Come Home, Little Sister

Music by Cecilia McDowall (b. 1951)
Text by Kevin Crossley-Holland (b. 1941)

We have not snared you
With the net of a name
We have not tamed you

Come into the garden little sister
And we will sing you white stars, green leaves

Come little sister, come home
Such spring fever the birds hop and cheep
Around your sleepy head

The surge and shining
The rocking of tall trees
In the eager wind

Who are you?
What are you?
But the little sister you, of this world?

Morning star and sparrow
Bluebell smould’ring
The attentive yew

The dance of time,
The argument of choice
Fingers reach out

Come little sister, come home
But you are your own word
And cannot grow
Out of a careless visitation

You declare yourself
Smiling bubble blower
Your eyes a gentian blue
Lolling by the willow
Your bald head askew
Like a medieval saint

Come home, little sister
Take your proper place
Come home, little sister
In this shining garden

Dear daughter, come home
Come home, we are here
And list’ning for your name
Come home, come home.

Hotaru Koi

Japanese Children’s Song
Arranged by Rō Ogura (1916–1990)

ほ ほ ほたる こい
あっちの みずは にがいぞ
こっちの みずは あまいぞ
ほ ほ ほたる こい
ほ ほ やまみち こい

ほたるの おとさん かねもちだ
どうりで おしりが ぴかぴかだ
ほ ほ ほたる こい
やまみち  こい

ひるまは くさばの つゆの かげ
よるは ぽんぽん たかじょうちん
天じく あがり したれば
つんばくろに さらわれべ

ほ( ほ ほたる こい
あっちの みずは にがいぞ
ほ ほ ほたる こい
こっちの みずは あまいぞ

ほ ほ ほたる こい
ほ ほ やまみち こい
あんどの ひかりを ちょとみて こい
ほ ほ ほたる こい
ほ ほ やまみち こい
ほ ほ ほ ほ ほ ほ ほ

Ho, ho, fireflies come!
Over there the water bitter
Over here the water is sweet
Ho, ho, fireflies come!
Ho, ho, come by the mountain road!

The fathers of the fireflies are rich
It's natural, their glittering backs,
Ho, ho, fireflies come!
Ho, ho, come by the mountain road.

At daytime, behind leaves with dew,
At night, high up like a lantern,
If it goes up to heaven
It will be kidnapped by swallows.

Ho, ho, fireflies come!
Over there the water is bitter,
Ho, ho, fireflies come!
Over here the water is sweet.

Ho, ho, fireflies come!
Ho, ho, come by the mountain road,
Take a glance at the light of the lantern,
Ho, ho, fireflies come!
Ho, ho, come by the mountain road,
Ho ho ho ho ho ho ho!

Anyone Can Sing

Music by Andrea Ramsey (b. 1977)
Text by William Ayot

Anyone can sing. You just open your mouth,
and give shape to a sound. Anyone can sing.
What is harder, is to proclaim the soul,
to initiate a wild and necessary deepening:
to give the voice broad, sonorous wings
of solitude, grief, and celebration,
to fill the body with the echoes of voices
lost long ago to bravery, and silence,
to prise the reluctant heart wide open,
to witness defeat, to suffer contempt,
to shrink, lose face, go down in ignominy,
to retreat to the last dark hiding-place
where the tattered remnants of your pride
still gather themselves around your nakedness,
to know these rags as your only protection
and yet still open – to face the possibility
that your innermost core may hold nothing at all,
and to sing from that – to fill the void
with every hurt, every harm, every hard-won joy
that staves off death yet honours its coming,
to sing both full and utterly empty,
alone and conjoined, exiled and at home,
to sing what people feel most keenly
yet never acknowledge until you sing it.
Anyone can sing. Yes. Anyone can sing.

Psalm 23

Music by Franz Schubert (1797–1828)

Gott ist mein Hirt, mir wird nichts mangeln,
er lagert mich auf grüne Weide,
er leitet mich an stillen Bächen,
er labt mein schmachtendes Gemüth,
er führt mich auf gerechtem Steige
zu seines Namens Ruhm.
Und wall’ ich auch im Todesschatten-Tale,
so wall’ ich ohne Furcht,
denn du beschützest mich;
dein Stab und deine Stütze
sind mir immerdar mein Trost.
Du richtest mir ein Freudenmahl
im Angesicht der Feinde zu,
du salbst mein Haupt mit Öle
und schenkst mir volle, volle Becher ein,
mir folget Heil und Seligkeit in diesem Leben
nach, einst ruh’ ich ew’ge Zeit
dort in des Ew’gen Haus.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
He maketh me to rest in green pastures;
he leadeth me beside still waters;
he giveth peace unto my soul.
He leadeth me in paths of goodness
for his name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through valley of the shadow
of death I will fear no evil,
for thou art with me.
Thy rod and staff,
they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table for me
in the presence of mine enemies;
my head with oil thou anointest;
my cup runneth over.
Yea, surely peace and mercy all my life
shall follow me, and I will dwell
in the house of the Lord for evermore.

Non Nobis, Domine

Music by William Byrd (1543–1623)

Non nobis domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam

Not to us, Lord, not to us, but to your name give glory

Seikilos

Music by Joanne Metcalf (b. 1958)
Greek text from the Epitaph of Seikilos, ca. 1st cent C.E.

Discovered in modern-day Turkey the late 19th century, the Seikilos epitaph is the world’s oldest surviving complete musical composition via a notation system.

Hoson zês, phainou,
mêden holôs su lupou;
pros oligon esti to zên,
to telos ho chronos apaitei.

For as long as you live, shine,
do not be distressed in any way;
life exists for a short while,
and Time demands its due.

