at the Concerts Cathedral Basilica TenebraeLondon, England Choir Friday, November 4, 2011 8:00 PM Cathedral Basilica of Saints Peter & Paul Philadelphia, Pennsylvania Tenebrae Choir, London Nigel Short, Director Programme The Evening-Watch, Op.43 No.1 Gustav Holst 1874-1934 Edited by Imogen Holst The Body Farewell! I go to sleep; but when The Body The day-star springs, I’ll wake again. Amen! but hark, ere we two stray How many hours dost think ‘till day? The Soul Go, sleep in peace; and when thou liest The Soul Unnumber’d in thy dust, when all this frame Ah go; th’art weak, and sleepy. Heav’n Is but one dram, and what thou now descriest Is a plain watch, and without figures winds In sev’ral parts shall want a name, All ages up; who drew this circle, even Then may his peace be with thee, and each dust He fills it; days and hours are blinds. Writ in his book, who ne’er betray’d man’s trust! Yet this take with thee. The last gasp of time Is thy first breath, and man’s eternal prime. Henry Vaughan (1621-1695) Funeral Ikos John Tavener b.1944 Why these bitter words of the dying, Why these bitter words of the dying ... O brethren, which they utter as they go hence? If thou hast shown mercy unto man, I am parted from my brethren. O man, that same mercy shall be shown thee there; All my friends do I abandon, and go hence. and if on an orphan thou hast shown compassion, But whither I go, that understand I not, neither the same shall there deliver thee from want. what shall become of me yonder; If in this life the naked thou hast clothed, only God, who hath summoned me knoweth. the same shall give thee shelter there, But make commemoration of me with the song: and sing the psalm: Alleluia. Alleluia. But whither now go the souls? Youth and the beauty of the body fade How dwell they now together there? at the hour of death, This mystery have I desired to learn, but none can impart aright. and the tongue then burneth fiercely, Do they call to mind their own people, as we do them? and the parched throat is inflamed. Or have they forgotten all those who mourn them The beauty of the eyes is quenched then, and make the song: the comeliness of the face all altered, Alleluia. the shapeliness of the neck destroyed; and the other parts have become numb, We go forth on the path eternal and as condemned, nor often say: with downcast faces, Alleluia. present ourselves before the only God eternal. With ecstasy are we inflamed Where then is comeliness? Where then is wealth? if we but hear that there is light eternal yonder; Where then is the glory of this world? that there is Paradise, There shall none of these things aid us, wherein every soul of Righteous Ones rejoiceth. but only to say oft the psalm: Alleluia. Let us all, also, enter into Christ, that all we may cry aloud thus unto God: Alleluia. Orthodox Service / Tavener Take him, earth, for cherishing Herbert Howells 1892 - 1983 Take him, earth, for cherishing, Not though ancient time decaying to thy tender breast receive him. wear away these bones to sand, Body of a man I bring thee, ashes that a man might measure noble even in its ruin. in the hollow of his hand: Once was this a spirit’s dwelling, Not though wandering winds and idle, by the breath of God created. drifting through the empty sky, High the heart that here was beating, scatter dust was nerve and sinew, Christ the prince of all its living. is it given to man to die. Guard him well, the dead I give thee, Once again the shining road not unmindful of his creature leads to ample Paradise; shall he ask it: he who made it open are the woods again, symbol of his mystery. that the serpent lost for men Comes the hour God hath appointed Take, O take him, mighty leader, to fulfil the hope of men, take again thy servant’s soul. then must thou, in very fashion, Grave his name, and pour the fragrant what I give, return again. balm upon the icy stone. A Good-Night Richard Rodney Bennett b.1936 Close now thine eyes and rest secure; Thy soul is safe enough, thy body sure; He that loves thee, he that keeps And guards thee, never slumbers, never sleeps. The smiling conscience in a sleeping breast Has only peace, has only rest; The music and the mirth of kings Are all but very discords, when she