My song is love unknown (John Edwards)
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- (Posted 2022-08-29) CPDL #70590:
- Editor: Andrew Sims (submitted 2022-08-29). Score information: A4, 2 pages, 70 kB Copyright: CPDL
- Edition notes: The hymn with harmony and underlaid words to the alternative tune Rhosymedre in the version published in The Hymnal 1982.
- (Posted 2022-08-29) CPDL #70589:
- Editor: Andrew Sims (submitted 2022-08-29). Score information: A4, 2 pages, 136 kB Copyright: CPDL
- Edition notes: The hymn to the alternative tune Rhosymedre in the version published in The Hymnal 1982, melody with words.
General Information
Title: My song is love unknown
Composer: John Edwards
Tune:' Rhosymedre
Lyricist: Samuel Crossman
Number of voices: 4vv Voicing: SATB
Genre: Sacred, Hymn Meter: 66. 66. 888
Language: English
Instruments: A cappella or keyboard
First published:
Description: The Hymnal 1982 gives the composer's date of birth as 1806.
External websites:
Original text and translations
English text
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,
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,
who at my need his life did spend.
Sometimes they strew his way,
and his strong praises sing,
resounding all the day
hosannas to their King.
Then “Crucify!” is all their breath,
and for his death they thirst and cry,
and for his death they thirst and cry.
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 they at these
themselves displease, and ’gainst him rise,
themselves displease, and ’gainst him rise.
They rise, and needs will have
my dear Lord made away;
a murderer they save,
the Prince of Life they slay.
Yet steadfast he to suffering goes,
that he his foes from thence might free,
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,
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,
I all my days could gladly spend.