Four songs , opus 112

by Charles Villiers Stanford, Sir (1852 - 1924)

1. Spring  [sung text not yet checked]

Language: English 
Birds' love and birds' song.
Flying here and there,-
Birds' song and birds' love,
And you with gold for hair!
Birds' song and birds' love,
Passing with the weather,
Men's song and men's love
To love once and for ever.

Men's love and birds' love,
And women's love and men's!
And you my wren with crown of gold,
You my Queen of the wrens!
You the Queen of the wrens!
We'll be birds of a feather;
I'll be King of the Queen of the wrens,
And all in a nest together!

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2. The silence  [sung text not yet checked]

Language: English 
When Lazarus left his charnel-cave,
    And home to Mary's house return'd,
    Was this demanded -- if he yearn'd
To hear her weeping by his grave?

"Where wert thou, brother, those four days?"
    There lives no record of reply,
    Which telling what it is to die
Had surely added praise to praise.

From every house the neighbours met,
    The streets were fill'd with joyful sound,
    A solemn gladness even crown'd
The purple brows of Olivet.

Behold a man raised up by Christ!
    The rest remaineth unreveal'd;
    He told it not; or something seal'd
The lips of that Evangelist.

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3. The city child  [sung text not yet checked]

Language: English 
Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander?
    Whither from this pretty home, the home where mother dwells?
"Far and far away," said the dainty little maiden,
"All among the gardens, auriculas, anemones,
    Roses and lilies and Canterbury-bells."

Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander?
    Whither from this pretty house, this city-house of ours?
"Far and far away," said the dainty little maiden,
"All among the meadows, the clover and the clematis,
    Daisies and kingcups and honeysuckle-flowers."

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First published without a title in St. Nicholas, February 1880 as one of the "Child Songs", revised 1884


4. The vision  [sung text not yet checked]

Language: English 
When on my bed the moonlight falls,
I know that in thy place of rest
By that broad water of the west,
There comes a glory on the walls;

Thy marble bright in dark appears,
As slowly steals a silver flame
Along the letters of thy name,
And o'er the number of thy years.

The mystic glory swims away;
From off my bed the moonlight dies;
And closing eaves of wearied eyes
I sleep till dusk is dipt in gray:

And then I know the mist is drawn
A lucid veil from coast to coast,
And in the dark church like a ghost
Thy tablet glimmers to the dawn.

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