"And the angel said to them, 'Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.'" – Luke 2:10 (ESV)
 

Come, thou long-expected Jesus, born to set thy people free; from our fears and sins release us; let us find our rest in thee. Israel’s strength and consolation, hope of all the earth thou art, dear Desire of ev’ry nation, joy of ev’ry longing heart.

Joy to those who long to see thee, Dayspring from on high, appear; come, thou promised Rod of Jesse, of thy birth we long to hear! O’er the hills the angels singing news, glad tidings of a birth; “Go to him, your praises bringing; Christ the Lord has come to earth.”

Come to earth to taste our sadness, he whose glories knew no end; by his life he brings us gladness, our Redeemer, Shepherd, Friend. Leaving riches without number, born within a cattle stall; this the everlasting wonder, Christ was born the Lord of all.

Born thy people to deliver, born a child and yet a king, born to reign in us forever, now thy gracious kingdom bring. By thine own eternal Spirit rule in all our hearts alone; by thine all-sufficient merit, raise us to thy glorious throne.

Boundary

I am searching for the beginnings of evil
As in childhood I sought out the rain’s edge.
Running with abandon to find the
Place where
I might lay on the ground and ponder the
Rainfall on one side and not the other
The drops slowly subsiding as
I discerned the boundary
And increasing again before
I saw clearly.
I grew up for nothing.
With all that I am
I run to discover the place where
I might lay on the ground and ponder the
Brink of good and evil.
Yet evil always ceases before
I discern the boundary
And builds again, before
I can place the good.
I am searching for the beginnings of evil
In this land
Overcast and sunlit,
Step by step.

- Ana Blandiana

Here’s the original.

Hotarul

Caut începutului raului
Cum cautam în copilarie marginile ploii.
Alergam din toate puterile sa gasesc
Locul în care
Sa ma asez pe pamânt sa contemplu
De-o parte ploaia, de-o parte neploaia.
Dar întotdeauna ploaia-nceta înainte
De a-i descoperi hotarele
Si reîncepea înainte
De-a sti pâna unde-i seninul.
Degeaba am crescut.
Din toate puterile
Alerg si acum sa gasesc locul unde
Sa ma asez pe pamânt sa contemplu
Linia care desparte raul de bine.
Dar întotdeanuna raul înceteaza-nainte
De a-i descoperi hotarul
Si reîncepe-nainte
De-a sti pâna unde e binele.
Eu caut începutul raului
Pe acest pamânt
Înnorat si-nsorit
Rând pe rând.

- Ana Blandiana

Pleasant way to spend a Saturday morning.  :)  Lowercase Noises’ “Ambient Songs” is a great album to translate to.

Music in the Mirabell

A fountain sings. Clouds, white and tender,
Are set in the clear blueness
Engrossed, silent people walk
At evening through the ancient garden.

Ancestral marble has grown grey.
A flight of birds seeks far horizons.
A faun with lifeless pupils peers
At shadows gliding into darkness.

The leaves fall red from the old tree
And circle in through open windows.
A fiery gleam ignites indoors
And conjures up wan ghosts of fear.

A white stranger steps into the house.
A dog runs wild through ruined passages.
The maid extinguishes a lamp,
At night are heard sonata sounds.

- Georg Trakl

Wild Geese
by Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting—
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

If you’ve never heard of William Fitzsimmons, trust me, you’ll love William Fitzsimmons.

Anyway, give it a watch if you like good songwriting and great music.

You can pick up his music here, here, and here.

A few days ago, John posted a video explaining what the song is all about. It’s worth watching.

So now, without further ado, Balmorhea:

Balmorhea – Take Away Show – Remembrance from valerie toumayan on Vimeo.

Your imprint lingers
October, oh October
Crisp air, crunching leaves

Watching this group of people play together is such a treat; the lineup is heavy on talent, including the likes of Andrew Osenga, Jill Phillips, Andy Gullahorn, Ben Shive, Pierce Pettis, and multi-instrumentalist Gabe Scott.  All in one room.  All creating something beautiful together.

Suffice to say, this was one of the highlights of my December.

Anyway, a while back I ran across a video someone had compiled for the Behold the Lamb of God performance at Ashland Avenue Baptist Church in Lexington, KY.  It’s really well put together and gives a good preview of what it is like to attend one of these concerts.  Take a look at the video below (be sure to click “HQ” to view it in high quality!) and prepare to block out an evening or two this coming December to go watch them play.

httpvp://www.youtube.com/view_play_list?p=A62FE2925410EF7F&ap=%2526fmt%3D18

If you don’t already own it, you can purchase Behold the Lamb of God in the store over at The Rabbit Room.  It’s one of my favorite albums, and I could listen to it all year long.

(Yeah, I know it’s August, but I was unable to find an embeddable version of this video before now.  It’s still worth watching.  )

The Grain of Sound

A banjo maker in the mountains,
when looking out for wood to carve
an instrument, will walk among
the trees and knock on trunks. He’ll hit
the bark and listen for a note.
A hickory makes the brightest sound;
the poplar has a mellow ease.
But only straightest grain will keep
the purity of tone, the sought-
for depth that makes the licks sparkle.
A banjo has a shining shiver.
Its twangs will glitter like the light
on splashing water, even though
its face is just a drum of hide
of cow, or cat, or even skunk.
The hide will magnify the note,
the sad of honest pain, the chill
blood-song, lament, confession, haunt,
as tree will sing again from root
and vein and sap and twig in wind
and cat will moan as hand plucks nerve,
picks bone and skin and gut and pricks
the heart as blood will answer blood
and love begins to knock along the grain.

- Robert Morgan