England’s cathedrals have been the sites of some of the most wonderful preacher/theologians of all time. Among them must be named John Donne (St. Paul’s, London) and J. C. Ryle (Liverpool). Others who never served in cathedral positions would certainly include John Stott and Martyn Lloyd-Jones. One of the less-known settings is Bristol Cathedral, where the Puritan era preacher was Samuel Crossman (1624-1683), the author of one of the most wonderful passion hymns of all time, “My Song Is Love Unknown.” It was written in 1664 as a tribute to George Herbert (1593-1633), another of the great Puritan preacher/theologian/poets, one from the Shakespearean era. Though never a clergyman in a cathedral, his ministry is remembered today through such works as his 77 stanza poem “The Temple,” and the hymn, “Let All the World in Every Corner Sing,” which is based on his writings.
Samuel Crossman was born in the town of Bradfield St. George in Suffolk, England. He received a bachelor of divinity degree at Pembroke College, Cambridge, where he was grounded in Puritan theology. As an Anglican Puritan minister, he served both an Anglican parish at All Saints, Sudbury, while simultaneously preaching to a Puritan congregation. He took part in the non-conformist’s Savoy Conference, but was among the 2000 clergy ejected from the Church of England due to their refusal to submit to the 1662 Act of Uniformity, which demanded use of the official “Book of Common Prayer” for the liturgy in worship. The Savoy Conference was a failed attempt to re-write the “Book of Common Prayer” that would be acceptable to Puritans as well as Anglicans. It was during his exile from the Church of England that he wrote “My Song Is Love Unknown” as a poem in 1664. It was first published in “The Young Man’s Meditation” and then became published as an Anglican hymn in 1684, just two years after his death. The last verse of the hymn was written as an imitation of themes from George Herbert’s poem, “The Temple,” as a tribute by Crossman to Herbert. After being expelled, Crossman recanted and was soon ordained in 1665, becoming a royal chaplain. He was called to a position in Bristol in 1667 and became Dean of Bristol Cathedral in 1683. While at Bristol, he wrote 9 hymns. After his death, he was buried in the south aisle of the Cathedral.
Crossman’s poem has seven stanzas, taking the singer from Palm Sunday through the crucifixion. But its purpose is not simply to retell the events of the Passion, though drawn mainly from the Gospel of Matthew. From the beginning we find that this is a love song, sung to the Savior who demonstrated pure love, even to the “love-less” so that they might be “love-ly.” The entire text has the aura of almost teary-eyed wonder that the Savior would humble Himself to such a degree for sinners like us. But such is the amazing essence of our salvation!
Hymnologist J.R. Watson notes that Crossman, “like other seventeenth-century hymn-writers… wrote in the shadow of George Herbert’s “The Temple:” the phrase, ‘Never was grief like thine’ [stanza seven in the original] is an echo of Herbert’s poem ‘The Sacrifice.’”
Oh all ye, who passe by, whose eyes and minde
To worldly things are sharp, but to me blinde;
To me, who took eyes that I might you finde:
Was ever grief like mine?
What might seem like plagiarism today was in the 17th and 18th centuries the technique of imitation, a way of demonstrating one’s knowledge of the great poets, paying homage to them and anchoring one’s own work in their heritage. Each of Herbert’s stanzas concludes with the refrain: “Was ever grief like mine?” Crossman dares to answer that rhetorical question in the final stanza of his hymn meditation, boldly stating, “Never was grief like Thine!”
How incredible it is to think that, while Christ was in front of the masses and was about to be condemned to death, he was thinking of us and His love for us. Upon the masses crying for Him to be crucified, Christ cried out “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing” (Luke 23:34). Crossman’s hymn deepens that sense of wonder in our hearts that such divine love has been there for us from eternity, was there for us at Calvary, and will be there for us into eternity. Surely our song must continue to be of this “love unknown.”
Stanza 1 states that theme, that such love is “love unknown,” in the sense that it is beyond knowing, beyond our understanding or fully appreciating. And it is not simply love as an abstract quality, but more personally, “love to me.” We were loveless in the sense that we were not worthy of such love. But that divine saving and sanctifying love has made us “lovely.” And at what cost! “That for my sake my Lord should take frail flesh and die!”
My song is love unknown, My Savior’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?
Stanza 2 reminds us that Jesus was under no obligation to make this sacrifice. From eternity, He had enjoyed perfect bliss, sharing mutually in the love of the Father and the Spirit. Paul expressed this in Philippians 2 as he described Jesus humbling Himself to become flesh, taking on the form of a servant. He did not set aside anything of His essential deity, as the advocates of “kenosis theology” wrongly suggest. But He did set aside many of His privileges, exchanging His throne for a manger. He gave His life as the Friend of Sinners, spending His life for men who “cared not.
He came from His blest throne Salvation to bestow;
But men cared not, and none The longed-for Christ would know:
But oh, my Friend, my Friend indeed, Who at my need His life did spend.
Stanza 3 accents the incredible contrast between Palm Sunday and Good Friday. At His triumphal entry, the streets leading from the Mount of Olives into Jerusalem were jammed with people celebrating their hopes that Jesus would prove to be the long-awaited Messianic deliverer. All this was in direct fulfilment of the prophecy of Zechariah 9:9, “Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion! Shout aloud, O daughter of Jerusalem! Behold, your king is coming to you; righteous and having salvation is he, humble and mounted on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.” But by Friday morning, angry voices were demanding that He be crucified.
