Peter, Paul & Mary - "Wedding Song (There Is Love) Lyrics
He is now to be among you at the calling of your hearts
Rest assured this troubador is acting on His part.
The union of your spirits, here, has caused Him to remain
For whenever two or more of you are gathered in His name
There is Love. There is Love.
Well a man shall leave his mother and a woman leave her home
And they shall travel on to where the two shall be as one.
As it was in the beginning is now and until the end
Woman draws her life from man and gives it back again.
And there is Love. There is Love.
Well then what's to be the reason for becoming man and wife?
Is it Love that brings you here or Love that brings you life?
Or if loving is the answer, then who's the giving for?
Do you believe in something that you've never seen before?
Oh there's Love, there is Love.
Oh the marriage of your spirits here has caused Him to remain
For whenever two or more of you are gathered in His name
There is Love. Oh there's Love."
LIGHT ONE CANDLE Lyrics
Very uplifting, almost rowdy, for a religious holiday song.
Light one candle for the Maccabee children
Give thanks that their light didn't die!
Light one candle for the pain they endured
When their right to exist was denied!
Light one candle for the terrible sacrifice
Justice and freedom demand!
And light one candle for the wisdom to know
When the peacemaker's time is at hand!
chorus:
Don't let the light go out!
It's lasted for so many years!
Don't let the light go out!
Let it shine through our love and our tears. (2)
Light one candle for the strength we all need
To never become our own foe!
And light one candle for those who are suff'ring
Pain we learned so long ago!
Light one candle for all we believe in,
Let anger not tear us apart!
And light one candle to bind us together
With peace as the song in our heart!
(chorus)
What is the memory that's valued so highly
That we keep it alive in that flame?
What's the commitment to those who have died
When we cry out they've not died in vain,
We have come this far, always believing
That justice will somehow prevail!
This is the burning. This is the promise,
This why we will not fail!
(chorus)
Don't let the light go out!
Don't let the light go out!
Don't let the light go out!
This should be used in more Unitarian Universalist services, but I am in favor of folk or popular songs over nearly all hymns.
Friday, March 12, 2004
THE HIGHWAYMAN
I.
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding –
Riding – riding –
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say –
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
II.
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching –
Marching – marching –
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say –
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain.
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still!
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him – with her death.
He turned; he spurred to the west; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
* * * * * * *
And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding –
Riding – riding –
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
ALFRED NOYES
(1880-1959)
Note the same theme in Marty Robbin's El Paso.
I fell in love with a Mexican girl
Nighttime would find me in Rosa's cantina
Music would play and Feleena would whirl
Blacker than night where the eyes of Feleena
Wicked and evil while casting her spell
My love was deep for this Mexican maiden
I was in love, but in vain I could tell
One night a wild young cowboy came in
Wild as the West Texas wind
Dashing and daring, a drink he was sharing
With wicked Feleena, the girl that I loved
So in anger
I challenged his right for the love of this maiden
Down went his hand for the gun that he wore
My challenge was answered in less than a heartbeat
The handsome young stranger lay dead on the floor
Just for a moment I stood there in silence
Shocked by the foul, evil deed I had done
Many thoughts raced through my mind as I stood there
I had but one chance and that was to run
Out through the back door of Rosa's I ran
Out where the horses were tied
I caught a good one, it looked like it could run
Up on its back and away I did ride
Just as fast as
I could from the West Texas town of El Paso
Out to the badlands of New Mexico
Back in El Paso my life would be worthless
Everything's gone in life, nothing is left
It's been so long since I've seen the young maiden
My love is stronger than my fear of death
I saddle up and away I did go
Riding alone in the dark
Maybe tomorrow a bullet will find me
Tonight nothing's worse than this pain in my heart
And at last here
I am on the hill overlooking El Paso
I can see Rosa's cantina below
My love is strong and it pushes me onward
Down off the hill to Feleena I go
Off to my right I see five mounted cowboys
Off to my left are a dozen and more
Shouting and shooting I can't let them catch me
I have to make it to Rosa's back door
Something is dreadfully wrong for I feel
A deep burning pain in my side
Though I am trying to stay in the saddle
I'm getting weary, unable to ride
But my love for
Feleena is strong, and I rise where I've fallen
Though I am weary I can't stop to rest
I see the white puff of smoke from the rifle
I feel the bullet go deep in my chest
From out of nowhere Feleena has found me
Kissing my cheek as she kneels by my side
Cradled by two loving arms that I'll die for
One little kiss and Feleena, goodbye
I.
