From Heaven above - Schürmann, Burkhart M.

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"a choral partita for three-part mixed choir on the 15 verses of the carol "Vom Himmel hoch da komm ich her (Martin Luther)""

◈ Genre → Weihnachtslieder

♯ Tonart F major

⁄ Taktart 4/4

♬ Besetzung → SAB

◆ Difficulty

Mittelstufe

↕ Tonumfang C – a''

¶ Sprache → Englisch

Takte 135

Textur mixed texture

Stimmen 3

Instrumente A cappella

Seiten 13

CPDL Nr. 22588

Bearbeiter Burkhart M. Schürmann

Veröffentlicht 2010-11-07

Lizenz CPDL-Lizenz

♫Tonumfänge

Soprano

c' – a''

Alto

a – E-5

Bass

C – d'

Schlagwörter

Pages_using_DynamicPageList3_parser_function Posted_in_November_2010 More_than_90_days_old More_than_30_days_old CPDL_225xy

¶Liedtext

From Heaven above to earth I come, To bear good news to every home; Glad tidings of great joy I bring, Whereof I now will say and sing: To you, this night, is born a Child Of Mary, chosen mother mild; This tender Child of lowly birth, Shall be the joy of all your earth. ’Tis Christ our God, who far on high Had heard your sad and bitter cry; Himself will your Salvation be, Himself from sin will make you free. He brings those blessings long ago Prepared by God for all below; That in His heavenly kingdom blest You may with us forever rest. These are the tokens ye shall mark, The swaddling clothes and manger dark; There shall ye find the young Child laid, By Whom the heavens and earth were made. Now let us all, with gladsome cheer, Follow the shepherds, and draw near To see this wondrous Gift of God, Who hath His own dear Son bestowed. Give heed, my heart, lift up thine eyes! What is it in yon manger lies? Who is this Child, so young and fair? The blessèd Christ Child lieth there! Welcome to earth, Thou noble Guest, Through Whom e’en wicked men are blest! Thou com’st to share our misery, What can we render, Lord, to Thee! Ah, Lord, who hast created all, How hast Thou made Thee weak and small, To lie upon the coarse dry grass, The food of humble ox and ass. Were earth a thousand times as fair, Beset with gold and jewels rare, She yet were far too poor to be A narrow cradle, Lord, for Thee. For velvets soft and silken stuff Thou hast but hay and straw so rough, Whereon Thou King, so rich and great, As ’twere Thy heaven, art throned in state. Thus hath it pleased Thee to make plain The truth to us, poor fools and vain, That this world’s honor, wealth and might Are naught and worthless in Thy sight. Ah, dearest Jesus, holy Child, Make Thee a bed, soft, undefiled, Here in my poor heart’s inmost shrine, That I may evermore be Thine. My heart for joy doth leap, My lips no more can silence keep, I too must sing, with joyful tongue, That sweetest ancient cradle song