Come, Thou Almighty King

Anonymous, 18th c.

I’ve said here before, in jest, that one of my favorite artists of the Middle Ages was a fellow named “Pictor Ignotus.” Why, you can see his works everywhere in Europe! And he sure was a master of many styles. In Tuscany you can see his tempera paintings in bold reds and golds and blues, but mostly in the smaller villages, like Fiesole. But if you go to Sweden, and the Enlightenment snobs haven’t blotted out his work with whitewash or plaster, you can see his saints and angels on the ceilings of churches; my daughter Jessica and I once saw his painting of King David in knickers, such as Swedes would wear! And he wasn’t just a painter. We wrote some of the finest poetry in the history of literature — in England, for instance, he wrote the poem Pearl, a tour-de-force in form and meter, and human feeling, and high theology. And then there were prayers, chants, hymns — like our hymn today, “Come, Thou Almighty King.”

Of course I’m smiling here. The point about “Pictor Ignotus” is that countless men produced art of the highest quality, without bothering to sign their names to it, because that simply wasn’t the point. It’s hard to imagine, isn’t it? We talk about the Pearl poet, the Master of Fiesole (a painter), the Master of Wakefield (a dramatist), and on and on, people who gave their hearts and souls to fashion things of beauty and wisdom, knowing that the work was the thing, and the human beings to be moved by it, and God whom they adored — first, midst, and last, God. What’s it like to have such a culture? I think we can get just a hint of it from our Hymn of the Week, “Come, Thou Almighty King.”

That’s because we don’t know who the author of the hymn was. There is a guess that it was Charles Wesley, whom we’ve featured several times here, and it certainly is fine enough to be his work. Who would have the temerity to fool around with the words of Charles Wesley? These days, when the editors of hymnals have no sense of poetry, there would be plenty, but not so many in the 18th century, when our hymn was written. On the other hand, if there’s no name attached to it, people might replace one of the verses with a stronger one, or insert a verse where there hadn’t been one, or tweak a line or two — and that happened with our hymn. The version I’m giving here is what appears in the Hymnal 1940, but I’m also going to append a verse that seems to have been original, though it is now hard to find. In any case, the anonymity doesn’t suggest that hymn-writing was rare. Just the reverse; it was frequent and flourishing — as was sacred painting in the Middle Ages and Renaissance; and do we have any idea from what particular souls came the great Negro spirituals? Or the jaunty carols from merry England?

You can also guess why I’ve chosen this hymn. The Word of the Week is three, and I’ve discussed Andrei Rublev’s renowned icon of the Trinity, so we have here a hymn in honor of the Three divine Persons, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Such a hymn ought to have four verses, one for each Person, and one, a doxology, for the Trinity together. The odd thing is that many early versions of the hymn have five verses, with two devoted to the Son of God: one each, so to speak, to the two natures of Christ, human and divine. But I think that the four-stanza structure works better — no distraction or danger of losing the train of thought. And it is a mighty hymn, praising the Father’s might ahd kingship, the Son’s word and his righteousness, and the Spirit dwelling in our hearts.

A little about the composer of the melody, which goes by the names of “Moscow” and “Italian Hymn.” He was Felice Giardini, yet another boy genius; imagine at age 12 being the leader of an orchestra for an Italian opera at La Scala in Milan, the great center of Italian classical music. He was himself the first violin, and one night, around this time, when he improvised some show-off riffs within the melody, the composer, Niccolo Jommelli, got so angry he gave Felice a swat upside the head, to teach him not to do that anymore. Jommelli was himself just a teenage boy when it happened. But he was important for restraining ornateness in opera when it got in the way of the drama, and keeping the lead singers within bounds. Anyway, Felice Giardini, a good friend of Johann Christoph Bach and the Bach family, ended up in England when Italian opera there was all the rage, and the elderly Handel was the most celebrated composer in the nation and perhaps all of Europe. Giardini was named the head of the Italian Opera in London, and people flocked not only to hear his orchestra, but to hear him — he himself was the star.

And today we have the wonderful congregation of the Grace Community Church in Sun Valley to sing our hymn, accompanied by a tremendous organ arrangement played masterfully on the organ by Stephen Sturz.

Come, thou almighty King,
Help us thy Name to sing,
Help us to praise.
Father whose love unknown
All things created own,
Build in our hearts thy throne,
Ancient of Days.

Come, thou Incarnate Word,
By heaven and earth adored;
Our prayer attend:
Come, and thy people bless;
Come, give thy word success;
Stablish thy righteousness,
Savior and friend.

Come, Holy Comforter,
Thy sacred witness bear
In this glad hour:
Thou, who almighty art,
Now rule in every heart,
And ne'er from us depart,
Spirit of power.

To thee, great One in Three,
The highest praises be,
Hence evermore;
Thy sovereign majesty
May we in glory see,
And to eternity
Love and adore.

(Alternate second verse in many early hymnals)
Jesus our Lord, arise,
Scatter our enemies,
And make them fall!
Let thine Almighty aid,
Our sure defence be made,
Our souls on thee be stay'd;
Lord hear our call!

Word & Song bthony Esolen 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 as a Friday podcast, alternately Poetry Aloud or Anthony Esolen Speaks. To support this project, please join us as a subscriber and please do share our posts.