God and kings have known, at best, a strained relationship across history. Ever since Israel spurned the Lord in favor of a human king, monarchs have served as poor substitutes for the one true King. Perhaps the most complicating factor between our divine King and human kings is the mere charade that is human kings’ exercise of power. Compared to the true King’s authority, they are mere puppets; indeed, just as he hardened Pharaoh’s heart and showed Xerxes his eminence, God will do with human kings what he will. As Jesus reminded Pilate amid his passion, “the authority you exercise is only what you received from above.”
The year 1795 found the Holy Roman Emperor coming to grips with the waning reaches of his power. Francis II — Emperor Franz — faced the relentless march of Napoleon’s armies. Within a year, he would cede large swaths of his empire to Napoleon. The Austrian court was looking to turn the tide of battle and of public opinion, and was conjuring anything it could to inspire patriotic zeal. This mixture of patriotism and anxiety cast a strange mood over Vienna as its finest composer, Franz Joseph Haydn, set sail for England in 1795. During his visit, Haydn admired “God Save the King,” the British anthem for king and country. He yearned to compose an Austrian counterpart, a paean that would “show in full measure its respect, love, and devotion to its ruler.”
After the Father of Harmony returned to his beloved Vienna, he related the idea to Gottfried Freiherr van Swieten, prefect of the Court Library. Swieten was a key cultural figure in Vienna—the arbiter over what music would be performed for Vienna’s royal court. Given the premium on patriotic fervor, Haydn had no trouble selling the idea. Their fellow courtier, Franz Josef Saurau, a key adviser to Emperor Franz and ruler of Lower Austria, commissioned the poet Lorenz Leopold Haschka to pen the words, and Haydn set to work on the music.
By January 1797, the words and melody came together, and an opportune date was set for the first performance. On February 12, 1797, the song debuted for Emperor Franz’s 29th birthday, delighting the courtiers who were the first to hear Gott erhalte Franz, der Kaiser (God Save Emperor Franz). The song became wildly popular in Austria, and soon made its way to Great Britain, setting the stage for an English translation. In England, though, far humbler voices would redirect this anthem to its proper object, the one true King.
A century before Francis II’s birth, a much lesser known though no less remarkable figure was born. Thomas Coram’s life laid the foundation for Praise the Lord, Ye Heav’ns, Adore Him to come into being. Coram’s character was forged in a seaside English town through the rigors of a seafarer’s life. His resiliency took root early, when he was sent at age 11 to the Merchant Marine to help support his family. In his teenaged years, he was recalled to England to apprentice in the burgeoning shipbuilding industry. By early adulthood he was ready to strike out on his own, and set off to establish his business in the New World. Coram settled in Taunton, Massachusetts, to take advantage of the deep water in that stretch of the Taunton River — the better for building bigger, more profitable ships. Though his business thrived, he faced headwinds from cultural forces in the New World. A faithful Anglican among strongly Congregationalist pilgrims, he encountered spite and hardship from settlers who had fled the established English religion that he practiced.
Coram found himself constantly in dispute over property rights, water rights, and other matters with his neighbors. He had to make the arduous trip to Boston, about 50 miles away, the closest court impartial enough to provide a fair hearing. Maybe it was the incident when shots were fired at his house that finally prompted him to move back to England. The relocation enabled Coram to redirect energy from disputes with neighbors to charitable pursuits.
While he remained active as a merchant and ship’s captain, he also became an industrious social entrepreneur. Coram advocated for the creation of a colony in present-day Maine for prisoners or the destitute to become artisans and live off the land. Though this never materialized, it laid the groundwork for James Oglethorpe’s incorporation of Georgia as a colony for rehabilitation and a new start for “the worthy poor,” many of whom were stuck in debtors’ prison. Coram was named a trustee. Though providing a homeland to relieve prisoners produced mixed results in colonial America, the idea reflected a noble recognition of the folly of debtors’ prison and an instinct to find a better alternative.
