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BISHOP HEBER’S HYMNS In 1827, after his death, was published Hymns, written and adapted to the weekly church service of the year. This was the first collection hymns in the Church of England specifically written or collected to fit the requirements of the liturgical year.
Some had been printed earlier with the following explanation: ‘The following hymns are part of an intended series, appropriate to the Sundays and principal holydays of the year, connected in some degree with their particular Collects and Gospels, and designed to be sung between the Nicene Creed and the sermon.’
57 out of the 98 were written by Heber, during his time as Rector of Hodnet. He would undoubtedly have written more, had he not been called to Calcutta. A brief list of those still known is followed by a selection of those now rarely sung (except at St Peter’s, Marton) ‘Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty’
His masterpiece for Trinity Sunday. ‘From Greenland’s icy mountain’
In 1819, the government had authorized collections to be made in every church and chapel in England for the Mission of the Church in India. On Whit Sunday, the Dean of Asaph, Reginald’s father-in-law, had arranged to preach the missionary sermon in the morning, with Heber delivering the first in a series of lectures that evening. On the Saturday the Dean asked his son-in-law to write ‘something for them to sing in the morning’. Retiring to a corner of the room, Heber at once wrote down the first three verses of ‘From Greenland’s icy mountains’. The Dean asked, ‘What have you written?’ Heber read over the lines, when the Dean exclaimed, ‘There, there, that will do very well.’ ‘No,’ replied the poet, ‘the sense is not complete,’ and added the fourth verse. In the second verse, it now reads ‘Blow soft o’er Java’s isle’ where Heber wrote ‘Ceylon’s’; while the oft-quoted ‘The heathen in his blindness…’ was originally ‘The savage…’ ‘Brightest and best of the sons of the morning’ (Epiphany) ‘Virgin-born, we bow before thee’ (Lent 3) ‘God is gone up with a merry noise’ (Easter) ‘The Son of God goes forth to war’ (Saints days) ‘O most merciful’ (An introit to the Communion Service) ‘Bread of the world, in mercy broken’ (Before the Sacrament) ‘God who madest earth and heave’ (Evening) Fourth Sunday in Advent THE world is grown old, and her pleasures are past;
The world is grown old, and her form may not last;
The world is grown old, and trembles for fear;
For sorrows abound, and judgement is near!
The sun in the Heaven is languid and pale;
And feeble and few are the fruits of the vale;
And the hearts of the nations fail them for fear,
For the world is grown old, and judgement is near!
The king on his throne, the bride in her bower,
The children of pleasure all feel the sad hour;
The roses are faded, and tasteless the cheer,
For the world is grown old, and judgement is near!
The world is grown old! —but should we complain,
Who have tried her and know that her promise is vain?
Our heart is in Heaven, our home is not here,
And we look for our crown when judgement is near! Sunday after Christmas
LORD of mercy and of might!
Of mankind the life and light!
Maker, teacher infinite!
Jesus! hear and save! Who, when sin’s tremendous doom
Gave creation to the tomb,
Didst not scorn the Virgin’s womb,
Jesus! hear and save! Mighty monarch! Saviour mild!
Humbled to a mortal child,
Captive, beaten, bound, revil’d,
Jesus! hear and save! Throned above celestial things,
Borne aloft on angels’ wings,
Lord of lords, and King of kings!
Jesus! hear and save! Who shall yet return from high,
Robed in might and majesty,
Hear us! help us when we cry!
Jesus! hear and save! SexagesimaOH GOD! by whom the seed is given;
By whom the harvest blest;
Whose word, like manna shower’d from heaven,
Is planted in our breast; Preserve it from the passing feet,
And plunderers of the air;
The sultry sun’s intenser heat,
And weeds of worldly care! Though buried deep or thinly strewn,
Do thou thy grace supply;
The hope in earthly furrows sown
Shall ripen in the sky! Trinity 2
FORTH from the dark and stormy sky,
Lord, to Thine altar’s shade we fly;
Forth from the world, its hope and fear,
Saviour, we seek Thy shelter here:
Weary and weak Thy grace we pray:
Turn not, O Lord! Thy guests away! Long have we roam’d in want and pain,
Long have we sought Thy rest in vain;
Wildered in doubt, in darkness lost,
Long have our souls been tempest-tost:
Low at Thy feet our sins we lay;
Turn not, O Lord! Thy guests away! Trinity 13
‘WHO yonder on the desert heath,
Complains in feeble tone?’
