Who is John Francis Wade

John Francis Wade (1 January 1711 – 16 August 1786) was an English hymnist who is sometimes credited with writing and composing the hymn "Adeste Fideles" (which was translated to "O Come All Ye Faithful" in 1841 by Frederick Oakeley), even though the actual authorship of the hymn remains uncertain. The earliest copies of the hymn all bear his signature.Wade fled to France after the Jacobite rising of 1745 was crushed. As a Catholic layman, he lived with exiled English Catholics in France, where he taught music and worked on church music for private use.

Jacobite symbolism

Bennett Zon, Head of the Department of Music at Durham University, has noted that Wade's Roman Catholic liturgical books were often decorated with Jacobite floral imagery. He argued that the tex...
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Top 10 most used topics by John Francis Wade

Child 1 Father 1 God 1 Happy 1 Heaven 1 Light 1 Love 1 Poor 1 I Love You 1 Embrace 1


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Micahmj11: 10          mk feeney 11          joseph green 12          will braveman 13          wade albert 14          chesley lightsey 15          jessica brown 16          kay yu 17          melissa francis 18          john padova 19          aaron bell
Micahmj11: 10          mk feeney 11          joseph green 12          will braveman 13          wade albert 14          chesley lightsey 15          jessica brown 16          kay yu 17          melissa francis 18          john padova 19          aaron bell
Gregdaly: there is good stuff in this piece on benedict by john waters -
Gotukulele: come all ye faithful (instrumental ʻukulele). music by john francis wade. latin words translated by frederick oakeley.
Kdfcplaylist: o come all ye faithful by john francis wade / chanticleer / warner 284988
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Poem of the day

Andrew Lang Poem
Ballade Of The Midnight Forest
 by Andrew Lang

Still sing the mocking fairies, as of old,
Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tree;
The west wind breathes upon them, pure and cold,
And wolves still dread Diana roaming free
In secret woodland with her company.
'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite
When now the wolds are bathed in silver light,
And first the moonrise breaks the dusky grey,
...

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