I never have understood the desire to leave childhood behind, in the way that a traveler leaves a dusty wayside inn, his mind wholly on some misty destination which somehow he never does reach. We’ll fondly say of a grown dog that there’s still a lot of puppy in her, and one of the sweetest sights, to my mind, is that of an old man talking to his granddaughter, as if they were the only two people in the world, as she serves him “tea” and he drinks it with delight.
The thing about human childhood, if it is wholesome and good, is that it can remain for us an ever-fresh well of comfort, strength, inspiration, and gratitude. Show me a man who is a child no more, and you show me the walking dead, whom God alone can restore to life. No, so long as we have any health in us and any soundness in the soul, we return again and again to those days, forgiving the errors of our parents, forgetting the tears, and remembering the light. And it is a source of wonder to me that Jesus himself must have enjoyed the same freshness at the spring of life, and must have returned to it again and again in memory. We might say that childhood and youth accompanied him all the way. And that is the sense of our Hymn of the Week, “When Jesus Left His Father’s Throne.”
James Montgomery, our poet today, whom you may remember from our discussion of Shepherd of Souls, suffered a blow in his childhood that most of us cannot imagine. He was the son of a Moravian minister and his wife, who died on a mission to the West Indies when James was but a schoolboy. That did not harden the boy’s heart. It gave him instead a lively feeling for the suffering of children, so that he wrote and fought against the cruel practice of sending small boys into chimneys to sweep and scour out the soot, leaving them with lungs as black as their hands and faces, and imaginations bound by fire and the threat of falling and curses from the master if they weren’t quick about it. Montgomery wasn’t sentimental about the mother’s love he was deprived of, because he understood that sometimes parents themselves, even mothers, are the ruin of their children. But the best gift a Mother can give — the truest form her love can take — is to give her child the knowledge of God. Such was, he wrote, the mother of Saint Timothy:
Blest infant! whom his mother taught Early to seek the Lord, And poured upon his dawning thought The day-spring of the word; This was the lesson to her son, Time in eternity begun -- This was a Mother's love.
God could have come among us in full power and glory, but, as we hear in our hymn today, “he chose a humble birth.” If only we could learn that lesson! Why does the world allure us? What does it give that is worth the soul of a single child? Or what does it give that is worth one glance of kindness from Jesus? When the world is most clamorous, sometimes I turn away from all its noise, and I say, as a child might say when he is in the presence of someone profoundly heroic and good and everyone tries to pull him away, “I don’t care, all I want is to be with him!” I’m sure James Montgomery would agree.
Today we could not find many versions of this hymn in a choral setting, so we are giving you an acapella setting with wonderful harmonization by the London Fox Choir.
When Jesus left his Father's throne He chose an humble birth; Like us, unhonored and unknown, He came to dwell on earth. Like him may we be found below, In wisdom's path of peace; Like him in grace and knowledge grow, As years and strength increase. Sweet were his words and kind his look, When mothers round him pressed; Their infants in his arms he took, And on his bosom blessed. Safe from the world's alluring harms, Beneath his watchful eye, Thus in the circle of his arms May we forever lie. When Jesus into Sion rode, The children sang around; For joy they plucked the palms and strowed Their garments on the ground. Hosanna our glad voices raise, Hosanna to our King! Should we forget our Savior's praise The stones themselves would sing.
Word & Song is an online magazine devoted to reclaiming the good, the beautiful, and the true. We publish six essays each week, on words, classic hymns, poems, films, and popular songs, as well a weekly podcast for paid subscribers, alternately Poetry Aloud or Anthony Esolen Speaks. Paid subscribers also receive audio-enhanced posts and on-demand access to our full archive, and may add their comments to our posts and discussions.
Oh this is good! Thank you. Thank you for reminding me how good it is, to be His child……🥲
In a way, I'm happy you weren't able to find many versions in a choral setting to choose from. This acapella version is perfect. Every word is discernible. This hymn is truly beautiful and uplifting. As always, thank you.