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Sunday, June 23, 2024

The Finest Flower

A popular song in The Sacred Harp, 2012 Cooper Edition is The Finest Flower (411) – tune by David Walker and hymn by Joseph Swain. This is a song we brought over from The Christian Harmony songbook/ tradition. Listen on YouTube to The Finest Flower.

The composer David Walker has at times been identified as the son of John Walker and Margaret Woods – and therefore the uncle of William Walker (compiler of The Southern Harmony and Musical Companion). This David Walker was born October 22, 1787 and died September 19, 1878. He is buried at the Hebron United Methodist Church Cemetery, Spartanburg County, South Carolina.

On the other hand, William Walker had a brother also named David Walker, whom he identifies in The Southern Harmony as a hymn writer and composer. Regarding Indian Convert he writes, “the last two verses were composed by David Walker, the Author’s brother.” Of Hebrew Children he says, “This tune was set to music by David Walker, in 1841: also the last two verses of the song are his composition.” The Finest Flower first appeared in 1845 in The Southern and Western Pocket Harmonist by William Walker. There it was titled The Flower; Or, The Christian’s Love (139). Originally in three parts, alto was added in 1867 when published in The Christian Harmony (116a). This David Walker was the son of Absalom Abraham Walker and Susannah Jackson. No further information about him is available at this time. A David Walker (1815–1870) of Whitfield County, Georgia was born in Union County, South Carolina. He fits the time frame to have been a son in the home of Absalom Walker, but no definite connection can be made.

Swain’s words are slightly altered and somewhat reordered in The Finest Flower. The words appeared in this manner in several sources available to David Walker, such as Jesse Mercer’s Cluster. David Walker combined six Common Meter stanzas into three stanzas of Common Meter Doubled.

1. The finest flow’r that e’er was known,
Opened on Calvary’s tree,
When Christ the Lord was pierc’d and torn
For love of worthless me.
Its deepest hue, its richest smell,
No mortal sense can bear;
Nor can the tongue of angels tell
How bright its colors are.

2. Earth could not hold so rich a flow’r,
Nor half its beauties show;
Nor could the world and Satan’s pow’r
Confine it here below.
On Canaan’s banks supremely fair,
This flow’r of wonder blooms,
Transplanted to its native air,
And all the shores perfumes.

3. But not to Canaan’s shores confined,
The seeds from which it blow,
Take root within the human mind,
And scent the church below.
Love is the sweetest bud that blows,
Its beauty never dies;
On earth among the saints it grows,
And ripens in the skies.

The original poetry, “The Flower,” appeared in Walworth Hymns, book compiled by Joseph Swain (London: J. Matthews, 1792), and is given below. There are eight Common Meter stanzas (Hymn No. VI, pages 9-10). It uses the idea of the flower as an emblem of Christ.

For biographical information on Joseph Swain, see “Mutual Encouragement” and “Memoirs of the Life of Mr. Joseph Swain” in Redemption, a Poem in Eight Books (pp. v-xlvii).

1. Love is the sweetest bud that blows,
Its beauty never dies;
On earth among the saints it grows,
And ripens in the skies.

2. Pure, glowing, red, and spotless white,
Its perfect colours are;
In Jesus all its sweets unite.
And look divinely fair.

3. The finest flow’r that ever blow’d
Open’d on Calv’ry’s tree,
When Jesu’s blood in rivers flow’d
For love of worthless me!

4. Its deepest hue, its richest smell,
No mortal sense can bear;
Nor can the tongue of angels tell
How bright the colours are.

5. Earth could not hold so rich a flow’r,
Nor half its beauties shew;
Nor could the world and Satan’s pow’r
Confine it sweets below.

6. On Canaan’s banks, supremely fair,
This flow’r of wonders blooms,
Transplanted to its native air,
And all the shores perfumes.

7. But, not to Canaan’s shores confin’d,
The seed from which it blow
Take root within the human mind,
And scent the church below.

8. And soon on yonder banks above
Shall every blossom here
Appear a full ripe flow’r of love,
Like him, transplanted there.

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