What Sweeter Music

by Robert Harrick

What sweeter music can we bring
Than a carol for to sing
The birth of this our heavenly King?
Awake the voice! Awake the string!

Dark and dull night, fly hence away
And give the honor to this day
That sees December turned to May
That sees December turned to May

Why does the chilling winter's morn
Smile like a field beset with corn?
Or smell like a meadow newly-shorn
Thus, on the sudden? Come and see

The cause, why things thus fragrant be:
'Tis He is born, whose quickening birth
Gives life and luster, public mirth
To heaven and the under-earth

We see him come, and know him ours
Who with his sunshine and his showers
Turns all the patient ground to flowers
Turns all the patient ground to flowers

The darling of the world is come
And fit it is we find a room
To welcome him: the nobler part
Of all the house here is the heart

Which we will give him and bequeath
This holly and this ivy wreath
To do him honour, who's our King
And Lord of all this revelling

What sweeter music can we bring
Than a carol for to sing
The birth of this our heavenly King?

Ma greun war an kellyn

Traditional

'Ma greun war an kelynn
Mar wynn 'vel an leth,
Ha Maria 'dhineythis Jesu
Ha'n maylyas yn kweth.

Ha Maria 'dhineythis Jesu
Agan Selwyas dhe vos,
Ha'n kelynn yw an kynsa
A'n gwydh oll y'n koes,
Kelynn, kelynn!
Ha'n kelynn yw an kynsa
A'n gwydh oll y'n koes,

'Ma greun war an kelynn
Mar wyrdh 'vel an pras,
Ha Maria 'dhineythis Jesu
Rag ri dhynn Y ras.

'Ma greun war an kelynn
Mar dhu 'vel an pyg,
Ha Jesu a veu krowsys,
Agan Selwyas mar hweg.

'Ma greun war an kelynn
Mar rudh 'vel an goes,
Ha Jesu a dhasserghis
Hag a reyn yn pub oes.

Christmas Trees

by Robert Frost

The city had withdrawn into itself
And left at last the country to the country;
When between whirls of snow not come to lie
And whirls of foliage not yet laid, there drove
A stranger to our yard, who looked the city,
Yet did in country fashion in that there
He sat and waited till he drew us out
A-buttoning coats to ask him who he was.
He proved to be the city come again
To look for something it had left behind
And could not do without and keep its Christmas.
He asked if I would sell my Christmas trees;
My woods—the young fir balsams like a place
Where houses all are churches and have spires.
I hadn't thought of them as Christmas Trees.
I doubt if I was tempted for a moment
To sell them off their feet to go in cars
And leave the slope behind the house all bare,
Where the sun shines now no warmer than the moon.
I'd hate to have them know it if I was.
Yet more I'd hate to hold my trees except
As others hold theirs or refuse for them,
Beyond the time of profitable growth,
The trial by market everything must come to.
I dallied so much with the thought of selling.
Then whether from mistaken courtesy
And fear of seeming short of speech, or whether
From hope of hearing good of what was mine,
I said, 'There aren't enough to be worth while.'
'I could soon tell how many they would cut,
You let me look them over.'

'You could look.
But don't expect I'm going to let you have them.'
Pasture they spring in, some in clumps too close
That lop each other of boughs, but not a few
Quite solitary and having equal boughs
All round and round. The latter he nodded 'Yes' to,
Or paused to say beneath some lovelier one,
With a buyer's moderation, 'That would do.'
I thought so too, but wasn't there to say so.
We climbed the pasture on the south, crossed over,
And came down on the north.
He said, 'A thousand.'

'A thousand Christmas trees!—at what apiece?'

He felt some need of softening that to me:
'A thousand trees would come to thirty dollars.'

Then I was certain I had never meant
To let him have them. Never show surprise!
But thirty dollars seemed so small beside
The extent of pasture I should strip, three cents
(For that was all they figured out apiece),
Three cents so small beside the dollar friends
I should be writing to within the hour
Would pay in cities for good trees like those,
Regular vestry-trees whole Sunday Schools
Could hang enough on to pick off enough.
A thousand Christmas trees I didn't know I had!
Worth three cents more to give away than sell,
As may be shown by a simple calculation.
Too bad I couldn't lay one in a letter.
I can't help wishing I could send you one,
In wishing you herewith a Merry Christmas.

Corde Natus

by Aurelius Prudentius

Corde natus ex parentis
Ante mundi exordium
A et O cognominatus,
ipse fons et clausula
Omnium quae sunt, fuerunt,
quaeque post futura sunt.
Saeculorum saeculis.

Ipse iussit et creata,
dixit ipse et facta sunt,
Terra, caelum, fossa ponti,
trina rerum machina,
Quaeque in his vigent sub alto
solis et lunae globo.
Saeculorum saeculis.

Corporis formam caduci,
membra morti obnoxia
Induit, ne gens periret
primoplasti ex germine,
Merserat quem lex profundo
noxialis tartaro.
Saeculorum saeculis.

