Magnificat

And Mary said, Luke i. 46.

O magnify, my soul, the Lord,
And in thy God rejoice.
He doth thy lowliness record
With blessing in his voice.
His might is worthy of all fame,
And holy is his name.

His mercy is for those who fear
His name in ev’ry day.
His mighty arm doth scatter near
And far the proud away.
He hath the mighty toppled all
But lifted up the small.

The hungry take from him their fill;
The rich may only pine.
Thus to his servant Israel
His face hath turned to shine.
He mercy to our fathers swore
Which standeth evermore.

—11/14/25. From Luke 1:46-55. To “Morning Song” (Ananias Davisson), perhaps.

This is almost more of a doodle, so fast did it come out, but it was fun to write. Sometimes the rhythm of a passage will catch my ear, and toying with it The Line will pop in, and then I'm off, for I know I must chase the rest. In this case, “O magnify, my soul, the Lord” was the catch, and “And holy is his name” was The Line. I love the old Lutheran hymn technique of using an ending couplet to drive the verse home like the point on a nail. It's fully a third of my work at this point. I'm wildly pleased to have found the differing length on the lines of these couplets.

This is also somewhat of a milestone for my 2025 hymnwriting, in that this is the first time in a decade I've gone out and tried to find a tune for something I didn't write to one. Thank God the Cyber Hymnal only has 23 tunes in 86.86.86 meter. To be honest, I don't know that “Morning Song” captures the wild joy I see in the Magnificat, but I think the minor-key fear of God it bespeaks is quite worthy of it nonetheless. Mary was also reverent.

I hope I don't sound like I'm glorifying myself when I take a little delight in composing. I don't think anyone will accuse me of this, but as I reread my notes here, I myself see joy yet imperfectly attributed to the source of all joys. I do believe, however, that God gave me the gift of writing these hymns—the old man has a thousand things he'd rather do than invent little peaens to his worst enemy—and I am very grateful. Eric Liddell says in Chariots of Fire, “God made me fast, and when I run, I feel his pleasure.”

I write so spontaneously that every time I finish a hymn, there is a small sad fear that there won't be another. This always leads to prayer: gratitude for the gift and supplication for one more. Newton wrote,

“The best returns for one like me,
So wretched and so poor,
Is from his gifts to draw a plea,
And ask him still for more.”

The Lord has been faithful and kind to keep giving me songs. Little children, cherish the gifts he has given you.