Candlelight Carol

by John Rutter

How do you capture the wind on the water?
How do you count all the stars in the sky?
How can you measure the love of a mother?
Or how can you write down a baby's first cry?

Candlelight, angel light
Firelight, and starglow
Shine on his cradle till breaking of dawn
Gloria, Gloria in excelsis deo!
Angels are singing
The Christ child is born

Shepherds and wisemen will kneel and adore him
Seraphim 'round him their vigil will keep
Nations proclaim him their Lord and their Savior
But Mary will hold him and sing him to sleep

Find him at Bethlehem laid in a manger
Christ our Redeemer asleep in the hay
Godhead incarnate and hope of salvation
A child with his mother that first Christmas Day

Don oíche úd i mBeithil

Traditional

Don oíche úd i mBeithil
beidh tagairt ar ghréin go brách,
Don oíche úd i mBeithil
go dtáinig an Bhréithir slán;
Tá gríosghrua ar spéarthaibh
's an talamh 'na chlúdach bán;
Féach Íosagán sa chléibhín,
's an Mhaighdean 'Á dhiúl le grá

Ar leacain lom an tsléibhe
go nglacann na haoirí scóth
Nuair in oscailt ghil na spéire
tá teachtaire Dé ar fáil;
Céad glóire anois don Athair
i bhFlaitheasaibh thuas go hard!
Is feasta fós ar talamh
d'fhearaibh dea-mhéin' siocháin!

For You

by Jody Stephens

Sometimes I can't help but worship you
I love you and all the things that you do
I thought I'd sit and write this song just for you
To let you know that I am thinking of you

When I come home so cold at night
You'll have the fireplace burning bright
Thoughts of how it's going to be
And how I'll spend those cold, cold nights warm by you

And in these autumn days I wander through the leaves
Thinking of those winter nights I'll spend with you

Fum, Fum, Fum

Traditional

A vint-i-cinc de desembre
fum, fum, fum
Ha nascut un minyonet
ros i blanquet, ros i blanquet;
Fill de la Verge Maria,
n'és nat en una establia.
Fum, fum, fum.

Allí dalt de la muntanya
fum, fum, fum
Si n'hi ha dos pastorets
abrigadets, abrigadets;
amb la pell i la samarra,
menjant ous i botifarra.
Fum, fum, fum.

Qui dirà més gran mentida?
Fum, fum, fum
Ja en respon el majoral
el gran tabal, el gran tabal;
jo en faré deu mil camades
amb un salt totes plegades.
Fum, fum, fum.

A vint-i-cinc de desembre
fum, fum, fum
n'és el dia de Nadal,
molt principal, molt principal,
quan n'eixirem de matines,
farem bones escudines.
Fum, fum, fum.

Déu vos do unes santes festes
fum, fum, fum
amb temps de fred i calor,
i molt millor, i molt millor
fent-ne de Jesús memòria
perquè ens vulgui dalt la glòria.
Fum, fum, fum.

December

by Gerard Love

I'll take this chance to tell my friends
What I'm thinking of
On second thought, I'll think some more
And tell you later on

She don't even care
But I would die for her love

My mind is full of several things
Resembling a thought
I'll take this chance to tell my friends
What I'm thinking of

She don't even care
But I would die for her love

I've had this plan for many years
But now I can't remember
I wanted to assassinate December

In dulci jubilo

by Heinrich Suso

In dulci jubilo,
Nun singet und seid froh!
Unsers Herzens Wonne
Leit in praesepio,
Und leuchtet als die Sonne
Matris in gremio,
Alpha es et O, Alpha es et O!

O Jesu parvule
Nach dir ist mir so weh!
Tröst mir mein Gemüte
O puer optime
Durch alle deine Güte
O princeps gloriae.
Trahe me post te, Trahe me post te!

O Patris caritas!
O Nati lenitas!
Wir wären all verloren
Per nostra crimina
So hat er uns erworben
Coelorum gaudia
Eia, wären wir da, Eia, wären wir da!

Ubi sunt gaudia
Nirgend mehr denn da!
Da die Engel singen
Nova cantica,
Und die Schellen klingen
In regis curia.
Eia, wären wir da, Eia, wären wir da!

from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas

by Hunter S. Thompson

San Francisco in the middle sixties was a very special time and place to be a part of. Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run ...but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant ...

History is hard to know, because of all the hired bullshit, but even without being sure of 'history' it seems entirely reasonable to think that every now and then the energy of a whole generation comes to a head in a long fine flash, for reasons that nobody really understands at the time—and which never explain, in retrospect, what actually happened.

My central memory of that time seems to hang on one or five or maybe forty nights—or very early mornings—when I left the Fillmore half-crazy and, instead of going home, aimed the big 650 Lightning across the Bay Bridge at a hundred miles an hour wearing L. L. Bean shorts and a Butte sheepherder's jacket ...booming through the Treasure Island tunnel at the lights of Oakland and Berkeley and Richmond, not quite sure which turn-off to take when I got to the other end (always stalling at the toll-gate, too twisted to find neutral while I fumbled for change) ... but being absolutely certain that no matter which way I went I would come to a place where people were just as high and wild as I was: No doubt at all about that ...

There was madness in any direction, at any hour. If not across the Bay, then up the Golden Gate or down 101 to Los Altos or La Honda .... You could strike sparks anywhere. There was a fantastic universal sense that whatever we were doing was right, that we were winning ....

And that, I think, was the handle—that sense of inevitable victory over the forces of Old and Evil. Not in any mean or military sense; we didn’t need that. Our energy would simply prevail. There was no point in fighting—on our side or theirs. We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave ....

So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark —that place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.

Minuit, chrétiens

by Placide Cappeau

Minuit, chrétiens, c'est l'heure solennelle
Où l'Homme-Dieu descendit jusqu'à nous,
Pour effacer la tache originelle,
Et de son Père arrêter le courroux.
Le monde entier tressaille d'espérance,
À cette nuit qui lui donne un Sauveur.

Peuple, à genoux, attends ta délivrance
Noël! Noël! Voici le Rédempteur!

De notre foi que la lumière ardente
Nous guide tous au berceau de l'Enfant,
Comme autrefois une étoile brillante
Y conduisit les chefs de l'Orient.
Le Roi des rois naît dans une humble crèche;
Puissants du jour, fiers de votre grandeur,

À votre orgueil, c'est de là que Dieu prêche.
Courbez vos fronts devant le Rédempteur!

Le Rédempteur a brisé toute entrave,
La Terre est libre et le Ciel est ouvert.
Il voit un frère où n'était qu'un esclave,
L'amour unit ceux qu'enchaînait le fer.
Qui lui dira notre reconnaissance?
C'est pour nous tous qu'il naît, qu'il souffre et meurt.

Peuple, debout! Chante ta délivrance.
Noël! Noël! Chantons le Rédempteur!