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding –
Riding – riding –
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.
He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's red-lipped daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say –
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."
He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
II.
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching –
Marching – marching –
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.
They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say –
Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest!
Up, she stood to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast,
She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again;
For the road lay bare in the moonlight;
Blank and bare in the moonlight;
And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain.
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding,
Riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still!
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him – with her death.
He turned; he spurred to the west; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat;
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
* * * * * * *
And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
A highwayman comes riding –
Riding – riding –
A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.
Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
ALFRED NOYES
(1880-1959)
Note the same theme in Marty Robbin's El Paso.
I fell in love with a Mexican girl
Nighttime would find me in Rosa's cantina
Music would play and Feleena would whirl
Blacker than night where the eyes of Feleena
Wicked and evil while casting her spell
My love was deep for this Mexican maiden
I was in love, but in vain I could tell
One night a wild young cowboy came in
Wild as the West Texas wind
Dashing and daring, a drink he was sharing
With wicked Feleena, the girl that I loved
So in anger
I challenged his right for the love of this maiden
Down went his hand for the gun that he wore
My challenge was answered in less than a heartbeat
The handsome young stranger lay dead on the floor
Just for a moment I stood there in silence
Shocked by the foul, evil deed I had done
Many thoughts raced through my mind as I stood there
I had but one chance and that was to run
Out through the back door of Rosa's I ran
Out where the horses were tied
I caught a good one, it looked like it could run
Up on its back and away I did ride
Just as fast as
I could from the West Texas town of El Paso
Out to the badlands of New Mexico
Back in El Paso my life would be worthless
Everything's gone in life, nothing is left
It's been so long since I've seen the young maiden
My love is stronger than my fear of death
I saddle up and away I did go
Riding alone in the dark
Maybe tomorrow a bullet will find me
Tonight nothing's worse than this pain in my heart
And at last here
I am on the hill overlooking El Paso
I can see Rosa's cantina below
My love is strong and it pushes me onward
Down off the hill to Feleena I go
Off to my right I see five mounted cowboys
Off to my left are a dozen and more
Shouting and shooting I can't let them catch me
I have to make it to Rosa's back door
Something is dreadfully wrong for I feel
A deep burning pain in my side
Though I am trying to stay in the saddle
I'm getting weary, unable to ride
But my love for
Feleena is strong, and I rise where I've fallen
Though I am weary I can't stop to rest
I see the white puff of smoke from the rifle
I feel the bullet go deep in my chest
From out of nowhere Feleena has found me
Kissing my cheek as she kneels by my side
Cradled by two loving arms that I'll die for
One little kiss and Feleena, goodbye
From The Poet's Kit
I decree that
Every poet of worth
Be armed with sledgehammer
And scalpel,
Small tweezers
Blowtorch
First aid kit
And plenty of all-purpose
Glue--
- hans beihl at xenowave, who also writes:
Omnivore Politics
I
Eating
is a reprehensible
habit
she righteously uttered.
With great effort
I have given up lobster
and beef,
and aspire to
absolute abstinence
from all things that twitch
fly
crawl
swim
and squeak.
II
Unfairness, I replied,
is a universal law,
a fact not altered by
repulsing
hooves and fins
and wonderful things
with beaks
and claws.
