FEW things have the ability to stir the soul like hearty hymn-singing. Away from the pews, it is perhaps analogous with the chanting at a rugby fixture (“Jerusalem”, say), audience participation at a preferred concert, or just the singing of “Happy birthday” amongst family and friends. The embracing of collective song is extraordinary for its power to bring us together, and is proved to release helpful endorphins. Hymn-singing will be evocative, euphoric, and even transcendental.
The tunes that grace today’s hymnals represent extraordinary diversity of form, and draw on many a practice: Gregorian chant (Veni Creator: “Come, Holy Ghost, our souls encourage”); folk song (Slane: “Lord of all hopefulness”); Lutheran chorales (Nun Danket: “Now thank all of us our God”); choral anthems (Westminster Abbey: “Christ is made the sure foundation”); and orchestral works (Thaxted: “I vow to thee my country”).
What is it that makes these tunes so successful and enduring? While the rise and fall of a melody is probably essentially the most visceral element, rhythmic variety might bring energy, or afford the sense of space and calm, and the manipulation of harmony lends color and expression.
BLAENWERN, the much-loved and commonly found accompaniment to Charles Wesley’s “Love divine, all loves excelling”, has all the time struck me as a melody of great skill and discipline. It is probably not remarkable for its rhythmic variety — and it’s harmonically conservative, too — but, through evaluation of William Rowlands’s judicious development of easy, solid material, we’re offered a glimpse of how a symphonic response should be present in congregations today, as within the early twentieth century when it was composed.
Its triple metre (three beats in a bar) establishes a tread and sense of motion. The opening melody is repeated, with almost similar harmonisation and cadences, slightly higher. A recent, shorter melodic idea is introduced and, again, is repeated in the next register. After the melody’s peak is reached, the climb down employs the identical rhythm because the opening phrases. The final phrase is constituted entirely of fabric heard earlier.
IN EVENTIDE (“Abide with me, fast falls the eventide”), William Henry Monk evokes a markedly more reflective mood through using descending motifs, the repetition of notes to lend expression and a way of craving, and operating inside a melodic range almost half that of Blaenwern. In Mannheim (“Lead us, heavenly Father, lead us”), we see harmonic restraint within the return of the opening line. Here, the harmony of only one bar takes a subtly different course: enough to lend welcome variety, but nothing so radical as to feel contrived.
Wolvercote (“O Jesus, I even have promised”) is a more striking example of harmonic colouring. During its third line, William Harold Ferguson undertakes some modulatory sleight of hand by way of a tertiary relationship (the melodic interval that separates the 2 keys) to thrilling effect. Next time you sing “I shall not fear the battle,” “O speak to reassure me,” “O guide me, call me, draw me, Uphold me to the tip,” you may feel the pull of the harmony underpinning these words.
“Make me a channel of your peace” exemplifies the potency of repetition. In verse and chorus, each line feeds off one melodic and rhythmic cell, discreetly adjusted to create a structural arc that’s endearing for its meekness.
ORGANISTS have at their disposal the resources to reinforce greatly the singing of hymnody. Choices made in pacing and in registration (combining pipes of differing pitch and timbre) can have a substantial bearing on a congregation’s compulsion to sing, and their respiration with, and colouring of, the text. Some organists may enterprise into the re-harmonising of climactic moments, and the employing of descants.
As with Mannheim, the smallest of alterations or embellishments will be compelling. I even have all the time considered the work of the organist — and, indeed, all liturgical musicians — as one in all enabling and galvanizing, striking a balance in responding to the context by offering a sufficient lead, while ensuring that one’s personal response to the music doesn’t stray into the bounds of ostentation.
To return to Blaenwern (writing as I do from Christ Church, Oxford, I feel it’s fitting to permit Charles Wesley the ultimate word) — a hymn tune synonymous today with weddings, including that of the Prince and Princess of Wales — it is going to, for me, for ever be its singing on the state funeral of our late Queen which resonates most strongly. The familiar text and music offered a moment of gravitas and profound outpouring inside that historic liturgy; for it’s within the coalescing of the writer’s craft, the composer’s response, and a congregation’s embrace that we are able to all be transported — lost, indeed, “in wonder, love, and praise”.
Peter Holder is the Organist of Christ Church, Oxford.
Word of the month:
Doxology: an ascription of praise, typically short, particularly the formula “Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit”, from the Greek doxa (”glory”).
