FEW things have the power to stir the soul like hearty hymn-singing. Away from the pews, it might be analogous with the chanting at a rugby fixture (“Jerusalem”, say), audience participation at a popular concert, or simply the singing of “Happy birthday” among friends and family. The embracing of collective song is extraordinary for its power to bring us together, and is proved to release beneficial endorphins. Hymn-singing can be evocative, euphoric, and even transcendental.
The tunes that grace today’s hymnals represent extraordinary diversity of form, and draw on many a tradition: Gregorian chant (Veni Creator: “Come, Holy Ghost, our souls inspire”); folk song (Slane: “Lord of all hopefulness”); Lutheran chorales (Nun Danket: “Now thank we all 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 perhaps the most visceral element, rhythmic variety might bring energy, or afford the sense of space and calm, and the manipulation of harmony lends colour and expression.
BLAENWERN, the much-loved and commonly found accompaniment to Charles Wesley’s “Love divine, all loves excelling”, has always struck me as a melody of great skill and discipline. It is perhaps not remarkable for its rhythmic variety — and it is harmonically conservative, too — but, through analysis of William Rowlands’s judicious development of simple, solid material, we are offered a glimpse of how a symphonic response may still be found in congregations today, as in the early 20th 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 identical harmonisation and cadences, a little higher. A new, shorter melodic idea is introduced and, again, is repeated in a higher register. After the melody’s peak is reached, the climb down employs the same rhythm as the opening phrases. The final phrase is constituted entirely of material heard earlier.
IN EVENTIDE (“Abide with me, fast falls the eventide”), William Henry Monk evokes a markedly more reflective mood through the use of descending motifs, the repetition of notes to lend expression and a sense of yearning, and operating within a melodic range almost half that of Blaenwern. In Mannheim (“Lead us, heavenly Father, lead us”), we see harmonic restraint in the return of the opening line. Here, the harmony of just one bar takes a subtly different course: enough to lend welcome variety, but nothing so radical as to feel contrived.
Wolvercote (“O Jesus, I have promised”) is a more striking example of harmonic colouring. During its third line, William Harold Ferguson undertakes some modulatory sleight of hand by means of a tertiary relationship (the melodic interval that separates the two 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 end,” you might 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 is endearing for its meekness.
ORGANISTS have at their disposal the resources to enhance greatly the singing of hymnody. Choices made in pacing and in registration (combining pipes of differing pitch and timbre) can have a considerable bearing on a congregation’s compulsion to sing, and their breathing with, and colouring of, the text. Some organists may venture into the re-harmonising of climactic moments, and the employing of descants.
As with Mannheim, the smallest of alterations or embellishments can be compelling. I have always considered the work of the organist — and, indeed, all liturgical musicians — as one of enabling and inspiring, striking a balance in responding to the context by offering a sufficient lead, while ensuring that one’s personal response to the music does not stray into the bounds of ostentation.
To return to Blaenwern (writing as I do from Christ Church, Oxford, I think it is fitting to allow Charles Wesley the final word) — a hymn tune synonymous today with weddings, including that of the Prince and Princess of Wales — it will, for me, for ever be its singing at the state funeral of our late Queen which resonates most strongly. The familiar text and music offered a moment of gravitas and profound outpouring within that historic liturgy; for it is in the coalescing of the author’s craft, the composer’s response, and a congregation’s embrace that we can 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”).