sings; Then close thine eyes and rest secure; No sleep so sweet as thine, no rest so sure. Francis Quarles (1592–1644) At the round earth’s imagined corners from Songs of Farewell Charles Hubert Hastings Parry 1848-1918 At the round earth’s imagined corners And never taste death’s woe, blow your trumpets, angels But let them sleep, Lord, and me mourn apace, and arise from death For, if above all these my sins abound, you numberless infinities of souls ‘Tis late to ask abundance of Thy grace and to your scattered bodies go! When we are there. All whom the flood did and fire Here on this lowly ground, shall overthrow Teach me how to repent, for that’s as good All whom war, death, age, agues, tyrannies, As if Thoud’st sealed my pardon with Thy blood. despair, law, chance hath slain; John Donne (1572–1631) And you whose eyes shall behold God Lord, Let Me Know Mine End from Songs of Farewell Charles Hubert Hastings Parry Lord, let me know mine end Take Thy plague away from me, and the number of my days, I am even consumed by means of Thy heavy hand. That I may be certified how long I have to live. When Thou with rebukes does chasten man for sin Thou hast made my days as it were a span long; Thou makest his beauty to consume away And mine age is as nothing in respect of Thee, Like as it were a moth fretting a garment; And verily, ev’ry man living is altogether vanity, Ev’ry man therefore is but vanity. For man walketh in a vain shadow Hear my pray’r, O Lord And disquieteth himself in vain, And with Thy ears consider my calling, He heapeth up riches and cannot tell Hold not Thy peace at my tears! who shall gather them. For I am a stranger with Thee and a sojourner And now, Lord, what is my hope? As all my fathers were. Truly my hope is even in Thee. O spare me a little, that I may recover Deliver me from all mine offences my strength before I go hence And make me not a rebuke to the foolish. And be no more seen. I became dumb and opened not my mouth Text – Psalm XXXIX V.V. 5—15 For it was Thy doing. Interval Ubi Caritas Paul Mealor b. 1975 Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est. Where charity and love are, God is there. Congregavit nos in unum Christi amor. Christ’s love has gathered us into one. Exultemus, et in ipso jucundemur. Let us rejoice and be pleased in Him. Timeamus, et amemus Deum vivum. Let us fear, and let us love the living God. Et ex corde diligamus nos sincero. And may we love each other with a sincere heart Amen Amen. A Spottless Rose Paul Mealor A Spotless Rose is growing, The Rose which I am singing, Sprung from a tender root, Whereof Isaiah said, Of ancient seers’ foreshowing, Is from its sweet root springing Of Jesse promised fruit; In Mary, purest Maid; Its fairest bud unfolds to light Through God’s great love and Amid the cold, cold winter, might And in the dark midnight. The Blessed Babe she bare us In a cold, cold winter’s night. León – from ‘Path of Miracles’ Joby Talbot b.1971 Li soleus qui en moi luist est mes deduis, The sun that shines within me in my joy Et Dieus est mon conduis. and God is my guide. We have walked In Jakobsland: Over river and sheep track, By hospice and hermit’s cave. We sleep on the earth and dream of the road, We wake to the road and we walk. Wind from the hills Dry as the road, Sun overhead, Too bright for the eye. Santiago – from ‘Path of Miracles’ Joby Talbot The road climbs through changing land. By Fonfria del Camino, by Triacastela. Northern rains fall Towns are shadows On the deepening green of the slopes of the valley, The road leaves behind. Storms break the summer’s heat; It moves over the slate hills At Foncebadon a pass can be lost, Palas do Rei. Potomarin. In one night, to the snow. The names are shadows. The road climbs for days through Then, from the stream at Lavacolla the highlands of Bierzo, To the foot of Monte de Gozo, to the grassland and rocks A morning; of the Valcarce valley. From the foot of Monte de Gozo White broom and scrub-oak, To the summit of Monte de Gozo Laburnum and gorse The road climbs, Mark the bare hills Before the longed-for final descent Beside the road. To Santiago. At O Cebreiro, mountains. The road follows the ridgetop Herr Santiagu By meadows of fern, by fields of rye.