Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.
O filii et filiae,
Rex caelestis, Rex gloriae
morte surrexit hodie.
Alleluia.
Ex mane prima Sabbati
ad ostium monumenti
accesserunt discipuli.
Alleluia.
Et Maria Magdalene,
et Iacobi, et Salome
venerunt corpus ungere.
Alleluia.
In albis sedens angelus
praedixit mulieribus:
In Galilaea est Dominus.
Alleluia.
Et Ioannes apostolus
cucurrit Petro citius,
monumento venit prius.
Alleluia.
Discipulis astantibus,
in medio stetit Christus,
dicens: Pax vobis omnibus.
Alleluia.
Ut intellexit Didymus
quia surrexerat Iesus,
remansit fere dubius.
Alleluia.
Vide Thoma, vide latus,
vide pedes, vide manus,
noli esse incredulus.
Alleluia.
Quando Thomas vidit Christum,
pedes, manus, latus suum,
dixit: Tu es Deus meus.
Alleluia.
Beati qui non viderunt
et firmiter crediderunt;
vitam aeternam habebunt.
Alleluia.
In hoc festo sanctissimo
sit laus et iubilatio:
benedicamus Domino.
Alleluia.
Ex quibus nos humillimas
devotas atque debitas
Deo dicamus gratias.
Alleluia.
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!
O sons and daughters, let us sing!
The King of Heaven, the glorious King,
O'er death to-day rose triumphing.
Alleluia!
That Easter morn, at break of day,
The faithful women went their way
To seek the tomb where Jesus lay.
Alleluia!
An angel clad in white they see,
Who sat, and spake unto the three,
'Your Lord doth go to Galilee.'
Alleluia!
That night the apostles met in fear;
Amidst them came their Lord most dear,
And said, 'My peace be on all here.'
Alleluia!
When Thomas first the tidings heard,
How they had seen the risen Lord,
He doubted the disciples' word.
Alleluia!
'My piercèd side, O Thomas, see;
My hands, my feet I show to thee;
Not faithless, but believing be.'
Alleluia!
No longer Thomas then denied;
He saw the feet, the hands, the side;
'Thou art my Lord and God,' he cried.
Alleluia!
How blest are they who have not seen,
And yet whose faith hath constant been!
For they eternal life shall win.
Alleluia!
On this most holy day of days,
To God your hearts and voices raise
In laud and jubilee and praise.
Alleluia!
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label music. Show all posts
15 May 2016
14 July 2015
'O may I join the choir invisible' (George Eliot)
longum illud tempus, quum non ero, magis me movet, quam hoc exiguum - Cicero, Ad Att. xii. 18
O may I join the choir invisible
Of those immortal dead who live again
In minds made better by their presence; live
In pulses stirred to generosity,
In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn
Of miserable aims that end with self,
In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars,
And with their mild persistence urge men’s minds
To vaster issues.
So to live is heaven:
To make undying music in the world,
Breathing a beauteous order that controls
With growing sway the growing life of man.
So we inherit that sweet purity
For which we struggled, failed and agonized
With widening retrospect that bred despair.
Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued,
A vicious parent shaming still its child,
Poor, anxious penitence is quick dissolved;
Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies,
Die in the large and charitable air;
And all our rarer, better, truer self,
That sobbed religiously in yearning song,
That watched to ease the burden of the world,
Laboriously tracing what must be,
And what may yet be better - saw within
A worthier image for the sanctuary
And shaped it forth before the multitude,
Divinely human, raising worship so
To higher reverence more mixed with love -
That better self shall live till human Time
Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky
Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb
Unread forever.
This is life to come,
Which martyred men have made more glorious
For us who strive to follow.
May I reach
That purest heaven - be to other souls
The cup of strength in some great agony,
Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love,
Beget the smiles that have no cruelty,
Be the sweet presence of a good diffused,
And in diffusion ever more intense!
So shall I join the choir invisible
Whose music is the gladness of the world.
O may I join the choir invisible
Of those immortal dead who live again
In minds made better by their presence; live
In pulses stirred to generosity,
In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn
Of miserable aims that end with self,
In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars,
And with their mild persistence urge men’s minds
To vaster issues.
So to live is heaven:
To make undying music in the world,
Breathing a beauteous order that controls
With growing sway the growing life of man.
So we inherit that sweet purity
For which we struggled, failed and agonized
With widening retrospect that bred despair.
Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued,
A vicious parent shaming still its child,
Poor, anxious penitence is quick dissolved;
Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies,
Die in the large and charitable air;
And all our rarer, better, truer self,
That sobbed religiously in yearning song,
That watched to ease the burden of the world,
Laboriously tracing what must be,
And what may yet be better - saw within
A worthier image for the sanctuary
And shaped it forth before the multitude,
Divinely human, raising worship so
To higher reverence more mixed with love -
That better self shall live till human Time
Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky
Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb
Unread forever.
This is life to come,
Which martyred men have made more glorious
For us who strive to follow.
May I reach
That purest heaven - be to other souls
The cup of strength in some great agony,
Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love,
Beget the smiles that have no cruelty,
Be the sweet presence of a good diffused,
And in diffusion ever more intense!
So shall I join the choir invisible
Whose music is the gladness of the world.
22 January 2014
from 'The prophet' (Edward Docx)
The spotlight falls. And Dylan begins to sing.
I say sing. Imagine an Old Testament prophet come down from the mountains of the desert. Imagine he has 70 years’ worth of visions to impart in rich and vivid verse - visions comprised for the most part of searing and timeless human truth about love and god and man. But imagine that he has neither heard nor spoken a single word during his many decades alone - that his voice is therefore as cracked as the tablets he bears and as croaky as the rocks among which he has lived, and that furthermore he has no sense of the speed, nor the sound, nor the stresses, nor the syntax of conventional speech. Now imagine that an unusually convincing joker selling ecstasy tablets and helium balloons has waylaid him on the way to the amphitheatre. And, finally, imagine that when at last he steps up before you to discourse upon what is undoubtedly the quintessence of existence, he chooses to do so by intoning through a hookah pipe using only the five notes of the pentatonic scale. That’s what I mean by singing.
I say sing. Imagine an Old Testament prophet come down from the mountains of the desert. Imagine he has 70 years’ worth of visions to impart in rich and vivid verse - visions comprised for the most part of searing and timeless human truth about love and god and man. But imagine that he has neither heard nor spoken a single word during his many decades alone - that his voice is therefore as cracked as the tablets he bears and as croaky as the rocks among which he has lived, and that furthermore he has no sense of the speed, nor the sound, nor the stresses, nor the syntax of conventional speech. Now imagine that an unusually convincing joker selling ecstasy tablets and helium balloons has waylaid him on the way to the amphitheatre. And, finally, imagine that when at last he steps up before you to discourse upon what is undoubtedly the quintessence of existence, he chooses to do so by intoning through a hookah pipe using only the five notes of the pentatonic scale. That’s what I mean by singing.
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