Tenth (thirteenth, fourteenth) annual evening concert

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Página 11 - His head with the beasts of the stall : Angels adore Him in slumber reclining — Maker, and Monarch, and Saviour of all...
Página 11 - Old Tubal Cain was a man of might, In the days when earth was young; By the fierce red light of his furnace bright, The strokes of his hammer rung ; And he lifted high his brawny hand On the iron glowing clear, Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers, As he fashioned the sword and spear. And he sang — " Hurrah for my handiwork ! Hurrah for the spear and sword ! Hurrah for the hand that shall wield them well, For he shall be king and lord ! " To Tubal Cain came many a one.
Página 5 - Then they praised him, soft and low, Call'd him worthy to be loved, Truest friend and noblest foe ; Yet she neither spoke nor moved. Stole a maiden from her place, Lightly to the warrior stept, Took the face-cloth from the face; Yet she neither moved nor wept.
Página 5 - Took the face-cloth from the face; Yet she neither moved nor wept. Rose a nurse of ninety years, Set his child upon her knee — Like summer tempest came her tears — " Sweet my child, I live for thee.
Página 11 - To him our praise shall be. But while oppression lifts its head, Or a tyrant would be lord, Though we may thank him for the plough, We'll not forget the sword.
Página 11 - And for many a day old Tubal Cain Sat brooding o'er his woe ; And his hand forbore to smite the ore, And his furnace smouldered low. But he rose at last with a cheerful face, And a bright courageous eye, And bared his strong right arm for work, While the quick flames mounted high. And he sang : ' Hurra for my handiwork ! ' And the red sparks lit the air ; ' Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made ;' And he fashioned the first ploughshare.
Página 11 - To Tubal Cain came many a one, As he wrought by his roaring fire, And each one prayed for a strong steel blade, As the crown of his desire. And he made them weapons sharp and strong, Till they shouted loud for glee, And gave him gifts of pearls and gold, And spoils of the forest free.
Página 8 - Faintly as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune, and our oars keep time. Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We'll sing at St. Ann's our parting hymn. Row, brothers, row ; the stream runs fast ; The rapids are near, and the daylight's past.

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