Adelaide Anne Procter

In her day, the poet Adelaide Anne Procter (1825-1864) was second in popularity only to Alfred, Lord Tennyson, and was a favorite of Queen Victoria. One of her poems, The Lost Chord, became even more well-known after her death when it was set to music as a parlor song by Sir Arthur Sullivan and its sheet music became a Victorian bestseller. 

She reportedly wrote poetry from an early age (her father was also a poet), and her first published poem came out in 1843, in the magazine Heath's Book of Beauty. Ten years later her poems began to appear in Charles Dickens' periodical Household Words. Since Dickens was a family friend, she had used the pseudonym of "Mary Berwick" to avoid any hint of favoritism, and he didn't discover her true identity for nearly two years. Eventually, her poems would make up about one-sixth of the verse that was published in Household Words throughout its lifetime.

In 1851 Adelaide and her sister joined the Roman Catholic Church and her poems start to reflect Catholic themes and theology, with a particular interest in the Virgin Mary. Her third book of poetry, A Chaplet of Verses (1862), was published to benefit the Providence Row Night Refuge for homeless women and children, the first such shelter in England to be sponsored by the Catholic Sisters of Mercy. Many of the poems in this book deal with Christian responsibility toward the poor. In the introduction to the book, she recounts the origin of the shelter two years earlier, describes its workings, solicits additional donations to support its work, and prays for its continued success:

May the Mother who wandered homeless through inhospitable Bethlehem, and the Saint who was a beggar and an outcast upon the face of the earth, watch over this Refuge for the poor and desolate, and obtain from the charity of the faithful the aid which it so sorely needs.

She did not, perhaps, intend for her poetry to be sung, but hymnal editors started to include some of her poems in their collections. Today's lesser-known Eucharistic hymn also comes from A Chaplet of Verses.

Give us our daily Bread,
O God, the bread of strength!
For we have come to know
The needs we have at length.
We need your Presence here,
Your people must be fed;
Give us your grace, O God,
To be our daily Bread.

Give us our daily Bread
To cheer our fainting soul;
The feast of comfort, God,
And peace, to make us whole:
For we are sick of tears,
The useless tears we shed;
Now give us comfort, God,
To be our daily Bread.

Give us our daily Bread,
The bread of angels, Lord,
By us, so many times,
Broken, betrayed, adored:
From grace and comfort comes
The feast that Jesus spread:
Give him — our life, our all —
To be our daily Bread!

Adelaide Ann Procter, 1862; alt.
Tune: DENBY (6.6.6.6.D.)
Charles J. Dale, 1904

Procter considered her philanthropic deeds to be much more important than her poetic words. The "useless tears we shed" in the second stanza above may reflect her own preference for action over contemplation or regret. A long and interesting poem in A Chaplet of Verses titled The Homeless Poor lays out the conflict between words and deeds in a dialogue between two angels talking about how best to meet the needs of the destitute. That one is called the Angel of Prayers and the other the Angel of Deeds may give you a clue to the final determination.

She fully demonstrated her own commitment to deeds over words, contracting tuberculosis during her work with the poor of London.  She suffered with the disease for fifteen months before her death on February 2, 1864 (coincidentally, the Feast of the Purification, which she called Mary's "first feast" of the year in her poem Christmas Flowers).



Eight Years Ago: Christopher Wordsworth 

Seven Years Ago: Adelaide Anne Procter 

Six Years Ago: Adelaide Anne Procter

Two Years Ago: Christopher Wordsworth

Adelaide Anne Procter

Today is the birthday of Adelaide Anne Procter (born in 1825), who wrote the text of one of the most popular songs of the nineteenth century, The Lost Chord, though she did not live to see her words joined to Arthur Sullivan's music.

In the book Lady Hymn Writers (1892) by Emma Raymond Pitman, we learn a few details of Procter's childhood. Even before she learned to write she was captivated by poetry, and

"...she made for herself a tiny album of note-paper, into which her favorite poems were copied for her, at her urgent request, by her mother. (...) This little album was cherished and carried around by the child, much as dolls are by other little girls."

Years later, her own poetry was published, first by Charles Dickens in his magazine Household Words, and later collected in Legends and Lyrics (1858-60). A smaller volume of primarily devotional poems followed, A Chaplet of Verses (1862). Some of her texts were later set to music and appeared in hymnals, such as this one.

My God, I thank thee, who hast made
The earth so bright,
So full of splendor and of joy,
Beauty and light;
So many glorious things are here,
Noble and right.

I thank thee, too, that thou hast made
Joy to abound;
So many gentle thoughts and deeds
Circling us round,
That in the farthest spot of earth
Some love is found.

I thank thee, God, that thou hast kept
The best in store;
We have enough, yet not too much
To long for more:
A yearning for a deeper peace
Not known before.

