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Hymns of the Eastern Church
tr. Neale, 1862
9. S. Joseph of the Studium
Sunday of the Prodigal Son. (Septuagesima.)
βυθὸς ἁμαρτημάτων.
The abyss of many a former sin
Encloses me, and bars me in:
Like billows my transgressions roll:
Be Thou the Pilot of my soul:
And to Salvation’s harbour bring,
Thou Saviour and Thou glorious King!
My Father’s heritage abused,
Wasted by lust, by sin misused;
To shame and want and misery brought:
The slave to many a fruitless thought,
I cry to Thee, Who lovest men,
O pity and receive again!
In hunger now,—no more possessed
Of that my portion bright and blest,
The exile and the alien see
Who yet would fain return to Thee!
And save me, Lord, who seek to raise
To Thy dear love the hymn of praise!
With that blest thief my prayer I make,
Remember for Thy mercy’s sake!
With that poor publican I cry,
Be merciful, O God most High!
With that lost Prodigal I fain
Back to my home would turn again!
Mourn, mourn, my soul, with earnest care,
And raise to Christ the contrite prayer:—
O Thou, Who freely wast made poor,
My sorrows and my sins to cure,
Me, poor of all good works, embrace,
Enriching with Thy boundless grace!
The Pilgrims of Jesus
O happy band of pilgrims,
If onward ye will tread
With Jesus as your Fellow
To Jesus as your Head!
O happy, if ye labour
As Jesus did for men:
O happy, if ye hunger
As Jesus hunger’d then!
The Cross that Jesus carried
He carried as your due:
The Crown that Jesus weareth
He weareth it for you.
The Faith by which ye see Him,
The Hope, in which ye yearn,
The Love that through all troubles
To Him alone will turn,—
What are they, but vaunt-couriers
To lead you to His Sight?
What are they, save the effluence
Of Uncreated Light?
The trials that beset you,
The sorrows ye endure,
The manifold temptations
That Death alone can cure,—
What are they, but His jewels
Of right celestial worth?
What are they but the ladder
Set up to Heav’n on earth?
O happy band of pilgrims,
Look upward to the skies;—
Where such a light affliction
Shall win you such a prize!
The Return Home
Safe home, safe home in port!
—Rent cordage, shattered deck,
Torn sails, provisions short,
And only not a wreck:
But oh! the joy upon the shore,
To tell our voyage-perils o’er!
The prize, the prize secure!
The athlete nearly fell;
Bare all he could endure,
And bare not always well:
But he may smile at troubles gone
Who sets the victor-garland on!
No more the foe can harm:
No more of leagur’d camp,
And cry of night-alarm,
And need of ready lamp:
And yet how nearly he had failed,—
How nearly had that foe prevailed!
The lamb is in the fold
In perfect safety penn’d:
The lion once had hold,
And thought to make an end;
But One came by with Wounded Side,
And for the sheep the Shepherd died.
The exile is at home!
—O nights and days of tears,
O longings not to roam,
O sins, and doubts, and fears,—
What matter now, when (so men say)
The King has wip’d those tears away?
O happy, happy Bride!
Thy widow’d hours are past,
The Bridegroom at thy side,
Thou all His Own at last!
The sorrows of thy former cup
In full fruition swallow’d up!
Let Our Choir New Anthems Raise
τῶν ἱερῶν ἀθλοφόρων.
Let our Choir new anthems raise:
Wake the morn with gladness:
God Himself to joy and praise
Turns the Martyrs’ sadness:
This the day that won their crown,
Opened Heav’n’s bright portal;
As they laid the mortal down,
And put on th’ immortal.
Never flinch’d they from the flame,
From the torture, never;
Vain the foeman’s sharpest aim,
Satan’s best endeavour:
For by faith they saw the Land
Decked in all its glory,
Where triumphant now they stand
With the victor’s story.
Faith they had that knew not shame,
Love that could not languish;
And eternal Hope o’ercame
Momentary anguish.
He Who trod the self-same road,
Death and Hell defeated;
Wherefore these their passions show’d
Calvary repeated.
Up and follow, Christian men!
Press through toil and sorrow!
Spurn the night of fear, and then,—
Oh the glorious morrow!
Who will venture on the strife?
Blest who first begin it!
Who will grasp the Land of Life?
Warriors! up and win it!
And Wilt Thou Pardon, Lord
τῶν ἁμαρτιῶν μου τὴν πληθύν.
And wilt Thou pardon, Lord,
A sinner such as I?
Although Thy book his crimes record
Of such a crimson dye?
So deep are they engrav’d,—
So terrible their fear,—
The righteous scarcely shall be sav’d,
And where shall I appear?
My soul, make all things known
To Him Who all things sees:
That so the Lamb may yet atone
For thine iniquities.
O Thou, Physician blest,
Make clean my guilty soul!
And me, by many a sin oppress’d,
Restore and keep me whole!
