Saturday, April 23, 2016

from Hamlet, Act III

by William Shakespeare

To be, or not to be: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life;
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? who would these fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pitch and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action

Tuesday, April 19, 2016

I Want You

by Bob Dylan

The guilty undertaker sighs
The lonesome organ grinder cries
The silver saxophones say I should refuse you
The cracked bells and washed-out horns
Blow into my face with scorn
But it's not that way, I wasn't born to lose you

I want you
I want you so bad
Honey, I want you

The drunken politician leaps
Upon the street where mothers weep
And the saviors who are fast asleep, they wait for you
And I wait for them to interrupt
Me drinking from my broken cup
And ask me to open up the gate for you

I want you
I want you so bad
Honey, I want you

Now all my fathers, they've gone down
True love, they've been without it
And all their daughters put me down
'Cause I don't think about it

Well, I return to the Queen of Spades
And talk with my chambermaid
She knows that I'm not afraid to look at her
She is good to me
And there's nothing she doesn't see
She knows where I'd like to be, but it doesn't matter

I want you
I want you so bad
Honey, I want you

Now your dancing child with his Chinese suit
He spoke to me, I took his flute
No, I wasn't that cute to him, was I?
But I did it because he lied
And because he took you for a ride
And because time was on his side

And because I want you
I want you so bad
Honey, I want you

Saturday, April 9, 2016

The Nearness of You

by Ned Washington

It's not the pale moon that excites me
That thrills and delights me
Oh no, it's just the nearness of you

It isn't your sweet conversation
That brings this sensation
Oh no, it's just the nearness of you

When I'm in your arms
And I feel you so close to me
All my wildest dreams come true

I need no soft lights to enchant me
If you'll only grant me
The right to hold you ever so tight
And to feel in the night the nearness of you

Tuesday, April 5, 2016

Centerfield

by John Fogerty

Beat the drum and hold the phone
The sun came out today
We're born again, there's new grass on the field
Roundin' third and headed for home
It's a brown-eyed handsome man
Anyone can understand the way I feel

Put me in coach
I'm ready to play today
Look at me, I can be centerfield

I spent some time in the Mudville Nine
Watching it from the bench
I took some lumps when the Mighty Case struck out
So say hey, Willie, tell the Cobb
And Joe DiMaggio
Don't say it ain't so: you know the time is now

Put me in coach
I'm ready to play today
Look at me, I can be centerfield

Got a beat-up glove, a home-made bat
And a brand new pair of shoes
I think it's time to give this game a ride
Just to hit the ball and touch 'em all
A moment in the sun
It's gone and you can tell that one good-bye

Sunday, March 27, 2016

Chorus novae Jerusalem

by Fulbert of Chartres

Chorus novae Jerusalem
Novam meli dulcedinem
Promat colens cum sobriis
Paschale festum gaudiis.

Quo Christus invictus leo,
Dracone surgens obruto,
Dum voce viva personat,
A morte functos excitat.

Quam devorarat, improbus,
Praedam refundit tartarus,
Captivitate libera
Iesum sequntur agmina.

Triumphat ille splendide
Et dignus amplitudine,
Soli polique patriam
Unam facit rempublicam.

Ipsum canendo supplices
Regem precemur milites,
Ut in suo clarissimo
Nos ordindet palatio.

Per saecla metae nescia
Patri supremo gloria
Honorque sit cum filio
Et spiritu paraclito.

Friday, March 25, 2016

There Is a Fountain Filled with Blood

by William Cowper

There is a fountain filled with blood
Drawn from Immanuel's veins;
And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains

The dying thief rejoiced to see
That fountain in his day;
And there may I, though vile as he,
Wash all my sins away.

E'er since by faith I saw the stream
Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die.

Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood
Shall never lose its pow'r,
Till all the ransomed Church of God
Be saved, to sin no more.

Then in a nobler, sweeter song
I'll sing your pow'r to save
When this poor lisping, stamm'ring tongue
Lies silent in the grave.

Sunday, March 20, 2016

To Spring

by William Blake

O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down
Thro' the clear windows of the morning, turn
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!

The hills tell each other, and the listening
Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turned
Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth,
And let thy holy feet visit our clime.

Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.

O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put
Thy golden crown upon her languished head,
Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee.