Phil D.
ὁ βαπτιστὴς
I remember having to memorize this poem in the 7th grade – my, how times have changed…
Crossing the Bar, was written by Alfred Lord Tennison, toward the end of his life, in 1889. He voiced his desire that it always be placed at the end of any published collection of his works.
Tennison was raised in a family with an abusive father, who was nonetheless an Anglican clergyman. Sadly, his familial situation drove Tennison away from Christianity, and he never professed a belief in the true religion, at least not publicly. However, after suffering a serious illness and a deep personal loss, he again began to contemplate death and spiritual matters. One evening as he took a ship from the English mainland to the Isle of Wight, as the captain navigated the vessel around a large sandbar that lay en route, Tennison said these words flooded into his mind, almost in an instant.
Though the Lord of Life alone knows and has rightly ordered Tennison’s eternal state, this work perhaps deserves appreciation in the same vein as when the Apostle Paul noted how various pagan poets had poignantly tapped into some eternal maxims. In terms of literary merit, Tennison is broadly recognized as being among the great masters of the English language, especially his command of sound and cadence, a particular gift arguably unequaled in the history of English poetry.
Crossing the Bar has been set to music many times since it was written almost a century and a half ago. But I found this relatively recent melody by Rani Arbo (2012), and choral arrangement by Peter Amidon, to be the most hauntingly beautiful yet. It is sung here by the Laudate Mennonite Ensemble.
Crossing the Bar, was written by Alfred Lord Tennison, toward the end of his life, in 1889. He voiced his desire that it always be placed at the end of any published collection of his works.
Tennison was raised in a family with an abusive father, who was nonetheless an Anglican clergyman. Sadly, his familial situation drove Tennison away from Christianity, and he never professed a belief in the true religion, at least not publicly. However, after suffering a serious illness and a deep personal loss, he again began to contemplate death and spiritual matters. One evening as he took a ship from the English mainland to the Isle of Wight, as the captain navigated the vessel around a large sandbar that lay en route, Tennison said these words flooded into his mind, almost in an instant.
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For though' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.
Though the Lord of Life alone knows and has rightly ordered Tennison’s eternal state, this work perhaps deserves appreciation in the same vein as when the Apostle Paul noted how various pagan poets had poignantly tapped into some eternal maxims. In terms of literary merit, Tennison is broadly recognized as being among the great masters of the English language, especially his command of sound and cadence, a particular gift arguably unequaled in the history of English poetry.
Crossing the Bar has been set to music many times since it was written almost a century and a half ago. But I found this relatively recent melody by Rani Arbo (2012), and choral arrangement by Peter Amidon, to be the most hauntingly beautiful yet. It is sung here by the Laudate Mennonite Ensemble.
