Most of us are familiar with metrical Psalms in which the actual text of Scripture is set in a form that enables people to sing God’s Word. Almost all hymnals have Psalms 23 and 100 in this format. When we were younger, we were doing this in a very simple way when we learned to sing Bible verses in the “Scripture Songs” we sang in Sunday School and Vacation Bible School. In fact, that’s long been an excellent way to memorize verses used in children’s ministries like the Good News neighborhood Bible clubs with Child Evangelism Fellowship.
In addition to singing well-known Bible verses and metrical Psalms, there are also many hymns which are based very closely on the words of a Scripture passage, some almost to the point of being a metrical versification. One such hymn is the wonderful advent hymn, “Come, Comfort Ye My People.” It follows very closely the words of Isaiah 40:1-2. This passage marks a significant transition in the book of Isaiah. After the early chapters of historical events and divine warnings about impending judgment, God gave Isaiah words of hope that begin at chapter 40, the hope that despite their sin, God would deliver them. The chapters following include the marvelous prophecy of the atoning work of the suffering servant in Isaiah 53.
This text in Isaiah 40 is the source of the opening solo in Handel’s great oratorio, “Messiah.” The tenor soloist sings, “Comfort Ye My People.” And this biblical passage is the basis of this advent hymn, written in 1671 by Johanne Gottfried Olearius (1611-1684). He was the son of Johann Olearius, pastor of St. Mary’s church and Superintendent at Halle. He was born into a family of Lutheran theologians, and followed in their path to be ordained as a pastor and professor. In addition to various devotional works (including a translation of Thomas á Kempis’ classic work, “The Imitation of Christ,”) he wrote a commentary on the whole Bible.
He entered the University of Wittenberg in 1629 (M.A. 1632, D.D. 1643), where he became a lecturer and, in 1635, adjunct member of the philosophy faculty. In 1637, he became Superintendent at Querfurt. In 1643, Duke August of Sachsen-Weissenfels appointed Olearius chief court preacher, and private chaplain at Halle, where he became Kirchenrath in 1657, and General Superintendent in 1664. On the death of the Duke in August 1680, the administration of Magdeburg fell to the Elector of Brandenburg, and Duke Johann Adolf gave Olearius similar appointments at Weissenfels, which he held until his death. There Olearius wrote his Bible commentary and various devotional works. He also compiled “Geistliche Singe-Kunst,” one of the largest and most important German hymnals of the 17th Century. The first edition appeared in Leipzig in 1671, with over 1,200 entries, and with a second edition in 1670 that included 302 of his own compositions.
“Comfort” was very much needed by the people of Israel in Isaiah’s day. The prophet wrote it sometime before 700 BC, when God’s heavy hand of discipline would later be upon them, as the Babylonian army would later come to destroy Jerusalem in 586, and lead so many of the residents into that 70 years of captivity. But just as they heard from Isaiah of God’s warning about what was to come because of their idolatry, God also gave the prophet these words of comfort, words that would be read by people more than almost 150 years later! The comfort would not be realized until the beginning of their return from captivity in 536, with the decree of the king of Persia, a king whose name Isaiah prophesied (Isaiah 45:1) more than a century before Cyrus’ birth!
The comfort of which we read (and sing) from this text was meant for something greater than ancient Israel. The fulfillment of the promise in the text of this hymn was meant to give the assurance of better days ahead with the coming of the Messiah. After the opening words of “Comfort, comfort ye my people,” the remaining text describes how to impart that comfort. This is not “comfort” in the sense of being “comfortable.” It is more like the comfort that a loving parent gives a misbehaving child after the consequences of his actions have been administered. God’s comfort is more than empathy. It removes the cause of the discomfort through healing.
The German text of Olearius’ hymn was masterfully translated into English by Catherine Winkworth (1827-1878). She was a woman of great note, being a well-educated woman, and a supporter of women’s rights and higher education for women. Beginning her education with her mother, she was raised with her close relatives in Dresden, Germany, where she became interested in German hymnody. Eventually, Winkworth moved to Manchester, England, where she remained until 1862, when she moved with her family to Clifton, which is just outside of Bristol, England.
Spending most of her life translating texts of German hymns, Winkworth began with a collection of hymnals from her friend, Baron Bunsen. Though the translations are often changed, most of her original translations are used in many different hymnals today. The bulk of her work was published in two collections of “Lyra Germanica”(1855, 1858), as well as her book “Chorale Book for England.” In that collection, Winkworth was sure to pair each tune with the appropriate German text, which was annotated by two gentleman, Sterndale Bennet and Otto Goldschmidt. During her lifetime, Winkworth also translated biographies of German Christians who supported ministries to the poor and to the sick, as well as biographies of German hymn writers, and published them in “Christian Singers of Germany” (1869).
