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July 2007, Pages 2 & 4.
Index of articles:
by subject,
by date.
In this issue:
(July 2007)
Cooperative?
Soma,
Colossians,
Hymn.
The brewing of soma ...
I recently came across the story of the origins of one of the most popular hymns in our hymn book. It was written as a 17-verse poem against the evils of “soma”, which Hindu Vedic priests used to brew and drink. They were trying to have a religious experience and contact the spirit world, and John G Whittier (in 1872) described at length the effects of the drug - like alcohol but with supposed transcendental added effects
Here are the first 11 verses - can you guess which hymn the poem finishes up as?
The brewing of soma
The fagots blazed, the caldron's smoke
Up through the green wood curled;
"Bring honey from the hollow oak,
Brink milky sap," the brewers spoke,
In the childhood of the world.
And brewed they well or brewed they ill,
The priests thrust in their rods,
First tasted, and then drank their fill,
And shouted, with one voice and will,
"Behold, the drink of gods!"
They drank, and lo! in heart and brain
A new, glad life began;
They grew of hair, grew young again,
The sick man laughed away his pain,
The cripple leaped and ran.
"Drink, mortals, what the gods have sent,
Forget you long annoy."
So sang the priests. From tent to tent
The Soma's sacred madness went:
A storm of drunken joy.
Then knew each rapt inebriate
A winged and glorious birth,
Soared upward, with strange joy elate,
Beat, with dazed head, Varuna's gate,
And sobered, sank to earth.
The land with Soma's praises rang;
On Gihon's banks of shade
Its hymns the dusky maidens sang;
In joy of life or mortal pang
All men to Soma prayed.
The morning twilight of the race
Sends down these matin psalms;
And still with wondering eyes we trace
The simple prayers to Soma's grace,
That Vedic verse embalms.
As in the child-world's early year,
Each after age has striven
By music, incense, vigils drear,
And trance, to bring the skies more near,
Or lift men up to heaven!
Some fever of the blood and brain,
Some self-exalting spell,
The scourger's keen delight of pain,
the Dervish dance, the Orphic strain,
The wild-haired Bacchant's yell, -
The desert's hair-grown hermit sunk
The saner brute below;
The naked wanton, hashish-drunk,
The cloister madness of the monk,
The fakir's torture show!
And yet the past comes round again,
And new doth old fulfill;
In sensual transports wild as vain
We brew in many a Christian fane
The heathen Soma still!
Dear Lord and Father of mankind,
Forgive our foolish ways!
Reclothe us in our rightful mind,
In purer lives Thy service find,
In deeper reverence, praise.
In simple trust like theirs who heard
Beside the Syrian sea
The gracious calling of the Lord,
Let us, like them, without a word
Rise up and follow Thee.
O Sabbath rest by Galilee!
O calm of hills above,
Where Jesus knelt to share with Thee
The silence of eternity
Interpreted by love!
With that deep hush subduing all
Our words and works that drown
The tender whisper of Thy call,
And noiseless let Thy blessing fall
As fell Thy manna down.
Drop thy still dews of quietness,
Till all our strivings cease;
Take from our souls the strain and stress,
And let our ordered lives confess
Thy beauty of Thy peace.
Breathe through the hearts of our desire
Thy coolness and Thy balm;
Let sense be numb, let flesh retire;
Speak through the earthquake, wind, and fire,
O still, small voice of calm!
John Greenleaf Whittier,
originally published in 1872 in The Pennsylvanian Pilgrim.
I suppose the start of the poem is a bit of a surprise. Whittier was born in 1807 and grew up on a farm in Massachusetts. The family were Quakers, and he was an activist in the abolition of slavery. He was introduced to poetry by a schoolteacher, and although he never became a public speaker, he wrote and edited magazines and newspapers for much of his life.
Several of his poems have been turned into hymns, and some are very popular. He wrote in a Victorian style but with imagination and a universal appeal which many other 19th-century hymns lacked. He wasn’t afraid to ridicule, as this poem shows, but his religious poetry had a serious purpose of provoking people to ask questions of life and consider Jesus as the answer.
Like this poem, which basically says that the sanity of following in the steps of Jesus’ disciples is far better than any drug-induced ideas of mysticism. Whittier believed God reveals himself when we quieten down and listen to him, and when we do we will discover the secret of inner peace as well as useful service which makes the world a better place.
Isn’t it strange that a message like this is still so very relevant, in a world which has different drugs but the same drugs problem?
John Hartley