JV Girls’ Choir

Hamisha Asar Sephardic Jewish song of celebration

Feast Of Fruits, Feast Of Fruits come and see us, we will sing. The hostess is waiting for us, with fifteen plates of fruit. Blessed is thy name, Lord of the world, fruits of Israel, Feast Of Fruits, Feast Of Fruits come and see us, we will dance. The hostess is waiting for us, with baklava and coffee, we are blessed.

When I am Silent A song for a girl at Auschwitz

Who will sing my song when I am silent? Who will count the colors of the dawn? Who will follow the lark’s flight, who will hear its song? When I am silent who will sing for me?

Who will scent the fragrance of a flower? Who will laugh at snowflakes on the tongue? Who will dance barefoot in the grass, spinning and twirling to welcome the warmth of May? Who will dance? When I dance no more, more I sing no more, when I am silent, Who will cry for me? Who will cry?

I Never Saw Another Butterfly VII. On a Sunny Evening

On a purple, sun-shot evening under wide-flowering chestnut trees, Upon the threshold full of dust Yesterday, today, the days are all like these. Trees flower forth in beauty, Lovely too their very wood all gnarled and old That I am half afraid to peer Into their crowns of green and gold.

The sun has made a veil of gold So lovely that my body aches. Above, the heavens shriek with blue Convinced I've smiled by some mistake. The world's abloom and seems to smile. I want to fly but where, how high? If in barbed wire, things can bloom Why couldn't I? I will not die! Men’s Choir

Akekho Ofana No Jesu South African Folk Song

There is no one like Jesus No one like Him I looked around I looked all over At last I found my Jesus No one like Him

Dies Irae Text from the Requiem Mass

Day of wrath, day that will when the judge comes Dissolve the world into burning coals, To strictly sentence all. As David prophesied with the Sibyl. Merciful Lord Jesus, How great trembling there will be, Grant them rest.

Bring Him Home from Les Misérables - a man’s plea for a boy to return safely from war.

God on high, hear my prayer. In my need, you have always been there. He is young, he's afraid. Let him rest, heaven blessed. Bring him home.

He's like the son I might have known If God had granted me a son. The summers die, one by one How soon they fly on and on And I am old and will be gone.

Bring him peace, bring him joy. He is young, he is only a boy. You can take, you can give. Let him be, let him live. If I die, let me die, Let him live. Bring him home. Women’s Choir

Dravidian Dithyramb

This piece uses syllables that are meant to imitate the sounds of popular instrumental music from India called ‘ragas’, and also mirrors Hindustani classical music, which uses Persian and Arabic phonemes as nonsense syllables. This piece is meant to conjure images of uninhibited festivity, as well as highlight the complex scalar and rhythmic basis for Southern Indian folk music.

Ladybird Hungarian Children’s Song

Ladybird, O fly now Up into the sky now; Hark to the drumming Now the Turks are coming; Hurry, hurry will you Or they will catch and kill you, Pickle you in brine, Tie you up with twine, Trussing you to toast you, Griddle you or roast you, Take you to the tower, Grind you into flower. Listen hear the Turks are coming, Mustn’t let ‘em catch you! Fly! Ladybird, O fly now!

Koowu (Strength) A daughter’s perspective of the life she could have had, if her father had not left Palestine.

I have a caged bird who longs to fly away. Her name is Koowu. I have a caged bird who is weeping. I dare not set her free. Her song is mine and I am keeping. But soon this Dove will die, If she does not get the chance to fly. I have a caged bird who is weeping. Koowu do not cry. If it is freedom you are seeking, Then my bird must fly away. I am Koowu and her keeper. Taste the wind, Breath the air, I’ll be waiting for you there, Koowu. Chorale

Sensemayá Chant for killing a snake

Bombe-bombe-mayombe! The snake has eyes made of glass; The snake comes and wraps himself around a stick The snake walks without feet; The snake hides in the grass. The snake walking without feet, He hides in the grass.

Sensemayá, the snake Sensemayá, with those eyes, Sensemayá, with that tongue, Sensemayá, with that mouth,

A dead snake can’t eat; A dead snake can’t hiss; A dead snake can’t breathe.

Let him have it with the hatchet and he’s dead; Don’t do it with your foot or he’ll bite you! A dead snake can’t look, Can’t drink, Can’t bite! A dead snake can’t move. Sensemayá, Sensemayá, He’s dead!!

Prayer of the Children For the children who lost their lives in the Bosnian War

Can you hear the prayer of the children on bended knee, in the shadow of an unknown room? Empty eyes with no more tears to cry turning heavenward toward the light.

Crying "Jesus, help me to see the morning light-of one more day. But if I should die before I wake, I pray my soul to take."

Can you feel the hearts of the children aching for home, for something of their very own? Reaching hands, with nothing to hold on to, But hope for a better day; a better day Crying "Jesus, help me to feel the love again in my own land, but if unknown roads lead away from home, give me loving arms, away from harm?

Can you hear the voice of the children softly pleading for silence in a shattered world? Angry guns preach a gospel full of hate, blood of the innocent on their hands.

Crying "Jesus, help me to feel the sun again upon my face? For when darkness clears I know you're near, bringing peace again"

Dali cujete sve djecje molitive? (Croatian translation: 'Can you hear all the children's prayers?') Can you hear the prayer of the children?

Loch Lomond Scottish Folk Song

By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes, Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond Where me and my true love were ever wont to gae, On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.

Oh! Ye'll take the high road, and I'll take the low road, And I'll be in Scotland afore ye, But me and my true love will never meet again, On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.

'Twas then that we parted, In yon shady glen, On the steep, steep side of Ben Lomond, Where, in purple hue, The highland hills we view, And the moon coming out in the gloaming.

The wee birdies sing, And the wild flowers spring, And in sunshine the waters sleeping. But the broken heart will ken, Nae second spring again, and the world knows not how we are grieving.

Ye'll take the high road, and I'll take the low road, And I'll be in Scotland afore ye, But me and my true love will never meet again, On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.