I know not how to praise
Thy mercy and Thy love:
But deign Thy servant to upraise,
And I shall learn above!
Stars of the Morning
Stars of the morning,
Gloriously bright,
Fill’d with celestial
Virtue and light,
These that, where night never
Followeth day,
Raise the Trishagion
Ever and aye:
These are Thy counsellors:
These dost Thou own,
Lord God of Sabaoth!
Nearest Thy throne;
These are Thy ministers,
These dost Thou send,
Help of the helpless ones!
Man to defend.
These keep the guard, amidst
Salem’s dear bowers:
Thrones, Dominations,
Virtues and Powers:
Where with the Living Ones,
Mystical Four,
Cherubin, Seraphim,
Bow and adore.
“Who like the Lord?”—thunders
Michael, the Chief:
Raphael, “the Cure of God,”
Comforteth grief:
And, as at Nazareth,
Prophet of peace,
Gabriel, “the light of God,”
Bringeth release.
Then, when the earth was first
Pois’d in mid space,—
Then, when the planets first
Sped on their race,—
Then, when were ended the
Six days’ employ,—
Then all the Sons of God
Shouted for joy.
Still let them succour us;
Still let them fight,
Lord of angelic hosts,
Battling for right!
Till, where their anthems they
Ceaselessly pour,
We with the Angels may,
Bow and adore!
Canon for Ascension · Ode I
ἀνέστης τριήμερος.
After three days Thou didst rise
Visible to mortal eyes:
First the Eleven worshipped Thee,—
Then the rest in Galilee:
Then a cloud in glory bore
Thee to Thine own native shore.
Boldly David pour’d the strain:
God ascends to Heav’n again:
With the trumpet’s pealing note
Alleluias round Him float;
As He now, by hard-won right,
Seeks the Fount of purest Light!
Crime on crime, and grief on grief,
Left the world without relief:
Now that aged, languid race,
God hath quickened by His grace:
As Thy going up we see,
Glory to Thy Glory be!
Catavasia
θείῳ καλυφθείς.
Darkness and awe, when Sinai’s top he trod,
Taught him of faltering tongue the Law of God.
The mist was scattered from his spirit’s eye,
He prais’d and hymn’d the Maker of the sky,
When He That is and was and shall be, passed by.
Ode III
ἐπάρατε πυλάς.
“Exalt, exalt, the Heavenly Gates,
Ye chiefs of mighty name!
The Lord and King of all things waits,
Enrob’d in earthly frame:”
So to the higher seats they cry,
The humbler legions of the sky.
For Adam, by the Serpent’s guile,
Distress’d, deceiv’d, o’erthrown,
Thou left’st Thy native Home awhile,
Thou left’st the Father’s Throne:
Now he is deck’d afresh with grace,
Thou seek’st once more the Heav’nly place.
Glad festal keeps the earth to day,
Glad festal Heav’n is keeping:
The Ascension-pomp, in bright array,
Goes proudly sky-ward sweeping:
The Lord the mighty deed hath done,
And join’d the severed into one.
Catavasia
ἔῤῥηξε γαστρός.
Her fetters of the barren womb it rent,
It crush’d the malice of the insolent,
The cry of her—the prophetess, who brought
A contrite spirit, and a humble thought
To Him, Who bids His Throne by earnest prayer be sought.
Ode IV
Ἰησοῦς ὁ ζωοδότης.
Jesus, Lord of Life Eternal,
Taking those He lov’d the best,
Stood upon the Mount of Olives,
And His Own the last time blest:
Then, though He had never left it,
Sought again His Father’s breast.
Know, O world, this highest festal:
Floods and oceans, clap your hands!
Angels, raise the song of triumph!
Make response, ye distant lands!
For our flesh is knit to Godhead,
Knit in everlasting bands!
Loosing Death with all its terrors
Thou ascended’st up on high,
And to mortals, now Immortal,
Gavest immortality:
As Thine own Disciples saw Thee
Mounting victor to the sky!
Catavasia
Monarch of monarchs, Sole of Sole, to Thee,
Word, glorious in Thy Father’s Majesty,
And sending Thy co-equal Spirit bright
To teach, to comfort, and to guide aright,
Thine own Apostles sang: All glory to Thy might!
Ode V
νεκρώσας τὸν θάνατον.
Now that Death by death hath found its ending,
Thou dost call to Thee Thy lov’d Eleven;
And from holy Olivet ascending
On a cloud art carried up to Heaven.
O that wondrous Birth! that wondrous Rising!
That more wondrous mounting to the sky!
So Elias, earthly things despising,
In a fiery chariot went on high.
Parted from Him, still they watch’d His going:
‘Why stand gazing thus?’ the Angel said:
‘This same Jesus, all His glory showing,
‘Shall return to judge the quick and dead.’
Catavasia
Quicken’d and cleans’d, receive remission new
In the descending Spirit’s fiery dew,
Sons of the Church, and light-formed generation!
For lo! the law goes forth from Sion’s nation,
The cloven tongues of flame, the Paraclete’s salvation!
