This week we’ve been learning and singing this o-l-d hymn from the fourth century. (We’re studying the Middle Ages and the Renaissance this year in school.) Anyway, the hymn poem was written by a man named Aurelius Prudentius who lived in Spain and wrote in Latin. It was translated into English by John Mason Neale in the mid-nineteenth century in England. The version I copied for the urchins and me to sing runs to nine verses, and we sang them all, much to someone’s chagrin. I always want to sing all the verses.

1. Of the Father’s love begotten,
Ere the worlds began to be,
He is Alpha and Omega,
He the source, the ending He,
Of the things that are, that have been,
And that future years shall see,
Evermore and evermore!

2. At His Word the worlds were framèd;
He commanded; it was done:
Heaven and earth and depths of ocean
In their threefold order one;
All that grows beneath the shining
Of the moon and burning sun,
Evermore and evermore!

3. He is found in human fashion,
Death and sorrow here to know,
That the race of Adam’s children
Doomed by law to endless woe,
May not henceforth die and perish
In the dreadful gulf below,
Evermore and evermore!

4. O that birth forever blessèd,
When the Virgin, full of grace,
By the Holy Ghost conceiving,
Bare the Savior of our race;
And the Babe, the world’s Redeemer,
First revealed His sacred face,
Evermore and evermore!


5. This is He Whom seers in old time
Chanted of with one accord;
Whom the voices of the prophets
Promised in their faithful word;
Now He shines, the long expected,
Let creation praise its Lord,
Evermore and evermore!

6. O ye heights of heaven adore Him;
Angel hosts, His praises sing;
Powers, dominions, bow before Him,
And extol our God and King!
Let no tongue on earth be silent,
Every voice in concert sing,
Evermore and evermore!

7. Righteous judge of souls departed,
Righteous King of them that live,
On the Father’s throne exalted
None in might with Thee may strive;
Who at last in vengeance coming
Sinners from Thy face shalt drive,
Evermore and evermore!

8. Thee let old men, thee let young men,
Thee let boys in chorus sing;
Matrons, virgins, little maidens,
With glad voices answering:
Let their guileless songs re-echo,
And the heart its music bring,
Evermore and evermore!

9. Christ, to Thee with God the Father,
And, O Holy Ghost, to Thee,
Hymn and chant with high thanksgiving,
And unwearied praises be:
Honor, glory, and dominion,
And eternal victory,
Evermore and evermore!

Computer Guru Son, who also considers himself something of an expert on music, says that the traditional tune that this hymn is sung to is not very good music, not very good at all. I, philistine that I am in terms of musical appreciation, kind of like it. In fact, I like it very much. Click here to listen at Cyberhymnal. (I don’t much care for the plinkety-plunk midi sound, but on a real organ or a piano . . . . )

On another note, pun intended, you should posilutely, absotively, read this article at Poetry Foundation by Susan Thomsen of the blog Chicken Spaghetti: Home Appreciation: Homeschoolers are turning a million kids on to poetry—through fun, not homework. Here’s how you can do it too.

Semicolon’s September Links, Celebrations, and Birthdays.

And Poetry Friday for this week is at Charlotte’s Library.

Eldest Daughter is leaving today to go to graduate school in Nashville, and I am missing her already. So I’m posting this poem for her, because she says it’s one of her favorites. (She said choosing a favorite poem was too hard.)

As I Walked Out One Evening
by W. H. Auden

As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
‘Love has no ending.

‘I’ll love you, dear, I’ll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,

‘I’ll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung up to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.

Things sort of go downhill for Auden after that, until “the crack in the tea-cup opens/ A lane to the land of the dead.” Read the rest of the poem at Poets.org.

However, it’s a rather facile reaction, but that first part of Auden’s poem reminds me of this song by Jerry Livingston and Paul Francis Webster:

You ask me how much I need you, must I explain?
I need you, oh my darling, like roses need rain
You ask how long I’ll love you, I’ll tell you true
Until the Twelfth of Never, I’ll still be loving you

Hold me close, never let me go
Hold me close, melt my heart like April snow

I’ll love you ’til the bluebells forget to bloom
I’ll love you ’til the clover has lost its perfume
I’ll love you ’til the poets run out of rhyme
Until the Twelfth of Never and that’s a long, long time

Until the Twelfth of Never and that’s a long, long time . . .

Ah, those were the days . . . Donny Osmond, and bell bottom pants, and Gogo boots.

We’re going to miss you, Miss Eldest, until the Twelfth of Never and until the salmon sing in the street.

(Listen to Donny the Heartthrob here on Youtube.)

Poetry Friday round-up is at Becky’s Book Reviews today.