‘A pilgrim in the Vale of Death,
Faint, bleeding, and alone!’ ‘How cam’st thou to this dismal strand
Of danger, grief, and shame?’
‘From blessed Zion’s holy land,
By Folly led, I came!’ ‘Whose ruffian hand hath stript thee bare?
Whose fury laid thee low?’
‘Sin for my footsteps twin’d her snare,
And death has dealt the blow!’ ‘Can art no medicine for thy wound,
Nor Nature strength supply?’
‘They saw me bleeding on the ground,
And passed in silence by!’‘But, sufferer! is no comfort near
Thy terrors to remove?’
‘There is to whom my soul was dear,
But I have scorned His love.’ ‘What if His hand were nigh to save
From endless Death thy days!’
‘The soul He ransomed from the grave
Should live but to His praise!’ ‘Rise then, oh rise! His health embrace,
With heavenly strength renewed;
And such as is thy Saviour’s grace,
Such be thy gratitude!’ St James’ Day THOUGH sorrows rise, and dangers roll
In waves of darkness o’er my soul,
Though friends are false and love decays,
And few and evil are my days,
Though conscience, fiercest of my foes,
Swells with remembered guilt my woes,
Yet e’en in nature’s utmost ill,
I love Thee, Lord! I love Thee still! Though Sinai’s curse, in thunder dread,
Peals o’er mine unprotected head,
And memory points, with busy pain,
To grace and mercy given in vain,
Till nature, shrinking in the strife,
Would fly to hell to ’scape from life,
Though every thought has power to kill,
I love Thee, Lord! I love Thee still! Oh, by the pangs Thyself hast borne,
The ruffian’s blow, the tyrant’s scorn;
By Sinai’s curse, whose dreadful doom
Was buried in Thy guiltless tomb:
By these my pangs, whose healing smart,
Thy grace hath planted in my heart;
I know, I feel, Thy bounteous will!
Thou lov’st me, Lord! Thou lov’st me still! In times of distress and danger
OH GOD that madest earth and sky, the darkness and the day,
Give ear to this Thy family, and help us when we pray!
For wide the waves of bitterness around our vessel roar,
And heavy grows the pilot’s heart to view the rocky shore! The cross our Master bore for us, for Him we fain would bear,
But mortal strength to weakness turns, and courage to despair!
Then mercy on our failings, Lord! our sinking faith renew!
And when Thy sorrows visit us, oh send Thy patience too! At a funeral Written after the death of his first-born, an infant daughter
THOU are gone to the grave! but we will not deplore thee,
Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb,
Thy Saviour has pass’d through its portals before thee,
And the lamp of His love is thy guide through the gloom! Thou art gone to the grave! we no longer behold thee,
Nor tread the rough path of the world by thy side;
But the wide arms of Mercy are spread to enfold thee,
And sinners may die, for the Sinless has died! Thou art gone to the grave! and its mansions forsaking,
Perchance thy weak spirit in fear linger’d long;
But the mild rays of Paradise beam’d on thy waking,
And the sound which thou heardst was the Seraphim’s song!
Thou art gone to the grave! but we will not deplore thee,
Whose God was thy ransom, thy guardian and guide;
He gave thee, He took thee, and He will restore thee,
And death has no sting, for the Saviour has died! RICHARD HEBER, BOOK COLLECTOR Born at Westminster on 5th January 1773, the eldest son of Reginald Heber (who succeeded his eldest brother as lord of Marton and Hodnet in Shropshire) and of his first wife, Mary Baylie. The future bishop was the son of his second wife, also called Mary.
Richard read classics at Braesnose, MA in 1797. Friend of Scott – ‘Heber the magnificent, whose library and cellar are so superior to all others in the world’.
He succeeded to the estate on his father death in 1804, which he greatly improved both in Yorkshire and Shropshire. Stood for election at Oxford but failed; travelled on the continent buying books and making new friends.