It was while living in Dresden, Germany that she developed her interest in German hymnody. She is well-known today for her well-crafted English translation of German hymns including “Praise to the Lord, the Almighty” and “Now Thank We All Our God.” Her polished translations are highly regarded as having captured much of the authentic nuances that remained very close to the original German. One writer expressed his appreciation for the quality of her work in these words.
The translations contained in these volumes are invariably faithful, and for the most part both terse and delicate; and an admirable art is applied to the management of complex and difficult versification. They have not quite the fire of John Wesley’s versions of Moravian hymns, or the wonderful fusion and reproduction of thought which may be found in Coleridge. But if less flowing they are more conscientious than either, and attain a result as poetical as severe exactitude admits, being only a little short of ‘native music.’
She translated nearly 400 German chorales. She died suddenly of heart disease in Savoy, France.
While believers are always in need of the comfort that the Lord brings through the gospel of His Son, this hymn is especially appropriate for Advent. In the time of Advent, we need to remember why Jesus came. It was because of our sin that He left the glory of heaven to come to be incarnate, not only among us, but also as one of us. He took to Himself a true human body and human nature, but without sin, so that He might be that perfect sacrificial Lamb. And so, since this was all because of our sin, it is important that we take the time not only to admit the sins we have committed, but also to remember how Jesus has atoned for them, not so much by His birth as by His death.
As we focus on the text, it immediately becomes evident that we are singing Isaiah 40:1-2, since the text follows the Scripture so closely.
In stanza 1, we sing God’s own words, telling His prophet to speak a message of comfort to His people. After a hard season of discipline when it has seemed that God has forgotten them, His message is that the time of darkness and sadness is over. His promise is that Jerusalem will now know peace. And what is the warfare that is over? It is the hostility with God because of sins that He will now cover. What a marvelous message this is for us now as we recognize that this peace to replace war is because of Jesus. It is His blood which has covered our sins.
Comfort, comfort ye My people, Speak ye peace, thus saith our God;
Comfort those who sit in darkness, Mourning ‘neath their sorrows’ load;
Speak ye to Jerusalem Of the peace that waits for them,
Tell her that her sins I cover, And her warfare now is over.
In stanza 2, we sing the words of the prophet, with the details of this new peace more fully explained. God doesn’t merely pardon our sins; He blots them out, which is a much more powerful imagery, making it evident that these sins have completely disappeared, having been replaced by the purity made real as the result of the covering of the blood that has paid for them. For Israel, her suffering had been at the hands of brutal enemies, with great amounts of grief that had gripped the hearts of people for generations. But now comes the magnificent transformation of “pining sadness” into “ever-springing gladness.”
Yea, her sins our God will pardon, Blotting out each dark misdeed;
All that well deserved His anger He will no more see nor heed.
She hath suffer’d many a day, Now her griefs have passed away,
God will change her pining sadness Into ever-springing gladness.
In stanza 3, we sing as if we have become the biblical commentator, explaining the bigger picture. This is the voice of Elijah predicted at the end of the Old Testament, the forerunner who would prepare the way. We know now that this Elijah is none other than John the Baptist, whose ministry would call all men to repentance, announcing that the kingdom of God is at hand. To replace what had seemed like a very difficult road for the Messiah to navigate, a road made difficult by the spiritual lethargy and even hostility of unbelief, God will lift up valleys and bring down hills to become a smooth highway for this messenger.
For Elijah’s voice is crying In the desert far and near,
Bidding all men to repentance, Since the kingdom now is here.
Oh that warning cry obey, Now prepare for God a way;
Let the valleys rise to meet Him, And the hills bow down to greet Him.
In stanza 4, we sing more explicitly of the gospel fulfillment of this prophetic hope. In addition to the smooth road replacing hills and valleys, we hear of a crooked road made straight and a rough place made flat. And even more explicit, its proud hearts that have been made humble as the King arrives to inaugurate “His holy reign.” In the words of John’s Gospel prologue, as the Word becomes flesh, “we behold His glory,” something that is made visible for all to see by faith.
Make ye straight what long was crooked, Make the rougher places plain,
Let your hearts be true and humble, As befits His holy reign;
For the glory of the Lord Now o’er earth is shed abroad,
And all flesh shall see the token That His Word is never broken.