No cause struck Coram’s heart more closely than the plight of foundlings (“little found ones”). These were newborns turned out to the street by the shame of illegitimacy. It seemed outrageous that in the center of the capital of the world’s greatest empire, the most vulnerable could be abandoned to the elements. Usually, the only option for illegitimate babies was parish poorhouses or workhouses, where they died at alarming rates.
Over 74 percent of children born in London died before the age of 5. In workhouses, the death rate increased to over 90 percent. These conditions were considered abysmal at the time, and by our modern standards seem tragic beyond imagination. Perhaps Coram remembered his own vulnerability as a boy at sea, and shuddered at the sight of these infants whose plight was far worse.
Coram was moved to found an institution to care for the many illegitimate children in the city. His pleas to influential friends often fell on indifferent ears — it seemed the problem was intractable, and some suggested that to care for illegitimate infants would encourage fornication. Eventually he redirected his efforts to the wives of nobles, lords, and courtiers, who signed on as fellow champions and carried the day to found an orphanage for foundlings. When it received its royal charter, it became the first incorporated nonprofit organization the world had seen.
Foundling Hospital was built in London’s High Holborn district and had its own chapel, finished in 1750, where musical concerts were often given. In the late 18th century, hymn-singing by the residents of orphanages became a common practice for raising charitable funds. Today, we would recognize these as the 18th-century counterpart to the charity fundraiser, albeit a very different format than a dinner followed by an auction or dancing.
In fashionable London society of the day, after attending services at one’s home parish Sunday morning, in the afternoon one might take a carriage to a local charity and a choral concert of worship, performed by the resident children. It was at once philanthropy, a place to see and be seen, and inspiring performance. The who’s who of London Society joined the cause of orphans at the Foundling Hospital, including George Friedrich Handel, who donated an organ and authorized the orphanage to stage performances of his Messiah. Psalms, Hymns, and Anthems of the Foundling Hospital, London appeared in 1796 as a companion to the popular choral concerts.
Shortly after the hymnbook’s publication, the famous strains of Gott erhalte Franz made their way across the channel. Though how it happened has faded into history, it was apparently at Foundling Hospital that Gott erhalte was first transformed into Praise the Lord, Ye Heav’ns, Adore Him. The original two-stanza hymn was an anonymous paraphrase of Psalm 148; the oldest record of it is found pasted into the back inside cover of certain copies of Foundling Hospital’s Psalms, Hymns, and Anthems. The adaptation of Gott erhalt into Praise the Lord, Ye Heav’ns, Adore Him apparently took its place in the repertoire of Foundling Hospital’s orphan choir; and the song became so popular it was printed and pasted into the back of the newly minted hymnals.
So it was that this hymn of praise was sung for the first time by Foundling Hospital’s orphans on a London Sunday afternoon. Composed by the Father of Harmony, it was set to new verses by an anonymous author. Created to rally Europe for royal pedigree, it was redirected by those with no pedigree. Written for the powerful, it was first sung by the powerless. While God’s relationship with kings is strained, his relationship to the fatherless is one of compassion. It is the orphans whom he pairs with widows in identifying those we can serve to truly practice our faith. And he was pleased to reserve the premiere performance of Praise the Lord, Ye Heav’ns, Adore Him for these least of these.
Sources: http://www.hymntime.com/tch/htm/p/t/h/pthelyeh.htm
http://kpshaw.blogspot.com/2013/02/151.htm
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gott_erhalte_Franz_den_Kaiser
https://hymnstudiesblog.wordpress.com/2008/10/16/quotpraise-the-lord-ye-heavens-adore-himquot/
http://www.coram.org.uk/about-us/our-heritage-foundling-hospital
http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/british/victorians/foundling_01.shtml
Wagner, Gillian. Thomas Coram, Gent. Suffolk: Boydell Press, 2015.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/history/british/victorians/foundling_01.shtml
A native and resident of Ohio, Mark Scheffler works as an administrator in the nonprofit sector. He is a graduate of Grove City College and The Ohio State University.