Ode VI
ῥανάτωσαν ἡμῖν ἄνωθεν.
Rain down, ye heav’ns, eternal bliss!
The Cherub-cloud to-day
Bears Jesus where His Father is,
Along the starry way!
Sunder’d of old were Heav’n and Earth:
But Thou, Incarnate King!
Hast made them one by that Thy Birth,
And this Thy triumphing.
‘Thy victor-raiment, wherefore red?
What mean the marks of pain
That print Thy form?’—the Angels said,
The ascending Monarch’s train.
Catavasia
Very Oblation, by the scourges torn!
Nailed to the bitter Cross, O Virgin-born!
As once the Prophet from the monster’s maw,
So now Thy love, accomplishing the Law,
Adam from utter death to perfect Life would draw.
Oicos
τὰ τῆς γῆς ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς.
Things of the earth in the earth will we lay,
Ashes with ashes, the dust with the clay:
Lift up the heart, and the eye, and the love,
Lift up thyself, to the regions above:
Since the Immortal hath entered of late,
Mortals may pass at the Heavenly gate.—
Stand we on Olivet: mark Him ascend,
Whose is the glory and might without end;
There, with His own ones, the Giver of Good
Blessing them once more, a little while stood.
“Nothing can part us,—nor distance, nor foes;—
Lo! I am for you, and who can oppose?”
Ode VII
φωτεινή σε, φῶς.
Wafting Him up on high,
The glorious cloud receives
The Lord of Immortality,
And earth the Victor leaves:
The Heavenly People raise the strain,
The Apostles pour the hymn again;—
God of our Fathers, Thou art blest!
Ye faithful, tell your joys!
All hearts with gladness bound!
God is gone up with a merry noise,—
The Lord with the trumpet’s sound!
To Him we cry, by woes once tried,
Now glorious at the Father’s side,—
God of our Fathers, Thou art blest!
Zealous for God of yore,
With zeal still Moses burns:
“Come, Heavenly Spirits, and adore
The Victor Who returns:
Rise, Angel legions, rise and sing
The ancient hymn to greet the King,
God of our Fathers, Thou art blest!”
Catavasia
Join’d with the trumpet-peal, the din and shout,
Cornet, flute, sackbut, dulcimer rang out,
And bade adore the golden Deity:
The Spirit’s gentler voice gives praise to Thee,
O co-eternal One—O consubstantial Three!
Ode VIII
Hirmos. Him of the Father.1
τὸν ἐν δυσὶ ταῖς οὐσίαις.
Of twofold natures, Christ, the Giver
Of immortality and love,
Ascendeth to the Father’s glory,
Ascendeth to the Throne above:
Wherefore He, this glorious morn,
Be by all ador’d:
Thou That liftest up our horn,
Holy art Thou, Lord!
Slaves are set free, and captives ransom’d:
The Nature that He made at first
He now presenteth to the Father,
The chains of her damnation burst:
This the cause that He was born,
Adam’s race restor’d:
Thou That liftest up our horn,
Holy art Thou, Lord!
Emptied awhile of all His brightness,
He enter’d thus the glorious fight;
O’erthrew the foe, mankind exalted
Far above every Pow’r and Might:
Therefore bare He pains and scorn,
Calvary’s heart-blood pour’d:—
Thou That liftest up our horn,
Holy art Thou, Lord!
Catavasia
Praising the Lord they stood, the Martyr Three,
Untouch’d amidst the fire, and wholly free:
With them associate, let the world’s wide frame
To Him Whose healing dew restrain’d the flame,
Send up the hymn of praise, and magnify His Name!
Ode IX
ὦ τῶν δωρεῶν.
Holy gift, surpassing comprehension!
Wond’rous mystery of each fiery tongue!
Christ made good His Promise in Ascension:
O’er the Twelve the cloven flames have hung!
Spake the Lord, or ere He left the Eleven:
“Here in Salem wait the Gift I send:
Till the Paraclete came down from Heav’n,
Everlasting Guide and Guard and Friend.”
O that shame, now ended in His glory!
O that pain, now lost in joy unknown!
Tell it out with praise, the whole glad story,
Human nature at the Father’s throne!
Catavasia
Declare, ye Angel Bands that dwell on high,
How saw ye Him, the Victor, drawing nigh?
What strange new visions burst upon your sight?
One in the Form of Man, That claims by right
The very throne of God, the unapproached Light!
Exaposteilarion
Eternal! After Thine own will
Thou born in time would’st be:
After the self-same counsel still
Was Thine Epiphany:
Thou in our flesh didst yield Thy breath,
Immortal God, for man:
Thou by Thy death didst conquer Death,
Through Thine Almighty plan.
Thou, rising Victor to the sky,
Fill’st Heav’n and earth above:
And send’st the Promise from on high,
The Spirit of Thy Love!
Notes
- I have specified this Hirmos, because the reader can see it by turning back to page 71.