The music which we use today for this hymn text is a delightful Psalm tune that comes from the time of the Reformation. As Calvin was preaching and leading worship in Geneva, he was effecting a transformation in doctrine and life, and also a dramatic transformation in worship. Just as Luther re-introduced congregational singing in Wittenberg in the 1520s with chorales, so Calvin re-introduced congregational singing in Geneva in the 1550s with Psalms. He hired the best poet in France, Clément Marot, to come and write metrical versifications of all 150 Psalms. And he hired the best musician in France, Louis Bourgeois, to come and compose tunes with which to sing those texts. The complete Geneva Psalter was done by 1562, and was the foundation of many Psalters in Reformed churches in Europe and to this day in America.
French Renaissance composer Loys “Louis” Bourgeois (1510-1561) wrote this tune, GENEVAN 42, also known as FREU DICH SEHR, to accompany the text of Psalm 42. After 1545 when Bourgeois moved to Geneva, he became the chief musician for John Calvin. Two years later, in 1547, he was granted citizenship in Geneva, and in that same year he also published his first four-voice psalms. At Calvin’s direction, his psalm tunes for worship were all monophonic (just melody). Four-part singing was reserved for gatherings in private homes. His responsibilities in the city included compiling, composing, and arranging music for the Genevan Psalter. Bourgeois is credited with many of the tunes in the Genevan Psalter. Of all his compositions, perhaps the most famous is OLD 100th, which many protestant churches sing weekly as the tune for the Doxology.
There was much controversy surrounding Bourgeois and his work. He learned what we are still learning today, that change does not come easily. He was jailed in 1561 for making alterations to popular hymn tunes “without a license.” He was released as a result of the personal intervention of Calvin, but the controversy continued. Those who had already learned the earlier tunes had no desire to learn the newer versions of Bourgeois, and the town council ordered the burning of Bourgeois’ instructions to singers, claiming they were confusing. After his release, he left Geneva never to return, eventually moving to Lyon with his wife, where he died in 1561.
Work on the Geneva Psalter continued after his departure, and was completed through the work of another French composer of the High Renaissance, Claude Goudimel (1514-1572). He was born in Besançon, which at that time was a French-speaking imperial city of the Holy Roman Empire. Few details of his life are known until he is documented as being in Paris in 1549, where he was studying at the University of Paris. In that year he also published a book of chansons (lyric-driven French polyphonic songs of the late medieval and Renaissance period).
Goudimel moved to Metz in 1557, converting to Protestantism, and is known to have been associated with the Huguenot cause there. However he left Metz due to the increasing hostility of the city authorities to Protestants. He first settled in his native town of Besançon, and later moved to Lyon, where it is supposed that he was murdered in August, 1572, during the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre, along with much of the Huguenot population of the city.
Goudimel is most famous for his four-part settings of the psalms of the Genevan Psalter in the French versions of Clément Marot. In one of his four complete editions he puts, unlike other settings at the time, the melody in the topmost voice, the method which has prevailed in hymnody to the present day. In addition he composed masses, motets, and a considerable body of secular chansons, almost all of which date from before his conversion to Protestantism (probably around 1560).
It was during his time in Metz that Goudimel began to concentrate all of his artistic ability in the various musical interpretations of the French translation of the psalms by Clément Marot and Théodore de Bèze. He worked on the continuation of his large collection of motet-shaped psalms, and wrote almost simultaneously two different versions of the complete psalter, each containing all one hundred and fifty psalms.
Goudimel’s style tends to be homophonic (one melody line) rather than the polyphonic style which became common in the baroque era, with an intriguing use of syncopated rhythm and melisma (the singing of a single syllable of text while moving between several different notes in succession; music sung in this style is referred to as melismatic, as opposed to syllabic, in which each syllable of text is matched to a single note) and staggered voice entries to bring out inner parts, especially in the chansons. His Psalm settings, however, are more polyphonic, characteristic of the moderate contrapuntal style.
In some modern hymnal settings of this hymn, “Comfort, Comfort Ye My People,” the beauty and energy of his syncopated rhythms have been destroyed by making every note of equal quarter-note value. Most of the Genevan Psalter tunes (and even Luther’s later hymn, “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God,”) were originally composed with the syncopation typical of this period, giving them almost a dance feel, which accounts for England’s Queen Elizabeth I speaking derisively of them as “Geneva Jigs!!” Hopefully, the hymnal in your church has the “more lively” syncopated rhythmic setting.
Here is a recording of the singing of the hymn to that livelier rhythm from the episcopal Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York City, though with only three of the stanzas.