It is not the tear (Charles Villiers Stanford): Difference between revisions
m (Text replace - "sib}} Sibelius 6]" to "sib}} Sibelius 6] {{sib}}") |
m (Text replace - "Sibelius 6]" to "{{sib}}] (Sibelius 6)") |
||
| Line 2: | Line 2: | ||
{{Legend}} | {{Legend}} | ||
*{{CPDLno|25958}} [{{filepath:It_is_not_the_tear.pdf}} {{pdf}}] [{{filepath:It_is_not.mid}} {{mid}}] [{{filepath:It_is_not.sib}} Sibelius 6 | *{{CPDLno|25958}} [{{filepath:It_is_not_the_tear.pdf}} {{pdf}}] [{{filepath:It_is_not.mid}} {{mid}}] [{{filepath:It_is_not.sib}} {{sib}}] (Sibelius 6) {{sib}} | ||
{{Editor|Ian Haslam|2012-04-14}}{{ScoreInfo|A4|3|42}}{{Copy|CPDL}} | {{Editor|Ian Haslam|2012-04-14}}{{ScoreInfo|A4|3|42}}{{Copy|CPDL}} | ||
:'''Edition notes:''' Original score had a piano reduction which has been removed in this edition | :'''Edition notes:''' Original score had a piano reduction which has been removed in this edition | ||
Revision as of 19:33, 2 August 2016
Music files
| ICON | SOURCE |
|---|---|
 |
File details |
 |
Help |
- CPDL #25958:
(Sibelius 6)
- Editor: Ian Haslam (submitted 2012-04-14). Score information: A4, 3 pages, 42 kB Copyright: CPDL
- Edition notes: Original score had a piano reduction which has been removed in this edition
General Information
Title: It is not the tear
Composer: Charles Villiers Stanford
Number of voices: 4vv Voicing: SATB
Genre: Secular, Partsong
Language: English
Instruments: A cappella
Published: 1901
Description: No. 5 from Six Irish folksongs originally published by Boosey and Co
External websites:
Original text and translations
English text
It is not the tear at this moment shed,
When the cold turf has just been laid o'er him,
That can tell how belov'd was the friend that's fled,
Or how deep in our hearts we deplore him.
'Tis the tear, thro' many a long day wept,
'Tis life's whole path o'ershaded;
'Tis the one remembrance, fondly kept,
When all lighter griefs have faded.
Thus his memory, like some holy light,
Kept alive in our hearts, will improve them,
For worth shall look fairer, and truth more bright,
When we think how we liv'd but to love them!
And, as fresher flowers the sod perfume,
Where buried saints are lying,
So our hearts shall borrow a sweet'ning bloom
From the image he left there in dying!