The West Country has always sung its own faith. Cornish carol parties went from door to door with verses written for a village, a season, a mine or a boat. West Gallery quires in Devon and Somerset filled the gallery with parts written out by hand, and the chapels of the Methodist revival produced hymns meant to be learned by heart in the week and belted out on Sunday. Very little of it was written by professionals. Most of it was written by someone who knew the people who would sing it — their work, their weather, their griefs and their small, stubborn hopes.
That tradition is still open to you. A chapel anniversary, a harvest festival, a new roof, the retirement of a much-loved organist, a village bereavement, a school leavers' service: all of these are occasions when a hymn written for the people in the room will do more than anything borrowed from a book. It need not be poetry for the ages. It needs to be true, singable and kind.
Begin with the tune, not the words. Listen to what your people sing well. If a hymn lifts the roof every time, the tune is a gift waiting for new words. If the congregation mumbles through a modern tune every week, do not write to it.
Once you have chosen a tune, write down its metre — the pattern of syllables and stresses in each line. Common Metre is 8.6.8.6, as in:
Other familiar patterns include 8.8.8.8 (Long Metre), 8.7.8.7 (often used for joyful, marching hymns) and 8.6.8.6 with a repeated line, common in carols. Count the syllables in the original text, line by line, and write it down where you can see it. Then keep to it. If you plan to print the hymn, check the copyright status of the tune first; many are now in the public domain, but not all.
Write the first draft in plain, spoken English, then elevate it. Archaic phrasing — "O thou who dost vouchsafe" — is not more holy than "You who give us this day". Ask yourself what a farmer at the back of the chapel would actually say aloud.
Anchor the hymn in something real. A hymn for a fishing village can name the tide or the harbour; one for an upland parish can name the moor, the stone wall, the mist coming down. West Country hymns have always done this. Keep the local detail short and unforced — one concrete image is worth three grand abstractions.
Sketch the shape before you polish the lines. A serviceable pattern is:
Never trust a hymn you have only read. Stand up and sing it, slowly, to the tune. Better still, ask two or three people to sing it with you while you listen from across the room. This is where most faults show themselves.
Watch for these in particular:
Look up every scriptural reference and quotation. Paraphrase is fine, but a hymn that misremembers a psalm will be noticed by someone who reads it daily. If you echo a verse, make sure the sense is faithful, not merely the wording.
Then read the whole text for its theology. Does it promise more than the gospel promises — a comfortable life, an easy answer to grief? Does it leave out the cross, or the resurrection, or the Holy Spirit? Is the language of God and humanity generous and reverent, especially where it speaks of illness, death or judgement? Ask a minister, reader or lay preacher to read it with you. A second pair of eyes is a kindness, not an insult.
Leave the draft for a week. Then read it aloud as though you were hearing it for the first time, tired, on a Sunday evening, sitting beside someone who buried a spouse this year.
Cut anything clever that does not serve the singing. Simplify sentences that run across two lines. Replace abstractions with one image people can see. Take out any line that might wound — a casual assumption about family, health or income can land hard in a small congregation. Keep the ending hopeful, but let the hope be honest.
Finally, ask permission before you introduce your hymn. Tell the minister what it is for, hand round a copy, and if it is to be printed, sort out the licensing properly. And if, on the day, the singing falters and the third verse dies away, do not despair. Write the next one. The West Country has been doing this for three hundred years, and there is no reason to stop now.
These old routes linked villages, chapels and market towns. Walk with respect for private land, note boundary stones and hedgerows, and record features that reveal past devotional travel.
I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system
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I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system
Reply
I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system
Reply
I must explain to you how all this mistaken idea of denouncing pleasure and praising pain was born and I will give you a complete account of the system
Reply
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