Our friend Dale Nelson sent me the link to the Icelandic hymn above.
I have no idea what it says, but it’s really lovely. (I suspect the title means, ‘Hear Us From Heaven.’ I should probably check with Jackson Crawford.)
Have a good weekend.
Category Archives: Music
‘Dear Lord and Father of Mankind’
I am bubbling with opinions on public issues in my state today, so I’ve decided to express none of them. I’m painfully aware that I’m actually fairly ignorant of a lot of things that have me upset, so I’ll do you (and my soul) the courtesy of just stifling myself. For the present, anyway.
Instead, I post the old American hymn, “Dear Lord and Father of Mankind.” Oddly, most of the videos of the hymn available on YouTube use the tune “Repton,” which the English churches prefer. But I like the American tune I’ve always sung, a tune called “Rest,” by Frederick Charles Maker.
The text is a superior one because, unlike so many hymn writers, its author, John Greenleaf Whittier, was an actual poet, and a good one. He was also a Quaker. The text is in fact an excerpt from a longer work called “The Brewing of Soma,” a poem about an ancient Indian custom of brewing a drink called Soma, on which worshippers got drunk in an effort to make contact with the divine. Whittier goes on to tell the reader that we ought to seek God through higher methods – peace and patience and rest in faith.
I’m not a great admirer of Quaker theology, but they have something to tell me.
Edvard Grieg, killer composer
Recently, it’s been my habit, during my morning writing sessions, to tune my TV to some kind of classical music collection from out of the great variety available on YouTube.
Edvard Grieg is always a good choice for me, and I’ve found a couple really weird Grieg collections lately. One of them is posted above. The quotations it features seem dubious to me, and the art was obviously created by AI. Yet the resulting dreamlike concoction seems to suit my so-called creative process.
If you take the time to watch this video, you’ll notice a couple odd images featuring large frogs. I did some web searches about “Grieg’s frog,” and discovered that the composer did, in fact, have a frog, which he kept in his pocket. It was (I was relieved to learn) not a living frog, but a toy frog (rubber, apparently). It was his good luck charm, and he liked to rub it before performing in public.
I learned of that fact in this article, which goes on to tell a truly bizarre story – one that seems to me absolutely too good to be true. I can’t find it mentioned anywhere else online, so I reserve the right to doubt it. But it goes like this (excerpted as published):
Once, the great Norwegian composer was giving a splendid concert in Oslo. In the beginning, he decided to make a programme including only his own compositions, but then he changed his mind and replaced the finishing number with a composition by Beethoven.
As it was usual, the following day, the concert reviews were published in newspapers. It should be remembered that Edvard Grieg, as many talented people, had a lot of ill-wising critics. And one of them, he had an especially strong dislike for Edvard Grieg’s music, wrote a humiliating critic article about the composer’s concert. The number which drew particular attention of the critic was the last one, he disliked that the most. The critic mentioned venomously that the composition was simply ridiculous and absolutely unacceptable.
Having read the critical article, Edvard Grieg called the critic on the phone and said:
– This is Beethoven’s spirit disturbing you. I should tell you that it was me who had composed the finishing composition of Edvard Grieg’s concert!The disgraced critic felt far too awful as it was, and the joke became the last drop, he died from a heart attack. (Credit: CMuse)
It’s always sad when anyone dies, of course, but I don’t think any artist can help feeling a little wistful as he reads that anecdote.
New state anthem
I suggested a new state anthem for Minnesota (lost to the internet now, alas) some years back. But that was in the quaint, distant, antebellum past. Today, as an embattled sovereign jurisdiction, we face circumstances calling for something a little more bellicose.
I posted about the popular southern song of the Civil War, “The Bonnie Blue Flag,” the other day.
I must have been off my game, because it didn’t occur to me at the time that our new, much-vaunted, progressive state flag (shown at the top) is indeed, a bonnie blue flag, bearing a single star.
