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Saint Paul SundayFeatured Artist



Philip Brunelle

Listen to entire program.

VocalEssence's Web site.
April 20, 2003 Program
(Read full texts and translations)

Joseph Brackett, arr. David Willcocks (Sydney Carter): The Lord of the Dance
Dominick Argento (Richard Crashaw): Easter Day
Calvin Hampton: Christ is Risen Indeed
Chris de Blasio: The Best-Beloved
  -IV. My beloved is mine, and I am his (Francis Quarles)
William Hawley: Four Reveries
  -III. My River Runs to Thee (Emily Dickinson)
Stephen Paulus (Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz): Love Opened a Mortal Wound
Sir Richard Rodney Bennett: A Farewell to Arms
  -I. "The helmet now an hive for bees becomes..." (Ralph Knevet)
  -II. "His golden locks hath to silver turned..." (George Peele)
John Rutter: Birthday Madrigals   -I. It was a Lover and his Lass (William Shakespeare)
Mykola Leontovich : Scedryk
Carlos Guastavino : Indianas
  -I. Gala del Dia ("Day's Finery")


Lord of the Dance
Sydney Carter
arr. David Willcocks (1963)

I danced in the morning
When the world was begun,
And I danced in the moon
And the stars and the sun;
And I came down from heaven
And I danced on the earth,
At Bethlehem I had my birth.

I danced for the scribe and the Pharisee,
But they would not dance
And they wouldn't follow me.
I danced for the fishermen,
For James and John,
They came with me
And the Dance went on.

Dance, then, wherever you may be
"I am the Lord of the Dance," said he,
"And I'll lead you all, wherever you may be,
And I'll lead you all in the Dance," said he.

And I cured the lame;
The holy people said it was a shame.
They buried my body
And they thought I'd gone,
But I am the Dance
And I still go on.

I danced on a Friday
When the sky turned black;
It's hard to dance
With the devil on your back.
They whipped and they stripped
And they hung me on high,
And they left me there
On a cross to die.

They cut me down
And I leapt on high;
"I am the Life
That'll never, never die.
I'll live in you
If you'll live in me;
I am the Lord of the Dance," said he.
  -Sydney Carter

Easter Day
Dominick Argento (1989)

Rise Heire of fresh Eternity,
  From thy Virgin Tombe:
Rise mighty man of wonders! and thy world with thee.
  Thy Tombe, the universall East,
  Natures new wombe,
Thy Tombe, faire Immortatalities perfumed Nest.

Of all the Gloryes Make Noone gay
  This is the Morne.
This rocke buds forth the fountaine of the streames of Day.
  In joyes white Annals live this houre,
  When life was borne,
No cloud scoule on his radiant lids, no tempest lowre.

Life, by this light's Nativity
  All creatures have.
Death onely by this Dayes just Doome is forc't to Dye;
  Nor is Death forc't; for may hee ly
  Thron'd in the Grave.
Death will on this condition be content to Dy.
-Richard Crashaw (1613?-1649)

Christ Is Risen Indeed
Calvin Hampton (1974)

Today Christ is risen from the dead.
He is risen indeed. Alleluia!

My Beloved Is Mine
Chris DeBlasio (1990)
from The Best-Beloved

E'en like two little bank-dividing brooks,
That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams,
And having ranged and search'd a thousand nooks,
Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames,
Where at a greater current they conjoin:
So I my Best-beloved's am; so He is mine.

E'en so we met; and after long pursuit,
E'en so we joined; we both became entire;
No need for either to renew a suit,
For I was flax, and He was flames of fire:
Our firm-united souls did more than twine;
So I may Best-beloved's am; so He is mine.

