Pasch - Foggitt, Peter

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"SATB with divisi. Text: Swinburne, and the Bible"

◈ Genre / Form → Anthems

♯ Tonart E minor

⁄ Taktart 4/4

♬ Besetzung → SSAA

◆ Difficulty

Mittelstufe

↕ Tonumfang B#, – e'''

¶ Sprache → Englisch

Takte 565

Textur Homophon

Stimmen 12

Instrumente SSAA, 12 instruments

Seiten 48

CPDL Nr. 83374

Bearbeiter Peter Foggitt

Veröffentlicht 2025-01-12

Lizenz CPDL-Lizenz

♫Tonumfänge

D-4 – D-4

c# – a''

TRIO of upper voices

d' – g''

ALTO

G# – g''

Instrument 7 layer 1

B – f#'

Instrument 8

a – e'''

Instrument 9 layer 1

A-2 – G-4

Instrument 10

c# – e'''

Instrument 11

B#, – d'''

Instrument 12

D – b'

Schlagwörter

Pages_using_DynamicPageList3_parser_function Posted_in_January_2025 More_than_90_days_old More_than_30_days_old CPDL_833xy

¶Liedtext

adapted from the poetry of Algernon Charles Swinburne, as printed by Caroline Webb Behold my servant, whom I uphold; mine elect, in whom my soul delighteth. (Is. 42.1) Away with him, away with him, crucify him. (John 19.15) And he bearing his cross went forth. (John 19.17) They pierced my hands and my feet; I may tell all my bones : they stand staring and looking upon me. (Ps. 22.17) Hath he not sent us hunger? who hath cursed Spirit and flesh with longing? filled with thirst Their lips who cried unto him? who bade exceed The fervid will, fall short the feeble deed, Bade sink the spirit and the flesh aspire, Pain animate the dust of dead desire, And life yield up her flower to violent fate? (Anactoria) Is it nothing to you, all ye that pass by? behold, and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow... wherewith the Lord hath afflicted me in the day of his fierce anger. From above he hath sent fire into my bones... he hath made my strength to fall, the Lord hath delivered me into their hands, from whom I am not able to rise up. (Lam. 1.12-14) When Jesus... saw his mother, and the disciple standing by, whom he loved, he saith unto his mother, Woman, behold thy son! Then saith he to the disciple, Behold thy mother! (John 19.24) O all fair lovers about the world, There is none of you, none, that shall comfort me. My thoughts are as dead things, wrecked and whirled Round and round in a gulf of the sea; And still, through the sound and the straining stream, Through the coil and chafe, they gleam in a dream, The bright fine lips so cruelly curled, And strange swift eyes where the soul sits free. (The Triumph of Time) And Jesus cried with a loud voice, and gave up the ghost. (Mark 15.37) One of the soldiers with a spear pierced his side, and forthwith came there out blood and water. (John 19.26-27) All thine the new wine of desire, The fruit of four lips as they clung Till the hair and the eyelids took fire, The foam of a serpentine tong

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