It was for me the work of but a few hours to come up with the following new anthem for my beloved state, to which I vow eternal loyalty:
We are a band of siblings, we live on stolen soil,
And when it starts to freeze outside, our blood begins to boil;
So when our graft was threatened, we rallied to Omar,
Hooray for the Bonnie Blue Flag, that bears a single star.
Hurrah! Hurrah!
For Gopher graft hurrah!
Hurrah for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star!
As long as good old Uncle Sam looked off the other way,
Cheap labor and big money grants made public service pay.
But now that pesky auditors have rushed in from afar
We hoist on high the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star!
Hurrah! Hurrah!
For Gopher graft hurrah!
Hurrah for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star!
States’ rights and nullification!
Apparently I now live in a state that no longer recognizes the priority of federal law. I post the song above out of a sense of prudence, so that I won’t be considered a traitor by my secessionist neighbors.
The lyrics to the song “The Bonnie Blue Flag” were written in 1861, by an entertainer named Harry McCarthy. The tune, like so many of our best tunes, was stolen from the Irish — the original song was called “The Irish Jaunting Car.”
The music in this clip comes from the 2003 movie, “Gods and Generals.” The visuals are a montage.
‘Jerusalem’
Above, a hymn much better known in England than on this side of the pond (though I doubt it’s sung much in schools there anymore), “Jerusalem,” a musical setting of William Blake’s poem. It’s been called England’s second national anthem.
It’s based on the legend (how ancient the legend is seems uncertain) that claims that the first Christian in Britain was none other than Joseph of Arimathea, the character from the gospels who gave up his tomb for Christ’s burial. According to the legend, Joseph was involved in the tin trade, with connections in Britain. Supposedly he was also Jesus’s uncle, and took Him along on one of his business trips to the barbarian island. Later, after the resurrection, he is supposed to have gone there as a missionary, founded the church at Glastonbury, and thrust his staff into the earth, where it budded to become the famous Glastonbury Thorn (which was, according to my reading, in fact a Middle Eastern variety of tree). We Protestants cut it down during the Reformation, but cuttings have been taken, and some survive.
(Another legend, by the way, says Aristobulus, St. Paul’s associate mentioned in the Epistle to the Romans, was the first missionary to Britain.)
I’m studying Glastonbury right now, because it will play a part in my Haakon the Good book. It’s a matter of record that King Athelstan raised a number of foreign princes at his court; this is one of the facts that make the story of Haakon’s fosterage with Athelstan plausible.
And Athelstan was a strong patron of Glastonbury Abbey, promoting it as a center of learning. Among the clerics educated there was the famous St. Dunstan – whom I intend to incorporate into the story.
I also had a strange, stray thought this morning, which I managed to snag with my little metaphorical net before it flew away. I thought of a way to suggest that a character is an angel, without actually saying he is an angel. I think it’s kind of clever, though it will probably pass over most readers’ heads.
Now I’ll have to figure out a place for an angel in the story.
Happy New Year
By a bizarre coincidence, New Year’s Eve falls on exactly the same date this year as last year. I think we’re in a rut. And I’m grateful for it.
Though we don’t get the solid, long-lasting, well-built years anymore that we had when I was boy. I clearly remember talking about the new year with my grandmother, in her little house. I think it was the end of 1956. Grandma said there would never be a year 1956 again, and I couldn’t see how that could be true. Still seems wrong to me.
Above, Sissel Kyrkjebø does Auld Lang Syne, in Scottish and Swedish. Wearing a butch men’s suit, just to annoy me, but in excellent voice.
I want to thank all our faithful readers for their loyalty (and patience) through another year. We do all this for you, and I hope you feel properly guilty about it.
Special thanks to Phil Wade, who – I should remind everyone, including myself – is the host of this hall.
I’ve had better years than 2025. I take comfort in the fact, much cited in the Middle Ages, that fortune is a wheel. If I’m down at the moment, the wheel should (probably) come around again. I’ll keep you posted.
I’m reading Njal’s Saga again. It’s a long saga, so I’ll probably be posting reading impressions for a few days, as I work my way through it.