Sometimes they strew His way, And His sweet praises sing;
Resounding all the day Hosannas to their King:
Then “Crucify!” is all their breath, And for His death they thirst and cry.
Stanza 4 acknowledges Jesus’ innocence. This was the repeated verdict of Pilate and Herod at His trials. We look back on this injustice with astonishment, and ask “Why, what hath my Lord done? What makes this rage and spite?” All this anger and hatred prevailed, despite His record of love for the needy, His compassionate miracles seen by countless thousands. The hymn text does not tell us why, but we know the answer. It’s found in Genesis 3:15 where we read of the enmity of Satan for God and His Son and His people. There in Jerusalem, their hearts had been conquered by this monster, who will one day be cast into the pit.
Why, what hath my Lord done? What makes this rage and spite?
He made the lame to run, He gave the blind their sight,
Sweet injuries! Yet all His deeds Their hatred feeds, and ’gainst Him rise.
Stanza 5 speaks more about the deep-seated anger directed toward Jesus that Friday, and how irrational it was that they would succumb to Satan’s incitement as they demanded “the Prince of Life they slay,” while “a murderer they save.” But, just as prophesied, Jesus went silently as a lamb to the slaughter. And we remember that in Hebrews God tells us that Jesus did this, not only willingly, but “for the joy set before Him,” the joy of doing the will of His Father and the joy of redeeming His bride, taking upon Himself the wrath of God that we deserved.
They rise and needs will have My dear Lord made away;
A murderer they save, The Prince of life they slay,
Yet willing He to suffering goes, That He His foes from thence might free.
Stanza 6 conveys more of the sense of astonishment that such treatment should be given to the Lord of glory. He had said that He had no place of His own to lay His head, even though all heaven and earth were His by virtue of being their Creator. And even in death, the tomb in which His lifeless body was laid was provided by another, by Joseph of Arimathea. In a sense, not only was it our sin that nailed Him to the tree, but the grave was one in which we should be laid.
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? Heav’n was His home; But mine the tomb wherein He lay.
Stanza 7 reveals Crossman trying to reconcile the horror of Jesus’ crucifixion with the joy of the result. The idea of God choosing to die for disobedient and sinful people is horrible, but the manner of his death was even worse. Seeing the type of death we deserved, and seeing our Savior taking our place on that cross brings a whole new appreciation of Jesus, our King! Truly cursed is He who died on the tree, and blessed are those for whom He gave Himself! Jesus is not only a Friend for Sinners; He is my Friend!
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.
There are three tunes that have been used for this glorious text. One is the tune RHOSYMEDRE, a Welsh tune written in 1840 by an Anglican priest, John David Edwards, and named after a town in which he had served. The second is the tune ST. JOHN (CALKIN), written by John Baptiste Calkin (1827-1905), an English composer, organist, and music teacher. The most commonly used tune for “My Song Is Love Unknown” is LOVE UNKNOWN. It was written by John Ireland (1879-1962) in 1918 and reportedly was composed in 15 minutes on the back of a menu while out to lunch with organist and music editor, Geoffrey Shaw, who was looking for a tune to go with this hymn. He wanted to be able to include it in his “The Public School Hymn Book” of 1919. Ireland’s tune was credited with bringing Crossman’s hymn out of obscurity, into which it had fallen during Victorian times.
Ireland was born in near Cheshire, into a family of English and Scottish descent and some cultural distinction. His father, Alexander, a publisher and newspaper proprietor, was aged 69 at the time of John’s birth. John was the youngest of the five children from Alexander’s second marriage (his first wife had died). His mother, Annie, was a biographer and 30 years younger than Alexander. She died in October 1893, when John was only 14, and Alexander died the following year, when John was 15. John Ireland was described as “a self-critical, introspective man, haunted by memories of a sad childhood.” He entered the Royal College of music in 1893, studying piano with organ as his second study. From 1897 he studied composition under the now-famous Charles Villiers Stanford. In 1896 Ireland was appointed sub-organist at Holy Trinity, Sloane Street, London, and later, from 1904 until 1926, was organist and choirmaster at St. Luke’s Church, Chelsea. From 1923 he taught at the Royal College of Music. One of his pupils there was Benjamin Britten.
John Ireland was a lifelong bachelor, except for a brief interlude when, in quick succession, he married, separated, and divorced. On December 17, 1926, aged 47, he married a 17-year pupil, Dorothy Phillips. This marriage was dissolved on September 18, 1928, and it is believed not to have been consummated. He took a similar interest in another young student, but any thoughts he had for a deeper relationship with her came to nothing when she married another and moved to Australia. In 1947 Ireland acquired a personal assistant and companion, Mrs. Norah Kirkby, who remained with him till his death. Despite these associations with women, it is clear from his private papers that he was a closeted homosexual.
Ireland retired in 1953, settling in the hamlet of Rock in Sussex, where he lived in a converted windmill for the rest of his life. He died of heart failure at the age of 82 at Rock Mill and is buried at the church of St. Mary the Virgin in Shipley, near his home. His epitaph reads “Many waters cannot quench love,” a line from his beloved anthem “Greater Love,” a text drawn from several biblical passages: Song of Songs 8, John 15, 1 Peter 2, 1 Corinthians 6, and Romans 12.
Here is a link to “My Song Is Love Unknown,” as sung by a choir at Concordia Seminary in St. Louis.