Hymns and Psalms and Spiritual Songs

I guess I am a fully paid-up member of the charismatic movement and very rarely find myself in church singing old hymns, though I do celebrate the wonder and beauty of recent hymns written by my friends Stuart Townend, Nathan Fellingham or Simon Brading, but sometimes I find myself drawn into my old hymnbooks and feel, to be honest, a sense of loss that we so rarely sing such magnificent hymns.

I guess there is a generation who will probably never know them – to their loss. Maybe we can find a way to occasionally include some of these great songs of worship and let the new generation have the privilege of expressing their love to God through them.

Maybe from time to time I can highlight on my blog some of the great hymns that I love to sing, sometimes alone, sometimes joined by Wendy, my wife. The following one I first heard when I was at London Bible College, never having sung it in my home church, but I grew to love it and still love it now. It was written by Samuel Crossman (1624-83). I know nothing about him but one thing is sure, he certainly knew his Lord.

My song is love unknown,
My Saviour’s love to me;
Love to the loveless shown,
That they might lovely be.
O who am I,
That for my sake
My Lord should take
Frail flesh, and die?

He came from His blest throne
Salvation to bestow;
But men made strange, and none
The longed-for Christ would know:
But O! my Friend,
My Friend indeed,
Who at my need
His life did spend.

Sometimes they strew His way,
And His sweet praises sing;
Resounding all the day
Hosanas to their King;
Then ‘Crucify!’
Is all their breath,
And for His death
They thirst and cry.

They rise and needs will have
My dear Lord made away;
A murdered they save,
The Prince of life they slay.
Yet cheerful He
To suff’ring goes,
That He His foes
From thence might free.

In life, no house, no home
My Lord on earth might have;
In death, no friendly tomb,
But what a stranger gave.
What may I say?
Heaven was His home;
But mine the tomb
Wherein He lay.

Here might I stay and sing,
No story so divine;
Never was love, dear King!
Never was grief like Thine.
This is my Friend,
In Whose sweet praise
I all my days
Could gladly spend.

It may be that some who read this blog attend churches where such hymns are frequently sung. Please spare a thought (and maybe a prayer!) for us poor charismatics.