You cannot know the power of the thing.
A childish little song, two cent'ries old.
A trifling, that a German sect will sing
Each Christmas. A tradition to uphold,
Still now -- amid the soccer, basketball,
Piano lessons, early band, and strings.
One child comes forth to sing in front of all
And touches them with soft, eternal things.
All answer. Then the child continues on.
We ask our young to call a star to earth,
To covenant an epoch-making dawn
And sing a nurs'ry song about a birth,
Unmarked by trappings coveted by power,
Before ambition has a chance to flower.
consonants&vowels posted a piece today that involved singing a solo at her first communion. It took me back, even if I'm a little out of season here.
The song is "Morning Star" by Francis F. Hagen, first performed in 1836.


Salon.com
Comments
hugs: the beauty is, the tradition is still alive, so the trip back is still available.
Pilgrim: yes, and sometimes (speaking seasonally here), it's hard to let that innocence flourish.
anna1: and I think we hear an innocence that we had when everything we were told was still true.
c&v: thank you so much for your post on "Let There Be Peace On Earth." I also heard things in my head.
bohemian: you're welcome - thanks for coming by.
I have posted uncharacteristically early today (Sept.12). I'm going to go have a cup of mint tea now, and enjoy not having to search frantically for something to write about. I hope everyone has a wonderful evening.