O beatus ortus ille,
virgo cum puerpera
Edidit nostram salutem,
feta Sancto Spiritu,
Et puer redemptor orbis
os sacratum protulit.
Saeculorum saeculis.

Psallat altitudo caeli,
psallite omnes angeli,
Quidquid est virtutis usquam
psallat in laudem Dei,
Nulla linguarum silescat,
vox et omnis consonet.
Saeculorum saeculis.

Ecce, quem vates vetustis
concinebant saeculis,
Quem prophetarum fideles
paginae spoponderant,
Emicat promissus olim;
cuncta conlaudent eum.
Saeculorum saeculis.

Macte iudex mortuorum,
macte rex viventium,
Dexter in Parentis arce
qui cluis virtutibus,
Omnium venturus inde
iustus ultor criminum.
Saeculorum saeculis.

Te senes et te iuventus,
parvulorum te chorus,
Turba matrum, virginumque,
simplices puellulae,
Voce concordes pudicis
perstrepant concentibus.
Saeculorum saeculis.

Tibi, Christe, sit cum Patre
hagioque Pneumate
Hymnus, decus, laus perennis,
gratiarum actio,
Honor, virtus, victoria,
regnum aeternaliter.
Saeculorum saeculis.

Teen Age Riot

by Thurston Moore

Everybody's talking about the stormy weather
What's a man to do but work out whether it's true?
Looking for a man with a focus and a temper
Who can open up a map and see between one and two

Time to get it
Before you let it get to you
Here he comes now
Stick to your guns and let him through

Everybody's coming from the winter vacation
Taking in the sun in a exaltation to you
You come running in on platform shoes
With Marshall stacks to at least just give us a clue

Ah, here it comes
I know it's someone I knew

Teen age riot in a public station
Going to fight and tear it up in a hypernation for you

Now I see it
I think I'll leave it out of the way
Now I come near you
And it's not clear why you fade away

Looking for a ride to your secret location
Where the kids are setting up a free-speed nation for you
Got a foghorn and a drum and a hammer that's rocking
And a cord and a pedal and a lock, that'll do me for now

It better work out
I hope it works out my way

'Cause it's getting kind of quiet in my city head
It takes a teen age riot to get me out of bed right now

You better look it
We're going to shake it up to him
He acts the hero
We paint a zero on his hand

We know it's down
We know it's bound too loose
Everybody's sound is around it
Everybody wants to be proud to choose

So who's to take the blame for the stormy weather?
You're never going to stop all the teen age leather and booze

It's time to go round
A one man showdown, teach us how to fail
We're off the streets now
And back on the road on the riot trail

Birjina gaztetto bat zegoen

Traditional

Birjina gaztetto bat zegoen
Kreazale Jaonaren othoitzen,
Nuiz et'aingürü bat lehiatü
Beitzen zelütik jaitxi
Mintzatzera haren.

Aingüria sartzen, diolarik:
«Agur, graziaz zira betherik,
Jaona da zurekin, benedikatü
Zira eta haitatü
Emazten gañetik».

Maria ordian dülüratü,
Eta bere beithan gogaratü
Zeren zian uste gabe ebtzüten
Hura agur erraiten.
Hanbat zen lotsatü.

«Etzitela, ez, lotsa, Maria;
Jinkoatan bathü'zü grazia:
Zük düzü sabelian ernatüren,
Eta haor bat sorthüren
Jesüs datiana».

Harek, dülüratürik, harzara:
«Bena nula izan daite hola,
Eztüdanaz gizunik ezagützen,
Ez eta ezagütüren
Batere seküla?».

«Ezpiritü saintiak huntia
Izanen düzü hori, Maria».
Zü zirateke, ber ordian, ama
Bai et'ere birjina,
Mündian bakhoitza.

Mariak arrapostü ordian:
«Hao naizü Jinkoren zerbütxian,
Zük errana nitan biz konplitü».
Jaona aragitü
Haren sabelian.

O Jinkoaren ama saintia,
Bekhatügilen ürgaitzarria,
Zük gitzatzü lagünt, bai Jinkoaren,
Baita berthütiaren
Bihotzez maithatzen.

Hope of a Lifetime

by Kenneth Pattengale

There's a light that's shining down
And a calm wind in the pine
For the fate of a fearsome travesty
Seems to have forgotten me

If it hasn't learned by now
Where I've hid so very long
I'll come safely out into the silence fell
In the wake of its passing on

A Spartan smile and westward stare
Hold a promise in the air
That's the way they used to find their own way home
By the stars, on their own

While I pray for promised land
To replace all I have made
Darkness steals the light I bear
In the hope of a lifetime phase

In the new-found reverie
Of quiet peace I've found
Freedom comes from being unafraid
Of the heartache that can plague a man

Ere zij God

Traditional

Ere zij God, ere zij God
In de hoge, in de hoge
Vrede op aarde, vrede op aarde
In de mensen een welbehagen
Amen, amen