140 Folk-tunes: Rote Songs, Grades I, II and III for School and Home

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Archibald Thompson Davison
E.C. Schirmer music Company, 1921 - Folk songs - 99 pages
 

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Page 30 - Let music swell the breeze, And ring from all the trees Sweet freedom's song; Let mortal tongues awake; Let all that breathe partake; Let rocks their silence break, The sound prolong.
Page 76 - THE harp that once through Tara's halls The soul of music shed, Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls, As if that soul were fled. — So sleeps the pride of former days, So glory's thrill is o'er, And hearts, that once beat high for praise, Now feel that pulse no more.
Page 4 - Lazy sheep, pray tell me why In the pleasant field you lie, Eating grass and daisies white, From the morning till the night: Everything can something do; But what kind of use are you...
Page 59 - Et sur un âne, pas à pas, Parcourait son royaume. Joyeux, simple et croyant le bien, Pour toute garde il n'avait rien Qu'un chien. Oh! oh! oh! oh!
Page 88 - Sire, he lives a good league hence, Underneath the mountain; Right against the forest fence, By Saint Agnes' fountain." "Bring me flesh, and bring me wine. Bring me pine logs hither; Thou and I will see him dine, When we bear them thither.
Page 4 - True, it seems a pleasant thing Nipping daisies in the spring; But what chilly nights I pass On the cold and dewy grass, Or pick my scanty dinner where All the ground is brown and bare ! " Then the farmer comes at last, When the merry spring is past, Cuts my woolly fleece away, For your coat in wintry day. Little master, this is why In the pleasant fields I lie.
Page 55 - Sing, choirs of Angels, , Sing in exultation, Sing, all ye citizens of heaven above, " Glory to GOD In the highest ; " O come, let us adore Him, &c.
Page 30 - tis of thee, — Sweet land of lib - er - ty, — 2. My na - tive coun - try, thee, — Land of the no - ble free, — 3. Let mu - sic swell the breeze, And ring from all the trees 4. Our fa - thers...
Page 59 - Fut un voisin commode, Et, modèle des potentats, Prit le plaisir pour code. Ce n'est que lorsqu'il expira, Que le peuple qui l'enterra Pleura. Oh! oh! oh! oh! ah! ah! ah! ah!
Page 88 - Sire, the night is darker now, And the wind blows stronger; Fails my heart, I know not how, I can go no longer.

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