”
This is my Father’s world, from the shining courts above,
The Beloved One, His Only Son,
Came—a pledge of deathless love.

This is my Father’s world, should my heart be ever sad?
The lord is King—let the heavens ring. God reigns—let the earth be glad.
This is my Father’s world. Now closer to Heaven bound,
For dear to God is the earth Christ trod.
No place but is holy ground.

This is my Father’s world. I walk a desert lone.
In a bush ablaze to my wondering gaze God makes His glory known.
This is my Father’s world, a wanderer I may roam
Whate’er my lot, it matters not,
My heart is still at home.

Malt­bie D. Bab­cock, 1901.

H/T the OC Supertones.