Watch for that, if you can handle the excitement.
Now to celebrate New Year’s Eve in my own way, which is not at all.
Sissel: ‘Mitt hjerte altid vanker’
Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. My greeting to you (I probably won’t be posting tomorrow) is this number from Sissel, a Danish hymn by Hans Adolph Brorson. Mitt Hjerte Altid Vanker has an earlier Danish melody, but this Swedish tune has become more popular, for reasons that will be apparent when you hear it.
It’s in Norwegian, of course, so I’ve gone to the trouble of translating the verses Sissel sings here for you. There are in fact 11 verses, but only 3 are used here. This version does a little mixing, combining lines from two different verses (and out of order too!) at the end.
But it works.
My heart is e’er returning
There where my Lord was born;
My thoughts forever yearning
In wonder at that morn:
My longing finds its home there,
My treasure gleaming bright --
My faith finds rest alone there,
That blessed Christmas night!
But ah! How to express it, Things wisdom cannot know, That God – no soul could guess it Would e’er descend so low: That He, the praise of Heaven, The great eternal Word, Into a stall was given Our humble, infant Lord. Oh come! My soul is sighing Your work in me begin! To Heaven’s heart I’m crying, Come, Lord, and enter in! – My heart, your blood has bought it, It is no alien ground – In flesh you came and sought it Be here forever found!
‘God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen,’ and Gary too
I seem to be thinking of old carols this Advent season, so today I figured I’d look at a genuinely old carol (as opposed to that counterfeit antique, Wenceslas, that I covered a few days ago). I’m thinking here of God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen. According to Wikipedia, we know of an early version of this carol from the 17th Century, though the version we sing today comes from an 1833 collection produced in England by William Sandys.
Now right off, I find myself on the wrong foot about some of the words. I’ve always sung it as “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” (more about the comma placement below). But according to the Wikipedia article, “In fact, ye would never have been correct, because ye is a subjective (nominative) pronoun only, never an objective (accusative) pronoun.” I, with my rough-and-ready workman’s grasp of English grammar, had no clue about this. (Oddly, the title on the YouTube clip above has it wrong, but the sing-along lyrics get it right.)
The most common misunderstanding about the song has to do with the meaning of the words, “God rest you merry, gentlemen.” Modern people assume the comma should go after you – “God rest you, merry gentlemen,” with “merry” describing “gentlemen.” But that’s because we’ve forgotten the idiomatic phrase, “rest you merry.” Shakespeare uses it in a couple of his plays, “As You Like It,” and “Romeo and Juliet.” It originally meant “God rest you [grant you to be] merry [peaceful and happy].”
Personally, I’ve been needing a little comfort and joy lately. One week ago tonight (Friday), my friend Gary Anderson passed away after a long illness. Gary was a founder and longtime central figure in my Viking reenactment group (that’s him on the right with me in the photo above). He was sort of a walking photo opportunity, an artist’s dream of a Viking, our most public face and voice.
He was a wounded and decorated Vietnam combat veteran. He was a professional Santa Claus in season, for many years. He was a dyslexic who taught himself to read. He came on strong, rather frightening me when I first met him, but he proved to be a stalwart and faithful friend. Another friend and I visited him a couple times during his last months, the final time about three weeks ago. Death is Grendel, a mighty foe, but it had to beat him to the ground before it took him. He never gave up. He went out as befits a Christian Viking.
Sissel sings ‘Glade Jul’
Tonight, because it’s not Christmas without a few hymns from Sissel, we have Glade Jul, the Norwegian version of “Silent Night.”
The Norwegian translation does an interesting thing with the lyrics. It pulls the whole story into the present – or pulls us into the past, back to the first Christmas. The Norwegian lines of the first verse go (more or less, my translation):
Happy Christmas, Holy Christmas.
Angels descend unseen.
Hither they fly, with leaves of Paradise,
Where they behold what God has accomplished.
Secretly they walk among us;
Secretly they walk among us.