Flight

Music and text by Craig Carnella (b. 1949)
Arranged by Ryan Murphy (b. 1971)

Let me run through a field in the night,
let me lift from the ground ‘til my soul is in flight.
Let me sway like the shade of a tree,
let me swirl like a cloud in a storm on the sea.

Wish me on my way thru the dawning day.
I wanna flow, wanna rise, wanna spill,
wanna grow in a grove on the side of a hill.

I don't care if the train runs late,
if the checks don't clear, If the house blows down.
I'll be off where the weeds run wild,
where the seeds fall far from this earthbound town.

And I'll start to soar.
Watch me rain ‘til I pour.
I'll catch a ship that'll sail me astray,
get caught in a wind, I'll just have to obey
’til I’m flyin’ away…

Let me leave behind all the clouds in my mind.
I wanna wake without wondering why,
finding myself in a burst for the sky.
High!

I'll just roll.
Let me lose all control.
I wanna float like a wish in a well,
free as the sound of the sea in a shell.

I don't know, but maybe I'm just a fool.
I should keep to the ground.
I should stay where I'm at.
Maybe everyone has hunger like this,
and the hunger will pass.
But I can't think like that.

All I know is somewhere, thru a clearing,
there's a flickering of sunlight on a river long and wide,
and I have such a river inside.

Let me run through a field in the night,
let me lift from the ground ‘til my soul is in flight.
Let me sway like the shade of a tree,
let me swirl like a cloud in a storm on the sea.

Wish me on my way thru the dawning day.
I wanna flow, wanna rise, wanna spill,
wanna grow on the side of a hill,
wanna shift like a wave rollin’ on,
wanna drift from the path I've been traveling upon,
before I am gone.

nagasaki

Music by Eric Tuan (b. 1990), with sections by Rentaro Taki and Bansui Doi
Text used by permission of the composer’s grandmother

From Eric:

nagasaki honors the victims of the atomic bombing of the Japanese city of Nagasaki on August 9, 1945. Among the survivors, or hibakusha (literally "bomb-affected people"), is my grandmother, who has asked not be named. I am incredibly grateful to her for sharing her experiences with me and with other members of our family, and allowing them to be made the basis of this piece.

The first part of nagasaki depicts the extraordinary destructive power of the bomb, nicknamed "Fat Man" by its American creators. The second portrays its devastating human effects by melding together the spoken words of my grandmother's testimony and the composer Rentaro Taki's haunting song Kōjō no tsuki ("Moon over the ruined castle"), which has achieved folksong status in Japan. The third offers a memorial to the victims, juxtaposing Taki's melody with two disparate elements. The first is the Introit from the Roman Catholic Mass for the Dead, which honors Nagasaki's historic significance as the center of Japanese Christianity. The Goto Islands, where my grandmother's family originated, were home to underground Christians for cenh1ries, and the ruins of Urakarni Cathedral in Nagasaki became an iconic representation of the destruction caused by the atomic bomb. The second is the practice of nembutsu chanting, a devotional practice in the Pure Land sect of Buddhism popular in Japan. By calling upon the name of Amitabha Buddha, practitioners will be reborn into the enlightened paradise of the Pure Land.

—

We were all at the table sitting on the straw mat, about to finish our late breakfast.
Suddenly I heard the huge sound.

I looked through the window.
The sky was covered by bright red color.
I found myself covered with broken pieces of wood, roof’s ceramic tiles and rubbish earth smelling clay.
I managed to get out.

One of my sisters, Yoko, who was five years old was badly wounded.
Another brother Kameo was still under the biggest beams.

My little sister was gone.
No one could save her life because of a head injury.

Haru kōrō no hana no en
Meguru sakazuki kagesashite
Chiyo no matsu ga e wakeideshi
Mukashi no hikari ima izuko.

At a banquet in spring when cherry blossoms were in full bloom,
the moonlight shone on the common cup of wine.
It shone through the branches of ancient pine trees.
Where is that ancient light now?

Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,
et lux perpetua luceat eis.

Give them eternal rest, O Lord,
and let perpetual light shine on them.

Namu Amida Bu(tsu).

I take refuge in Amida Buddha.

Be Like the Bird

Music by Abbie Betinis (b. 1980)
Text by Victor Hugo (1802–1885)

Be like the bird that,
pausing in her flight awhile
on boughs too slight,
feels them give way beneath her,
and sings, and sings, and sings
knowing she hath wings.

Sunlight

Music by JW Keckley (b. 1994)
Text by Lily Bane

Each day yawns like a genesis, ribs ripped
from heaving chests with bloody tenderness.
Trees laden with ripe bodies, the fruit drips
its juices in crystalline drops of honey.

The nectar and blood mingles, creating pools
of sunrise paint palettes meant to color the sky.
I stand as lone witness of the carnage
and growth, of savage beauty.

Stars sacrifice their bodies for new worlds;
golden flecks move with explosive dancing
into the core of a blue planet—
where one morning, a girl will write a poem
and the sunlight will be true.

I Sang for Joy

Music by Rachel DeVore Fogarty
Text by Louisa May Alcott (1832–1888)

I had an early run in the woods before the dew was off the grass.
The moss was like velvet, and as I ran under the arches of yellow and red leaves
I sang for joy, my heart was so bright and the world so beautiful.

I stopped at the end of the walk and saw the sunshine out over the wide Virginia meadows.
It seemed like going through a dark life or grave into heaven beyond.

A very strange and solemn feeling came over me as I stood there, with no sound
but the rustle of the pines, no one near me, and the sun so glorious, as for me alone.

It seemed as if I felt God as I never did before, and I prayed in my heart
that I might keep that happy sense of nearness all my life.