I Heard Immanuel Singing
"Last night I lay a-sleeping,There came a dream so fair,I stood in Old JerusalemBeside the temple there,--" etc.
I heard Immanuel singingWithin his own good lands,I saw him bend above his harp.I watched his wandering handsLost amid the harp-strings;Sweet, sweet I heard him play.His wounds were altogether healed.Old things had passed away.
All things were new, but music.The blood of David ranWithin the Son of David,Our God, the Son of Man.He was ruddy like a shepherd.His bold young face, how fair.Apollo of the silver bowHad not such flowing hair.
I saw Immanuel singingOn a tree-girdled hill.The glad remembering branchesDimly echoed stillThe grand new song proclaimingThe Lamb that had been slain.New-built, the Holy CityGleamed in the murmuring plain.
The crowning hours were over.The pageants all were past.Within the many mansionsThe hosts, grown still at last,In homes of holy mysterySlept long by crooning springsOr waked to peaceful glory,A universe of Kings.
He left his people happy.He wandered free to sighAlone in lowly friendshipWith the green grass and the sky.He murmured ancient musicHis red heart burned to singBecause his perfect conquestHad grown a weary thing.
No chant of gilded triumph--His lonely song was madeOf Art's deliberate freedom;Of minor chords arrayedIn soft and shadowy colorsThat once were radiant flowers:--The Rose of Sharon, bleedingIn Olive-shadowed bowers:--
And all the other rosesIn the songs of East and WestOf love and war and worshipping,And every shield and crestOf thistle or of lotusOr sacred lily wroughtIn creeds and psalms and palacesAnd temples of white thought:--
All these he sang, half-smilingAnd weeping as he smiled,Laughing, talking to his harpAs to a new-born child:--As though the arts forgottenBut bloomed to prophecyThese careless, fearless harp-strings,New-crying in the sky."When this his hour of sorrowFor flowers and Arts of menHas passed in ghostly music,"I asked my wild heart then--What will he sing to-morrow,What wonder, all his ownAlone, set free, rejoicing,With a green hill for his throne?What will he sing to-morrowWhat wonder all his ownAlone, set free, rejoicing,With a green hill for his throne?
Words in this poem
- immanuel n.
- God with us; -- an appellation of the Christ. Is. vii. 14. [Heb. 'imman, fr. 'im with + an us + el God.]
- amid prep.
- In the midst or middle of; surrounded or encompassed by; among. [OE. amidde, amiddes, on midden, AS. on middan, in the middle, fr. midde the middle. The s is an adverbial ending, originally marking the genitive; the t is a la]
- altogether adv.
- All together; conjointly. [OE. altogedere; al all + togedere together. See Together.]
- dimly adv.
- In a dim or obscure manner; not brightly or clearly; with imperfect sight.
- ghostly a.
- Relating to the soul; not carnal or secular; spiritual; as, a ghostly confessor. [OE. gastlich, gostlich, AS. gastlic. See Ghost.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
I Heard Immanuel Singing is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Congo, and Other Poems, Project Gutenberg ebook #1021; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Vachel Lindsay, I Heard Immanuel Singing, in The Congo and Other Poems (1914), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #1021, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/lindsay-congo/i-heard-immanuel-singing.html, id L18359.