Being chicken
or duck
in the service of pate
and tasty homemade soup,
just plain bad luck,
I blithely chortled,
while severing the head
of my buttered snapper.
III
This much I see is true:
the morbid pleasure
you so effortlessly find
in pain and suffering
and scorning my views,
she blurted out--
IV
With a fatherly voice,
I calmly retorted:
Only humans have honed
the skill
to elevate themselves
above
the natural impulses
of protoplasmic stuff,
but under our clothes,
rest assured,
is revealed the naked
truth.
Pig or steer
herded into the biped's
belly,
except in quantity,
is no different--
I'm sure you know--
than the beetle
digesting its last
supper
in the gut of the crow.
V
We're savages--
nothing more--
if we take that route,
she marvelously fumed,
while busily slurping up
her fresh leek soup.
VI
Had it cried,
I innocently asked,
when some brute
had torn out
to satisfy your buds,
this onion's cousin
by its roots?
VII
You can laugh if you like,
she fiercely shot back,
but a leek has
no heart
no soul.
There's a principle here:
once the killing
starts,
where in the name of God,
does it finally stop?
VIII
Her sermon concluded
with a pregnant pause,
as she bent toward
her salad plate
and maliciously
poked
at a helpless bean.
Tell me please,
I gravely muttered
to myself,
what kind of
new evolving species
dining with me,
who
just an hour before
on the kitchen floor,
lay engorged and panting,
legs entwined,
now conceptualizes
mammalian biology
as a perversion
of the human mind?
IX
The principle you
so flatly dismiss,
I barked back at her,
made possible our
glorious birth.
Lest you forget,
it governs the perfect
balance
of the protein world--
life eating life,
life eating
itself,
and without
this gift,
you can damn well bet
and accept as true,
we would all discover
ourselves
permanently screwed.
X
Your philosophizing,
as usual,
justifies all,
she curtly spat out
with a snort,
vigorously
vibrating her fork.
XI
I was quite close
to jumping
up
and rushing forth,
my imagination vivid
with mature visions
of pointed tines
planted in her throat,
but
bit on my tongue
and meekly said,
not wanting to spoil
the strawberry torte:
Quite right, my dear.
XII
Have you ever,
by chance
happened to see,
she coyly smiled,
when a man has
no rebuttal,
he sanctimoniously
pretends
to agree?
XIII
A clever trap, I quickly
alerted myself.
You may have a point,
I pathetically bleated,
then obliquely appended,
with a burst of wit,
not a man so easily
defeated:
Truth is not always
quite what it seems--
XIV
But in that very instant,
I sharply winced
and knew I was done,
my stream of thought
abruptly diverted
to a more urgent affair:
a wicked bony needle
avenging itself
on my civilized gums.
Every poet of worth
Be armed with sledgehammer
And scalpel,
Small tweezers
Blowtorch
First aid kit
And plenty of all-purpose
Glue--
- hans beihl at xenowave, who also writes:
Omnivore Politics
I
Eating
is a reprehensible
habit
she righteously uttered.
With great effort
I have given up lobster
and beef,
and aspire to
absolute abstinence
from all things that twitch
fly
crawl
swim
and squeak.
II
Unfairness, I replied,
is a universal law,
a fact not altered by
repulsing
hooves and fins
and wonderful things
with beaks
and claws.
Being chicken
or duck
in the service of pate
and tasty homemade soup,
just plain bad luck,
I blithely chortled,
while severing the head
of my buttered snapper.
III
This much I see is true:
the morbid pleasure
you so effortlessly find
in pain and suffering
and scorning my views,
she blurted out--
IV
With a fatherly voice,
I calmly retorted:
Only humans have honed
the skill
to elevate themselves
above
the natural impulses
of protoplasmic stuff,
but under our clothes,
rest assured,
is revealed the naked
truth.
Pig or steer
herded into the biped's
belly,
except in quantity,
is no different--
I'm sure you know--
than the beetle
digesting its last
supper
in the gut of the crow.
