1810–1871

Introduction

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National Portrait Gallery

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Born: Oc­to­ber 7, 1810, Blooms­bu­ry, Mid­dle­sex, Eng­land.

Died: Jan­ua­ry 12, 1871, Can­ter­bu­ry, Kent, Eng­land. For his own epi­taph, he wrote: De­ver­so­ri­um via­tor­is pro­fi­cien­tis Hie­ro­so­ly­mam (The inn of a pil­grim tra­vel­ing to Je­ru­sa­lem).

Buried: St. Mar­tin’s, Can­ter­bu­ry, Kent, Engl­and.

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Biography

Henry was the son of the cu­rate at Stee­ple Ashton, Wilt­shire.

Hey wrote the fol­low­ing in his Bible at age 16:

I do this day in the pre­sence of God and my own soul re­new my co­ve­nant with God and so­lemn­ly de­ter­mine hence­forth to be­come his and to do his work as far as in me lies.

Alford at­tend­ed Ilmin­ster Gram­mar School and Tri­ni­ty College, Cam­bridge, and was or­dained in 1833.

He was cu­rate at Wink­field, Wilt­shire, and Amp­ton, and vi­car at Wymes­wold, Lei­ces­ter­shire (where he served 18 years). He twice re­fused ap­point­ment as a bi­shop in the co­lo­nies.

In 1853, he went to Que­bec Cha­pel, Lon­don. In 1857, he be­came dean of Can­ter­bu­ry Ca­thed­ral.

He ed­it­ed the Con­tem­po­ra­ry Re­view (1866–70), and wrote nu­mer­ous vol­umes on Ho­mer, Eng­lish po­et­ry, and the Greek New Tes­ta­ment.

Works

Poem

An Easter Ode

The calm of bless­èd night
Is on Ju­dæa’s hills;
The full-orbed moon with cloud­less light
Is spark­ling on their rills:
One spot above the rest
Is still and tran­quil seen,
The cham­ber as of some­thing blest,
Amidst its bowers of green.

Around that spot each way
The figures ye may trace
Of men-at-arms in grim array,
Girding the solemn place:
But other bands are there—
And, glistening through the gloom,
Legions of angels bright and fair
Throng to that wondrous tomb.

“Praise be to God on high
The triumph-hour is near;
The Lord hath won the victory,
The foe is vanquished here!
Dark Grave, yield up the dead—
Give up thy prey, thou Earth;
In death He bowed His sacred head—
He springs anew to birth!

Sharp was the wreath of thorns
Around His suffering brow;
But glory rich His head adorns,
And angels crown Him now.
Roll yonder rock away
That bars the marble gate;
And gather we in bright array
To swell the Victor’s state!’”

“Hail, hail, hail!
The Lord is ris’n indeed!
The curse is made of none avail;
The sons of men are freed!"

Henry Alford (1810–1871)

Sources

Lyrics

Music