Form and metre
I Heard Immanuel Singing is 80 lines in 9 stanzas. The metre is iambic tetrameter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 90%). 98% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 6.6 syllables. 37 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 46% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic tetrameter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 2 -A-A-B-B singing · landsA · harp · handsA · strings · playB · healed · awayB
- 3 -A-A-B-B music · ranA · david · manA · shepherd · fairB · bow · hairB
- 4 -A-A-B-B singing · hillA · branches · stillA · proclaiming · slainB · city · plainB
- 5 -A-A-B-B over · pastA · mansions · lastA · mystery · springsB · glory · kingsB
- 6 -A-A-B-B happy · sighA · friendship · skyA · music · singB · conquest · thingB
- 7 -A-A-B-B triumph · madeA · freedom · arrayedA · colors · flowersB · bleeding · bowersB
- 8 -A-A-B-B roses · westA · worshipping · crestA · lotus · wroughtB · palaces · thoughtB
- 9 -A-A----BC-CBDEDBDED smiling · smiledA · harp · childA · forgotten · prophecy · strings · sky · sorrowB · menC · music · thenC · morrowB · ownD · rejoicingE · throneD · morrowB · ownD · rejoicingE · throneD
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic tetrameter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| "Last night I lay a-sleeping, | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| There came a dream so fair, | 6 | ······ |
| I stood in Old Jerusalem | 7 | ····˘/˘ |
| Beside the temple there,--" etc. | 9 | ˘/·/˘··/˘ |
| I heard Immanuel singing | 7 | ··/˘˘/˘ |
| Within his own good lands, | 6 | ······ |
| I saw him bend above his harp. | 8 | ········ |
| I watched his wandering hands | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Lost amid the harp-strings; | 6 | ·˘/··· |
| Sweet, sweet I heard him play. | 6 | ······ |
| His wounds were altogether healed. | 8 | ····˘/˘· |
| Old things had passed away. | 6 | ····˘/ |
| All things were new, but music. | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| The blood of David ran | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Within the Son of David, | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| Our God, the Son of Man. | 6 | /····· |
| He was ruddy like a shepherd. | 8 | ··/˘··/˘ |
| His bold young face, how fair. | 6 | ······ |
| Apollo of the silver bow | 8 | ˘/˘··/˘· |
| Had not such flowing hair. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| I saw Immanuel singing | 7 | ··/˘˘/˘ |
| On a tree-girdled hill. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| The glad remembering branches | 7 | ··˘/˘/˘ |
| Dimly echoed still | 6 | /˘/˘˘· |
| The grand new song proclaiming | 7 | ····˘/˘ |
| The Lamb that had been slain. | 6 | ······ |
| New-built, the Holy City | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| Gleamed in the murmuring plain. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| The crowning hours were over. | 6 | ·/˘/·· |
| The pageants all were past. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Within the many mansions | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| The hosts, grown still at last, | 6 | ······ |
| In homes of holy mystery | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| Slept long by crooning springs | 6 | ···/˘· |
| Or waked to peaceful glory, | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| A universe of Kings. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| He left his people happy. | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| He wandered free to sigh | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Alone in lowly friendship | 7 | ˘/·/˘/˘ |
| With the green grass and the sky. | 7 | ······· |
| He murmured ancient music | 7 | ·/˘/˘/˘ |
| His red heart burned to sing | 6 | ······ |
| Because his perfect conquest | 7 | ···/·/˘ |
| Had grown a weary thing. | 6 | ···/˘· |
| No chant of gilded triumph-- | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| His lonely song was made | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Of Art's deliberate freedom; | 7 | ··˘/˘/˘ |
| Of minor chords arrayed | 6 | ·/˘·˘/ |
| In soft and shadowy colors | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| That once were radiant flowers:-- | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| The Rose of Sharon, bleeding | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| In Olive-shadowed bowers:-- | 7 | ·/˘/˘/˘ |
| And all the other roses | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| In the songs of East and West | 7 | ······· |
| Of love and war and worshipping, | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| And every shield and crest | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Of thistle or of lotus | 7 | ·/˘··/˘ |
| Or sacred lily wrought | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| In creeds and psalms and palaces | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| And temples of white thought:-- | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| All these he sang, half-smiling | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| And weeping as he smiled, | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Laughing, talking to his harp | 7 | /˘/˘··· |
| As to a new-born child:-- | 6 | ······ |
| As though the arts forgotten | 7 | ····˘/˘ |
| But bloomed to prophecy | 6 | ···/˘˘ |
| These careless, fearless harp-strings, | 7 | ·/˘/˘·· |
| New-crying in the sky. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| "When this his hour of sorrow | 7 | ···/·/˘ |
| For flowers and Arts of men | 6 | ·/···· |
| Has passed in ghostly music," | 7 | ···/˘/˘ |
| I asked my wild heart then-- | 6 | ······ |
| What will he sing to-morrow, | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| What wonder, all his own | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Alone, set free, rejoicing, | 7 | ˘/··˘/˘ |
| With a green hill for his throne? | 7 | ······· |
| What will he sing to-morrow | 7 | ·····/˘ |
| What wonder all his own | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Alone, set free, rejoicing, | 7 | ˘/··˘/˘ |
| With a green hill for his throne? | 7 | ······· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.