V
We're savages--
nothing more--
if we take that route,
she marvelously fumed,
while busily slurping up
her fresh leek soup.
VI
Had it cried,
I innocently asked,
when some brute
had torn out
to satisfy your buds,
this onion's cousin
by its roots?
VII
You can laugh if you like,
she fiercely shot back,
but a leek has
no heart
no soul.
There's a principle here:
once the killing
starts,
where in the name of God,
does it finally stop?
VIII
Her sermon concluded
with a pregnant pause,
as she bent toward
her salad plate
and maliciously
poked
at a helpless bean.
Tell me please,
I gravely muttered
to myself,
what kind of
new evolving species
dining with me,
who
just an hour before
on the kitchen floor,
lay engorged and panting,
legs entwined,
now conceptualizes
mammalian biology
as a perversion
of the human mind?
IX
The principle you
so flatly dismiss,
I barked back at her,
made possible our
glorious birth.
Lest you forget,
it governs the perfect
balance
of the protein world--
life eating life,
life eating
itself,
and without
this gift,
you can damn well bet
and accept as true,
we would all discover
ourselves
permanently screwed.
X
Your philosophizing,
as usual,
justifies all,
she curtly spat out
with a snort,
vigorously
vibrating her fork.
XI
I was quite close
to jumping
up
and rushing forth,
my imagination vivid
with mature visions
of pointed tines
planted in her throat,
but
bit on my tongue
and meekly said,
not wanting to spoil
the strawberry torte:
Quite right, my dear.
XII
Have you ever,
by chance
happened to see,
she coyly smiled,
when a man has
no rebuttal,
he sanctimoniously
pretends
to agree?
XIII
A clever trap, I quickly
alerted myself.
You may have a point,
I pathetically bleated,
then obliquely appended,
with a burst of wit,
not a man so easily
defeated:
Truth is not always
quite what it seems--
XIV
But in that very instant,
I sharply winced
and knew I was done,
my stream of thought
abruptly diverted
to a more urgent affair:
a wicked bony needle
avenging itself
on my civilized gums.
Linda at C. Little, no less started that blog a year ago with this bit of poetry from Mary Oliver and a picture of her grandson.
Wage Peace
by Mary Oliver
Wage peace with your breath.
Breathe in firemen and rubble,
breathe out whole buildings and flocks of redwing blackbirds.
Breathe in terrorists and breathe out
sleeping children and freshly mown fields.
Breathe in confusion and breathe out maple trees.
Breathe in the fallen and breathe out lifelong
friendships intact.
Wage peace with your listening:
hearing sirens, pray loud.
Remember your tools: flower seeds, clothes pins, clean rivers.
Make soup.
Play music, learn the word for thank you in three languages.
Learn to knit, and make a hat.
Think of chaos as dancing raspberries,
imagine grief as the outbreath of beauty or the gesture of fish.
Swim for the other side.
Wage peace.
Never has the world seemed so fresh
and precious.
Have a cup of tea and rejoice.
Act as if armistice has already arrived.
Don't wait another minute.
Wage Peace
by Mary Oliver
Wage peace with your breath.
Breathe in firemen and rubble,
breathe out whole buildings and flocks of redwing blackbirds.
Breathe in terrorists and breathe out
sleeping children and freshly mown fields.
Breathe in confusion and breathe out maple trees.
Breathe in the fallen and breathe out lifelong
friendships intact.
Wage peace with your listening:
hearing sirens, pray loud.
Remember your tools: flower seeds, clothes pins, clean rivers.
Make soup.
Play music, learn the word for thank you in three languages.
Learn to knit, and make a hat.
Think of chaos as dancing raspberries,
imagine grief as the outbreath of beauty or the gesture of fish.
Swim for the other side.
Wage peace.
Never has the world seemed so fresh
and precious.
Have a cup of tea and rejoice.
Act as if armistice has already arrived.
Don't wait another minute.
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