Showing posts with label Anonymous. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Anonymous. Show all posts

Sunday, June 12, 2011

Amazing Grace — John Newton, Olney Hymns, 1779

Amazing grace! How sweet the sound,
That saved a wretch like me!
I once was lost but now am found
Was blind, but now I see.


'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace my fears relieved;
How precious did that grace appear
The hour I first believed!


Through many dangers, toils, and snares,
We have already come;
'Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far,
And grace will lead me home.


The Lord has promised good to me,
His word my hope secures;
He will my shield and portion be
As long as life endures.


Yes, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease,
I shall possess, within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.


The earth shall soon dissolve like snow,
The sun forbear to shine;
But God, who called me here below,
Will be forever mine.

Sunday, June 5, 2011

Scarborough Fair Ballad

"Scarborough Fair" is a traditional ballad of the United Kingdom. The song tells the tale of a young man, who tells the listener to ask his former lover to perform for him a series of impossible tasks. The lyrics of "Scarborough Fair" appear to have something in common with an obscure Scottish ballad, The Elfin Knight (Child Ballad ), which has been traced at least as far back as 1670 and may well be earlier. The melody is very typical of the middle English period.



A version published in 1889 is typical of modern versions:



Are you going to Scarborough Fair?

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;

Remember me to one who lives there,

For once she was a true love of mine.




Tell her to make me a cambric shirt,

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;

Without any seam or needlework,

Then she shall be a true lover of mine.




Tell her to wash it in yonder well,

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;

Where never spring water or rain ever fell,

And she shall be a true lover of mine.




Tell her to dry it on yonder thorn,

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;

Which never bore blossom since Adam was born,

Then she shall be a true lover of mine.




Now he has asked me questions three,

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;

I hope he'll answer as many for me

Before he shall be a true lover of mine.




Tell him to buy me an acre of land,

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;

Betwixt the salt water and the sea sand,

Then he shall be a true lover of mine.




Tell him to plough it with a ram's horn,

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;

And sow it all over with one pepper corn,

And he shall be a true lover of mine.




Tell him to shear it with a sickle of leather,

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme;

And bind it up with a peacock feather.

And he shall be a true lover of mine.




Tell him to thrash it on yonder wall,

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme,

And never let one corn of it fall,

Then he shall be a true lover of mine.




When he has done and finished his work.

Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme:

Oh, tell him to come and he'll have his shirt,

And he shall be a true lover of mine.


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Another Version:

Are you going to Scarborough Fair?
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.
Remember me to one who lives there.
She once was a true love of mine.

Tell her to make me a cambric shirt,
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.
Without any seam or fine needlework,
and then she'll be a true love of mine.

Tell her to wash it in yonder dry well.
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.
Which never sprung water nor rain ever fell,
and then she'll be a true love of mine.

Tell her to dry it on yonder thorn.
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.
Which never bore blossom, since Adam was born,
and then she'll be a true love of mine.

Ask her to do me this courtesy.
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
and ask for a like favour from me,
and then she'll be a true love of mine.

Oh, will you find me an acre of land,
parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
between the salt water and the sea sand,
or never be a true love of mine.

Oh, will you plough it with a lamb's horn.
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.
And sow it all over with one peppercorn,
or never be a true love of mine.

Oh, will you reap it with a sickle of leather.
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.
And gather it up with a rope made of heather,
or never be a true love of mine.

And when you have done and finished your work.
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.
Then come to me for your cambric shirt,
and you shall be a true love of mine.

If you say that you can't, then I shall reply,
parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme,
oh, let me know that at least you will try,
or you'll never be a true love of mine.

Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Do not stand at my grave and weep by Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die.





*** Do not stand at my grave and weep is a poem written in 1932 by Mary Elizabeth Frye. Although the origin of the poem was disputed until later in her life, Mary Frye's authorship was confirmed in 1998 after research by Abigail Van Buren, a newspaper columnist.

Thursday, February 3, 2011

If Wishes were Horses... / nursery rhyme

If wishes were horses then beggars would ride,
If turnips were swords I'd have one by my side.
If 'ifs' and hands were pots and pans
There would be no need for tinkers hands!


One flew over the cuckoo's nest - nursery rhyme

Vintery, mintery, cutery, corn,
Apple seed and apple thorn,
Wire, briar, limber lock
Three geese in a flock
One flew East
One flew West
And one flew over the cuckoo's nest

Monday, January 3, 2011

Mayday / An Unknown Poet

From nowhere
Rises the wave of loneliness
Desperately seeking
A place to come ashore
A land to throw herself at
Like a mother who lost her pup
Like the one, who has lost a limb, soul, meaning
A desire to hit something, find something
That would end the restlessness
The insanity of searching
For nothing
After foaming some time
It calms down, settle into it's destiny
Swelling into it's bottomless sadness
Only to gather strength again.