Elected MP for Oxford University in 1821, resigning in 1826. Returned to England in 1831 and lived a secluded life at Hodnet or Pimlico. He died in October 1833.
The greatest book collector of his age (and until a better candidate comes forward, one might even say ‘of all time’) His delightful and best-known maxim was ‘No gentleman can be without three copies of a book: one for show, one for use, and one for borrowers.’
‘Perhaps no man ever collected such vast accumulations of choice volumes’ (Dictionary of National Biography). It did unfortunately bankrupt him and his estate; Marton was mortgaged during his lifetime and sold on his death, along with his entire collection.
THOMAS CUTHBERT HEBER Thomas Cuthbert, younger brother Reginald, became a Fellow of Braesnose, and then Rector of Marton; he died in 1816, a bachelor aged 31. ‘His hobbies were genealogy, heraldry, and the study of ancient church brasses.’
He also died of a brain haemorrhage – he had been curate to Reginald, until he became perpetual curate of Moreton Saye, where he appears to have lived (Marton being no more than a source of extra income). He wrote the hymn for Epiphany 4 – the widow of Nain, including this verse in the original manuscript: He called me by a brother’s bier,
As down I knelt to prayer,
But ah! though sorrow shed the tear,
Repentance was not there!
MARY HEBER Sister to Reginald and Thomas. He got there before Tesco’s: in Feb 1822, Richard Heber wrote to his (half) sister Mary, on her hopes of marrying Charles Cholmondeley, the curate at Moreton Saye in Shropshire, ‘In the meantime, I tell you for your private satisfaction that I shall be glad to assist your income by presenting Charles to the Rectory of Marton which is fortunately still within my own command unfettered by any positive promise. This, it is true, is no great matter (say £100 into pocket, curate paid) but every little helps.’ HENRY RICHARDSON 1710 – 1778 Son of Dr Richard Richardson, a member of the Royal Society, botanist and antiquarian, Henry was brought up in a sophisticated literary and scientific household at the gracious manor at Bierley, near Bradford. Educated at Oxford, he obtained the living of Thornton-in-Craven even before being awarded his BA, thanks to the patronage of his brother-in-law, in 1735 and held it until his death in 1778.
Henry’s report to the newly enthroned Archbishop of York in 1743 reveals that there were 148 families in the parish (which then included Earby and Kelbrook). At the average eighteenth century family size, this would give a population of around 700 people, of whom 80 were Anabaptists or Quakers. There was a public school ‘free to the parish at large’, but no alms house nor ‘other charitable endowment’. ‘Neither have lands or tenements been left for the repair of our church or any other pious use.’ He claims to be mostly resident in the parish (not a universal practice by any means), but had a curate living with him whom he paid £35 a year, who would do the work when he was absent.
He married a Mary Dawson in 1747, daughter of a prosperous Oldham merchant, from which point he appears to have begun a serious programme of building and improvements. The altar rails, still in use, were installed the next year at a cost of £8.13s.4d. In the same year he designed a fine and imaginative four-sided sundial, with quotations in English, which nicely express his scientific interest in God’s creation. His largest memorial is the old parsonage, still standing at the top of the village, which was sold by the diocese in the 1940s after some nefarious and secretive manoeuvring. He began it in 1754, and completed it with a fine Latin dedication.
In 1755 he presumably removed the medieval font, and replaced it with the simple classical sandstone one we have now. It looks curiously out of place in its present surroundings, but would then have been in harmonious company under the Georgian music gallery built a few years before. No sign of this remains, except the repair to the incisions made into the side of the tower arch, just above head height either side of the font. The bell frame was repaired and later two bells were placed in it in 1759, probably existing ones recast.
The well is his last recorded building project, and the most graceful of them all. Over the older square basin, set into the curve of the slope below the church, Mr Richardson erected a simple but elegant octagonal structure, capped with a large millstone.
DR RICHARD RICHARDSON A letter from Dr Richardson of Bierley, father of our Henry, written in 1709 states that ‘Ilkley is chiefly famous for a cold well which has done very remarkable cures in scrofulous cases by bathing and drinking it’, the only direct reference we have (so far) to his interest in healing waters.
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