Adelaide Anne Procter, 1858
Tune: WENTWORTH (8.4.8.4.8.4.)
Frederick C. Maker, 1876

Procter died in 1864, reportedly worn down by the charitable work which to her was much more significant than her poetry. Dickens wrote of her:

"Perfectly unselfish, swift to sympathize and eager to relieve, she wrought at such designs with a flushed earnestness that disregarded season, weather, time of day or night, food, rest. Under such a hurry of the spirits, and such incessant occupation, the strongest constitution will commonly go down. (...) And so the time came when she could move about no longer and took to her bed."

The popularity of her poetry continued to increase after her death for many years to come, and undoubtedly there were many other little girls who loved her works before they had learned to write. I hope some of them had mothers who wrote down their favorites for them to carry about.

One Year Ago: Adelaide Anne Procter

Two Years Ago: Christopher Wordsworth

Adelaide Anne Procter

Popular poet Adelaide Anne Procter (October 3o, 1825 - February 2, 1864) was born in London. Her father, Bryan Waller Procter, was also a successful poet who published under the name of “Barry Cornwall.” Family friends included Elizabeth Gaskell and Charles Dickens. Her parents saw to it that she received a good education and a love for poetry from an early age. Her first published poem appeared in 1843.

She later submitted poems to Dickens' journal Household Words under the pseudonym “Mary Berwick,” not wanting any special consideration due to the family connection. He did not learn her true identity for more than a year. Dickens eventually printed more than 80 of her poems in his publications. Though Queen Victoria would later declare that Procter was her favorite poet, Adelaide apparently did not share the same high opinion, famously claiming that “Papa is a poet, I only write verses.”

Procter later became the editor of the magazine Victoria Regia, published by the “explicitly feminist” Victoria Press, and helped to found the English Women's Journal. These periodicals advocated for women's education and employment rights, and probably led to the later establishment of the Society for Promoting the Employment of Women, which Procter supported.

Procter converted to Roman Catholicism in 1851, and much of her poetry took on a devotional theme. The royalties from her 1862 collection, A Chaplet of Verses, went to support a shelter for homeless women and children that had been opened by the Sisters of Mary. Several of the verses from this book were later printed in hymnals, including this evening hymn.

The shadows of the evening hours
Fall from the dark'ning sky;
Upon the fragrance of the flowers
The dews of evening lie.

Before thy throne, O God of heav’n,
We come at close of day;
Look on thy children from on high,
And hear us while we pray.

Slowly the rays of daylight fade,
So fade within our heart
The hopes in earthly love and joy,
That one by one depart.

Slowly the bright stars, one by one,
Within the heavens shine:
Give us, O God, fresh hopes in heav'n,
And trust in things divine.

Let peace, O God, thy peace, O God,
Upon our souls descend;
From midnight fears and perils, now
Our trembling hearts defend.

Adelaide Anne Procter, 1862; alt.
Tune: THIS ENDRIS NYGHT (C.M.)
English carol, 15th cent.

We have already encountered the poem of Procter's that was most popular in the nineteenth century, though it was not a hymn. The musical setting of The Lost Chord by Arthur Sullivan was sung and played everywhere and was one of the earliest recordings made for the phonograph.


One Year Ago: Christopher Wordsworth

Like the Sound of a Great Amen

Today is more about a cousin to a hymn, by a writer and composer who did write hymns.

I recently got a CD by a choral group who shall remain nameless, which had an arrangement of The Lost Chord. I was curious to hear it, as this piece is really a solo song by composer Arthur Sullivan and poet Adelaide Anne Procter. Sullivan had planned to set the poem to music for a long time, but without success, and was finally able to do it when his brother Fred was dying.

The song was number one on the Victorian hit parade for quite some time, with astronomical sales of the sheet music. At a press conference in 1888 that introduced Edison's phonograph machine to London, a recording of the tune on piano and trumpet was played. You can see a series of postcards (including the one above) with the lyrics at this page.

The song was still quite popular early in the twentieth century, and was recorded by such luminaries as Enrico Caruso and Dame Clara Butt in the early days of sound recording.

As I said, it isn't a hymn, and I don't even think it's particularly religious. Let's call it Victorian metaphysics.

Seated one day at the organ,
I was weary and ill-at-ease;
And my fingers wandered idly
Over the noisy keys.

I know not what I was playing
Or what I was dreaming then,
But I struck one chord of music
Like the sound of a great Amen.

It flooded the crimson twilight
Like the close of an angel's psalm,
And it lay on my fevered spirit
With a touch of infinite calm.

It quieted pain and sorrow
Like love overcoming strife;
It seemed the harmonious echo
From our discordant life.

It linked all perplexèd meanings
Into one perfect peace,
And trembled away into silence
As if it were loth to cease.

I have sought, but I seek it vainly,
That one lost chord divine,
Which came from the soul of the organ
And entered into mine.

It may be that death's bright angel
Will speak in that chord again;
It may be that only in heav'n
I shall hear that grand Amen.

There are different versions you can hear at YouTube, including the ones mentioned above, but here's a boy soprano who would have gone over well in Sullivan's time.

Oh, and that CD -- the choral arrangement wasn't very good; the organ accompaniment was more interesting, which I guess is appropriate for this song.