|
Amsterdam
Public Domain Old-Time, Shape Note Gospel by Robert Seagrave- 1693;
ARTIST: Rev. Robert Seagrave- 1693
CATEGORY: Traditional and Public Domain Gospel
DATE: 1693; First Recorded by Alabama Sacred Harp Convention Singers. All Day Singing from the "Sacred Harp." Southern Journey 7, Prestige International INT 25007, LP (196?), trk# 8 [1959-60]
RECORDING INFO: Amsterdam- Rev. Robert Seagrave
Alabama Sacred Harp Convention Singers. All Day Singing from the "Sacred Harp." Southern Journey 7, Prestige International INT 25007, LP (196?), trk# 8 [1959-60]
Alabama Sacred Harp Convention Singers. White Spirituals from the Sacred Harp, New World NW 205, LP (1977), trk# B.04 [1959]
Schrader, Virginia Dell. Southern Journey. Vol. 9: Harp of a Thousand Strings, Rounder 1709, CD (1998), trk# 14 [1959/09/12]
Smith, Charlton L. (Captain). Linscott, Eloise Hubbard (ed.) / Folk Songs of Old New England, Dover, Bk (1993/1939), p125 [1920-30s]
OTHER NAMES: "Rise My Soul,"
SOURCES: Folk Index; Meade
NOTES: Meter: Particular Meter: 7,6,7,6,7,7,7,6. "Amsterdam " with lyrics written by Robert Seagrave 1693 (some sources say 1741 or 1742) and tune by Johann Gorge Hille in the early 1700s has become a popular shape note hymn. It was published in Boston in 1764.
According to Lomax: The Original Sacred Harp calls this tune one of the “great old melodies.”The words were written by Rev. Robert Seagraves in England in 1693. Seagraves took a degree at Cambridge,was a minister in the Church of England, and collaborated closely with the Wesleys. James Nares, who is credited with the tune, was a prominent church organist in the same period.
AMSTERDAM- Rev. Robert Seagrave- 1693
Rise my soul, and stretch thy wings,
Thy better portion trace.
Rise from all terrestrial things,
T'wards heav'n thy native place:
Sun and moon and stars decay;
Time shall soon this earth remove:
Rise my soul and haste away,
To seats prepared above.
Rivers to the ocean run,
Nor stay in all their course.
Fire, ascending, seeks the sun;
Both speed them to their source:
So a soul that's born of God,
Pants to view His glorious face,
Upward tends to His abode,
To rest in His embrace.
Fly my riches! Fly my cares
while that coast I explore,
Flattering world with all your snares
Solicit me no more.
Pilgrims fix not here their home,
Strangers tarry but a night;
When the last bright morn shall come,
We'll rise to joyful light.
Cease, ye pilgrims, cease to mourn,
press onward to the prize;
Soon the Saviour will return,
Triumphant through the skies.
Yet a season, and you know,
Happy entrance will be given;
All your sorrows left below,
And earth exchanged for heaven.
|