TEXT XII. Hail! Bright Cecilia, Hail to thee! Great Patroness of Us and Harmony! Who, whilst among the Choir above Thou dost thy former Skill improve, With Rapture of Delight dost see
TEXT Thy Favourite Art Make up a Part Of infinite Felicity. Hail! Bright Cecilia, Hail to thee! Great Patroness of Us and Harmony!
Hymn to St. Cecilia
Ode for St. Cecilia’s Day, HWV 76 G.F. HANDEL
I.
Overture
VII. March
II.
Recitative From harmony, from heav’nly harmony, This universal frame began.
III.
Accompagnato When nature underneath a heap Of jarring atoms lay, And could not heave her head, The tuneful voice was heard from high: “Arise! Ye more than dead.” Then cold, and hot, and moist and dry, In order to their stations leap, And music’s pow’r obey.
VIII. Air The soft complaining flute In dying notes discovers The woes of hopeless lovers, Whose dirge is whisper’d by the warbling lute.
BENJAMIN BRITTEN
I. In a garden shady this holy lady with reverent cadence and subtle psalm, like a black swan as death came on poured forth her song in perfect calm: and by ocean’s margin this innocent virgin constructed an organ to enlarge her prayer, and notes tremendous from her great engine thundered out on the Roman air. Blonde Aphrodite rose up excited, moved to delight by the melody, white as an orchid she rode quite naked in an oyster shell on top of the sea; at sounds so entrancing the angels dancing came out of their trance into time again, and around the wicked in Hell’s abysses the huge flame flickered and eased their pain. Blessed Cecilia, appear in visions to all musicians, appear and inspire: translated Daughter, come down and startle composing mortals with immortal fire. II. I cannot grow; I have no shadow to run away from, I only play. I cannot err; there is no creature whom I belong to, whom I could wrong. I am defeat when it knows it can now do nothing by suffering. All you lived through, dancing because you no longer need it for any deed. I shall never be different. Love me. Blessed Cecilia, appear in visions to all musicians, appear and inspire: translated Daughter, come down and startle composing mortals with immortal fire. III. O ear whose creatures cannot wish to all, O calm of spaces unafraid of weight, where Sorrow is herself, forgetting all the gaucheness of her adolescent state. Where Hope within the altogether strange from every outworn image is released, and Dread born whole and normal like a beast into a world of truths that never change: restore our fallen day: O re-arrange. O dear white children casual as birds, playing among the ruined languages, so small beside their large confusing words, so gay against the greater silences of dreadful things you did: O hang the head, impetuous child with the tremendous brain, O weep, child, weep, O weep away the stain, lost innocence who wished your lover dead, weep for the lives your wishes never led. A cry created as the bow of sin is drawn across our trembling violin. O weep, child, weep away the stain. O law drummed out by hearts against the still long winter of our intellectual will. That what has been may never be again. O flute that throbs with the thanksgiving breath of convalescents on the shores of death. O bless the freedom that you never chose. O trumpets that unguarded children blow about the fortress of their inner foe. O wear your tribulation like a rose. Blessed Cecilia, appear in visions to all musicians, appear and inspire: translated Daughter, come down and startle composing mortals with immortal fire. 12
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IX.
Air Sharp violins proclaim Their jealous pangs, and desperation, Fury, frantic indignation, Depths of pain, and height of passion, For the fair disdainful dame.
IV.
Chorus From harmony, from heav’nly harmony, This universal frame began, From harmony to harmony, Through all the compass of the notes it ran, The diapason closing full in man.
X.
Air But oh, what art can teach, What human voice can reach The sacred organ’s praise? Notes inspiring holy love, Notes that wing their heav’nly ways To join the choirs above.
V.
Air What passion cannot music raise and quell! When Jubal struck the chorded shell, His list’ning brethren stood around, And wond’ring, on their faces fell, To worship that celestial sound. Less than a god they thought there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell, That spoke so sweetly and so well. What passion cannot music raise and quell!
XI.
Air Orpheus could lead the savage race, And trees, unrooted, left their place, Sequacious of the lyre.
VI. Air and Chorus The trumpet’s loud clangor Excites us to arms, With shrill notes of anger, And mortal alarms. The double, double, double beat Of the thund’ring drum Cries: “Hark! the foes come; Charge, charge! ‘Tis too late to retreat.”
XII. Accompagnato But bright Cecilia raised the wonder high’r: When to her organ, vocal breath was giv’n, An angel heard, and straight appear’d, Mistaking earth for Heav’n. XIII. Solo and Chorus As from the pow’r of sacred lays The spheres began to move, And sung the great Creator’s praise To all the bless’d above; So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And music shall untune the sky. BachFestivalFlorida.org
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