We Praise Thy Name All-holy Lord

This hymn of praise for saints, and in particular St David of Wales, was written by English-born and educated teacher, curate and historian, Ebenezer Josiah Newell (1853-1916).

It was first published in The Northern Churchman and St David’s Weekly (29 February 1896) with seven verses: The English Hymnal (1906) selected three of these, subsequent publications have used the same.

With meter 76 76 D, tunes it has been set to include:
  • LLANLOFFAN, a traditional Welch tune, composer unknown, Hymnau a Thonau, 1865
  • WIR PFLÜGEN by Matthias Claudius (1782) - best known as the tune of We Plough the Fields and Scatter
  • OLD 44TH - from the Genevan Psalter, 1556. This was the tune which the hymn was published with in The English Hymnal
  • OLD 81st - from Day's Psalter, 1562


Downloads


Examples

Choir with organ:



Instrumental improvisation - piano:



Instrumental - organ. Tune LLANGLOFFAN



Instrumental - orchestra. Tune WIR PFLÜGEN


Lyrics

Traditional language

We praise thy name, all-holy Lord,
For him, the beacon-light
That shone beside our western sea
Through mists of ancient night;
Who sent to Ireland's fainting Church
New tidings of thy word
For David, prince of Cambrian saints,
We praise thee, holy Lord.

For all the saintly band whose prayers
Still gird our land about,
Of whom, lest men disdain their praise,
The voiceless stones cry out;
Our hills and vales on every hand
Their names and deeds record:
For these, thy ancient hero host,
We praise thee, holy Lord.

Grant us but half their burning zeal,
But half their iron faith,
But half their charity of heart,
And fortitude to death;
That we with them and all thy saints
May in thy truth accord,
And ever in thy holy Church
May praise thee, holy Lord.

Modern English

We praise Your name, all-holy Lord,
For him, the beacon-light
That shone beside our western sea
Through mists of ancient night;
Who sent to Ireland's fainting Church
New tidings of Your word
For David, prince of Cambrian saints,
We praise You, holy Lord.

For all the saintly band whose prayers
Still gird our land about,
Of whom, lest men disdain their praise,
The voiceless stones cry out;
Our hills and vales on every hand
Their names and deeds record:
For these, Your ancient hero host,
We praise Your, holy Lord.

Grant us but half their burning zeal,
But half their iron faith,
But half their charity of heart,
And fortitude to death;
That we with them and all Your saints
May in Your truth accord,
And ever in Your holy Church
May praise You, holy Lord.

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