Guest wrote: ↑Tue Jun 09, 2009 11:01 pm
I don't know about "We Sing of Alban", but here's what I've found...
Alban, High in Glory Shining
Words: G A George
Tune: Abbots Leigh Cyril Taylor -- note from TimV, this was historically sung to Austria, but IMHO Lux Eoi by Sullivan fits the words better (because "high" becomes high, rather than low
)
1 Alban, high in glory shining,
friend on earth of Christian priest,
risking life to give him succour
was through him from sin released;
then the great surrender making,
caring not for pain or loss,
owned his Lord in full allegiance
as a soldier of the Cross.
2 Steadfast in the hour of danger,
ready still to pay the price,
mocked and scourged e'en as his Master,
garbed and led to sacrifice.
On the slopes above the city
roses flowered as he passed by,
and the first of Britain's martyrs
on a green hill knelt to die.
3 But the seed then sown was quickened
far beyond all mortal ken.
On that hill there rose an Abbey,
witness of the faith to men.
Down the ages countless thousands
bowed before their Lord divine,
and in gratitude have scattered
gems and flowers on Alban's shrine.
4 Still today rings out the challenge
of the Saviour of the world;
still his soldiers fight his battles,
with the flag of faith unfurled.
Glory be to God the Father,
glory be to God the Son,
glory to the Holy Spirit
for Saint Alban's victory won.
In a Town Below the Hillside
Words: Bishop Christopher Herbert
Tune: Ebenezer from an anthem by Thomas Williams
1 In a town below the hillside
As the sun began to set
Came a priest beseeching shelter
From a man he'd never met.
Alban hid him from the soldiers
Learnt from him of God's own Son
Took his place before the Governor
With his life in Christ begun.
2 With rough hands and ropes they bound him
Dragged him to the river's side
There he looked upon the water
Saw the flow of Jordan's tide.
Walked bare-foot across the stream-bed
And continued on his way
Reached the trees upon the hill-top
In the early light of day.
3 'You are charged with grave offences',
said the Judge upon the hill,
'Do you bow to Caesar's power,
his divine and perfect will?'
'I am Alban', cried the martyr
and I worship and adore
neither Caesar nor his servants
but the true and living Lord.'
4 With a sword-stroke, there they killed him
Felled his body to the ground
Jeered and mocked the martyr's witness
Laughed with cruel, spiteful sound.
But just where his blood had fallen
Like the rain upon the earth
Flowers sprang at once to blossom
Signs of Alban's grace and worth.
5 On a hill beside a river
Stands the shrine of Britain's saint,
honoured, loved by those who know him.
Freed at last from all restraint,
For he stands with saints in glory
With his prayers our feet are shod
May our courage never fail us
As we journey home to God.