Art Songs

Available Editions:

Free PDF Editions:

Accompaniment MP3 tracks:

• Medium high voice : Full dynamic range or Compressed dynamic range
• High voice

About "Still a Lion, Still a Lamb"

This new song was written for a concert of sacred music I am preparing for the first Sunday in April 2009, a week before Easter, at the Alpine Tabernacle in American Fork. It is a setting of a poem that I wrote some years ago. I hope you enjoy it.

Recordings:

At this time there are no recordings available. Send your live recording to be posted here. I’ll be glad to link back to your singer site. Contact info is listed in the edition of the piece.

The Text:

Still a Lion, Still a Lamb
by M Ryan Taylor

Will the lion lose his fierceness?
In a day be soft and tame?
Will the wild, ferocious nature all be lost with all his fame?
When he meets the humble lamb will he lay aside his crown?
Will his mane be combed to fleece and his razor claw filed down?
Will all his glory pass?
Will he learn to mow the grass?
A cross between a cat and cow, an herbivore that barks meow?
If a lion lose his fierceness and become all soft and tame
is it right that this poor creature should retain the lion’s name?

In that day when on a sea of glass we meet eternity,
when our hearts beat one with God and Son will I cease to be me?

No, fierce and brave the lion stands, no innocent need fear his claw,
a guardian of truth and peace, a living pillar of the law.
Beneath his mane the lowly lamb curls meekly bearing mercy’s wool,
and I, still I, sing praise to Him who tore my sins but clothed my soul!

Available Editions:

Free PDF Editions:

• All Heaven and it was One Hour Old - Medium Voice.pdf
• All Heaven and it was One Hour Old - Medium High Voice.pdf
• All Heaven and it was One Hour Old - High Voice.pdf
• All Heaven and it was One Hour Old - all 3 editions - Medium - Medium High and High.pdf

Printed Edition on Lulu.com:

All Heaven and it was One Hour Old
All 3 keys in a spiral bound book.

About "All Heaven and it was One Hour Old"

This song cycle is based on the Christmas poetry of Katherine Tynan, an Irish catholic poet who at one time, early in her career, was championed by William Butler Yeats. The five lovely, thought provoking poems that were chosen from her works for this song cycle capture the spirit of Christmas with a distinctly unique voice. They are filled with the hope and passion of a true believer, but not a brash one. Tynan’s poems are thoughtful, contemplative, the works of someone who will always stop and ponder an issue rather than resort to tired cliches.

One of these poems is really quite an amazing find. The Christmas Bird, never published until now, was located in a special collection of Katherine Tynan Hinkson papers by myself. Members of my family and I transcribed the barely legible hand-written manuscript especially for use in this song cycle (it took a few days, and we had to guess at a few of the words in the end, but we think we got most of it right). Like the other poems it is filled with unique symbols that I find very attractive and moving.

I hope this music and the message of Tynan’s poetry will add to your Christmas season, whether in your recital, concert or church service. Merry Christmas to you, whatever the day may be!

Recordings:

Songs 1-3 :

Songs 4-5 :

Live performance by Venicia Wilson and Lynn Claire Jemison-Keisker at The Salty Cricket Composers Collective Inaugural Concert, February 23 2008 at the Salt Lake City Pickle Company.

The Texts:

All poems by Katherine Tynan, from various collections and sources.

1. The Christmas Bird
   Due to copyright restrictions this text cannot be displayed here.
   Please download an edition of the song cycle to view it.
   
   
2. All Heaven and it was One Hour Old
   
   The Christmas moon shines clear and bright;
   There were poor travellers such a night
   Had neither fire nor candlelight.
   
   One plucked them stars out of the sky
   To show the road to travel by;
   So that the ass go warily.
   
   She had all Heaven safe in her hold,
   Hidden within her mantles fold:
   All Heaven and it was one hour old.
   
   Her hair under, over Him spread
   His spun gold coverlet and His bed,
   Twined with his little golden head.
   
   She sang and rocked Him to-and-fro
   Such songs as little babies know,
   With lullaby sweet and lulla lo.
   
   He had no need of moons or suns,
   Nor the gold-crested bird legions,
   Singing their lauds and orisons.
   
   The Christmas moon shows a cold beam:
   He hath His mother she hath Him:
   Together they sleep, together dream.
   
   
3. Bethlehem
   
   WHERE man was all too marred with sin,
   The ass, the ox were bidden in.
   
   Where angels were unmeet to come
   These humble entered Holydom.
   
   "Their innocent eyes and full of awe
   Saw the fulfilment of the law.
   
   There in the stable with the beast
   The Christmas Child hath spread His feast.
   
   These gave their bed and eke their board
   To be a cradle for their Lord.
   
   Their honey-breath, their tears all mild,
   Warmed in the cold the new-born Child.
   
   These His adorers were before
   The Kings and Shepherds thronged the door.
   
   And where no angels knelt there kneeled
   The innocent creatures of the field.
   
   
4. Bring Him Peace
   
   THE Kings to the Stable
   They brought sweet spice,
   The gold and the silver,
   And jewels of price.
   But the Dove by the manger
   She would not cease
   Mourning so softly:
   Bring Him Peace; bring Him Peace!
   
   The Kings from the Orient
   Brought nard and clove.
   The Dove went mourning:
   Bring Him Love; Bring Him Love.
   
   What would content Him
   In silver and gold,–
   A new-born Baby
   But one hour old?
   Not myrrh shall please Him
   Nor the ambergris,
   What hath sweet savour
   Of His mother’s kiss?
   
   There is clash of battle,
   And men hate and slay:
   From the noise and the tumult
   She hides Him away.
   But His sleep is fitful
   In His Mother’s breast,
   The Dove goes mourning:
   Give Him rest; give Him rest!
   
   
5. Old Song Re-Sung
   
   I saw three ships a-sailing,
   A-sailing on the sea,
   The first her masts were silver,
   Her hull was ivory.
   The snows came drifting softly,
   And lined her white as wool;
   Oh, Jesus, Son of Mary,
   Thy Cradle beautiful !
   
   I saw three ships a-sailing,
   The next was red as blood,
   Her decks shone like a ruby,
   Encrimsoned all her wood.
   Her main-mast stood up lonely,
   A lonely Cross and stark.
   Oh, Jesus, Son of Mary,
   Bring all men to that ark !
   
   I saw three ships a-sailing.
   The third for cargo bore
   The souls of men redeemed,
   That shall be slaves no more.
   The lost beloved faces,
   I saw them glad and free.
   Oh, Jesus, Son of Mary,
   When wilt thou come for me?

Star and Manger, by M Ryan Taylor

Available Editions:

Free PDF Editions:

• The Song of Wandering Aengus - Medium Voice.pdf  

About "The Song of Wandering Aengus"

I love this poem by William Butler Yeats and I wanted to set it, so I did. I didn’t try to incorporate it into a set. One reason may be that the longing that this poem portrays is complete in itself. We all have inward visions of ideals that we often blindly pursue in life, hoping that if we just wander a just little farther . . .

This setting was written in 1998 and revised in early 2006. The setting is for medium voice.

Recordings:

At this time there are no recordings available. Send your live recording to be posted here. I’ll be glad to link back to your singer site. Contact info is listed in the edition of the piece.

The Text:

The Song of the Wandering Aengus
by William Butler Yeats

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.