If all those glittering Monarchs, that command
The servile quarters of this earthly ball,
Should tender in exchange their shares of land,
I would not change my fortunes for them all:
Their wealth is but a counter to my coin:
The world's but theirs; but my Beloved's mine.
  -Francis Quarles (1592-1644)

My River Runs to Thee
William Hawley (1995)
from Four Reveries

My River runs to thee-
Blue Sea! Wilt welcome me?
My River waits reply-
Oh Sea-look graciously-
I'll fetch thee Brooks
From spotted nooks-
Say-Sea-Take Me!
  -Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

Love Opened a Mortal Wound
Stephen Paulus (2002)

Love opened a mortal wound. In agony, I worked the blade to make it deeper. Please, I begged, let death come quick.

Wild, distracted, sick, I counted, counted all the ways love hurt me. One life, I thought-a thousand deaths.

Blow after blow, my heart could not survive this beating. Then-how can I explain it?

I came to my senses. I said, Why do I suffer? What lover ever had so much pleasure?

¿Quién en amor ha sido más dichoso?
  -Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz (1648-1695)

A Farewell to Arms
Sir Richard Rodney Bennett (2002)

I. The helmet now an hive for bees becomes,
And hilts of swords may serve for spiders' looms;
Sharp pikes may make
Teeth for a rake;
And the keen blade, th'arch enemy of life,
Shall be degraded to a pruning knife.
The rustic spade
Which first was made
For honest agriculture, shall retake
Its primitive employment, and forsake
The rampires steep
And trenches deep.
Tame conies in our brazen guns shall breed,
Or gentle doves their young ones there shall feed.
In musket barrels
Mice shall raise quarrels
For their quarters. The ventriloquious drum
Like lawyers in vacations, shall be dumb.
Now all recruits
But those of fruits
Shall be forgot; and th'unarmed soldier
Shall only boast of what he did whilere,
In chimneys' ends
Among his friends.
  -Ralph Knevet (1600-1671)

II. His golden locks time hath to silver turned.
O time too swift, o swiftness never ceasing!
His youth 'gainst time and age hath ever spurned,
But spurned in vain, youth waneth by increasing.

Beauty, strength, youth are flow'rs but fading seen;
Duty, faith, love are roots and ever green.

His helmet now shall make a hive for bees,
And lovers' sonnets turn to holy psalms.
A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees,
And feed on prayers which are age's alms.

But though from Court to cottage he depart,
His Saint is sure of his unspotted heart.

And when he saddest sits in homely cell,
He'll teach his swains this carol for a song,
Blest be the hearts that wish my Sovereign well,
Curst be the soul that thinks her any wrong.

Goddess, allow this aged man his right,
To be your beadsman now that was your knight.
  -George Peele (1558? - 1597?)

It Was a Lover and His Lass
John Rutter (1995)

It was a lover and his lass,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonny no,
That o'er the green cornfields did pass,
In Spring time, in Spring time,
The only pretty ring time:
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.

Between the acres of the rye,
With a hey and a ho and a hey nonny no
These pretty country folks would lie,
In Spring time, etc.

And therefore take the present time,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonny no,
For love is crownèd with the prime,
In Spring time, etc.
  -William Shakespeare (1564-1616)

Mykola Leontovich (c. 1913)

Song of good cheer, what do I hear, sounding so near, a swallow is here.
I hear the call, swallow so small, notes seem to fall filling the hall:
Open the door, hear what I bring, please open wide, now let me sing,
Out in the hay two little lambs born on this day, come clap your hands.
Keep them from harm, keep them in health and you will have marvelous wealth.
And should your cash turn into ash, you'll still possess one to caress.

Gala del dià (Day's Finery)
Carlos Guastavino (1968)
From Indianas #1

I love the light of dawn because it kisses you
and returns you alive, alive and fanciful.

Straight ear of grain in the wind of midday,
I love the sun that gilds it, ripe and mine.

When the afternoon cries for its lost light,
I love the trill you pin over my life.

I love so much the night which is infinite
like your sweet, dark, tepid hour.

O, heart of night, day's gala!
My life burns for your happiness.
  -Arturo Vázquez


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