Sepulchre

Yesterday I went into one of my professor's, Dr. Orrick, office to play him a song. I had told him several weeks ago that I had written a tune to a poem by George Herbert called Sepulchre. Upon hearing this he told me that he has tried on several occasions to compose a tune for this same text but has been unsuccessful. So he asked me to come play my tune.

I did so, as he sat up on his desk chair, listening intently to me. When I finished he sat back and said that it was quite good. He gave a pointer on how to make it better, which I completely agreed with, and actually thought of the same correction myself, but didn't change it.

He asked me if I could make a recording of it and give him a chord chart for the song, so he could learn it well.

No to fill in some background to this story to hopefully help provide some meaning here. First of all, Dr. Orrick is one of, if not the, foremost scholar on George Herbert poetry, so he knows his poetry well. Secondly, he is also a good musician and tunesmith himself, so his inability to compose a tune is surprising. Also with this in view, him liking my tune means, somehow my tune captured the essence of the poem and is pleasant to the ear. And he didn't just say, "It's good, have a good day." He asked me to record it so he could really learn the melody and benefit from it in the future.

Beyond all this, as I have posted previously, I think Dr. Orrick is one of the best men I know. I have a great deal of respect for him so his opinion means a great deal more than most people.

I want to post the poem that I set to music, enjoy the text, it is a beautiful text.

O Blessed body! Whither art thou thrown? No lodging for thee, but a cold hard stone? So many hearts on earth, and yet not one Receive thee? Sure there is room within our hearts good store ; For they can lodge transgressions by the score : Thousands of toys dwell there, yet out of door They leave thee. But that which shows them large, shows them unfit. What ever sin did this pure rock commit, Which holds thee now ? Who hath indicted it Of murder ? Where our hard hearts have took up stones to brain thee, And missing this, most falsely did arraign thee ; Only these stones in quiet entertain thee, And order. And as of old, the law by heav’nly art, Was writ in stone ; so thou, which also art The letter of the word, find’st no fit heart To hold thee. Yet do we still persist as we began, And so should perish, but that nothing can Though it be cold, hard, foul, from loving man Withhold thee.