BRUCKNER E MINOR MASS

arr. Earlene Rentz To Work Upon The Railway

In eighteen hundred forty-one, I put cord’roy breeches on to work upon the railway. Fillimioorieyeriay, to work upon the railway.

In eighteen hundred forty-two, I left the old world for the new, I left the luck that brought me through to work upon the railway. Fillimioorieye, Fillimiooriay, to work upon the railway.

It’s go do this and go do that, I’ve had enough of this and that, I’ve nothing but an old straw hat to work upon the railway. Fillimioorieyeriay, to work upon the railway.

arr. Joseph Martin

The Last Rose Of Summer (Thomas Moore) ‘Tis the last rose of summer, left blooming alone. All her lovely companions are faded and gone.

No flower of her kindred, no rosebud is nigh to reflect back her blushes, or give sigh for sigh.

I’ll not leave thee, thou lone one, to pine on the stem. Since the lovely are sleeping, go, sleep thou with them.

Thus kindly, I scatter thy leaves o’er the bed where thy mates of the garden lie scentless and dead.

So soon may I follow, when friendships decay; and from love’s shining circle the gems drop away.

When true hearts lie wither’d, and fond ones are flown, oh, who would inhabit this bleak world alone?

‘Tis the last rose of summer, left blooming all alone.

Bethany Clearfield, soprano soloist

arr. Teena Chinn Irish Eyes are Smiling

My Wild Irish Rose, the sweetest flow’r that grows. You may search ev’rywhere, but none can compare with my Wild Irish Rose.

My Wild Irish Rose, the dearest flow’r that grows. And some day for my sake, she may let me take the bloom from my Wild Irish Rose.

“Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, too-ra-loo-ra-li, too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, hush now, don’t you cry! Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, too-ra-loo-ra-li, too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, that’s an Irish lullaby.”

When Irish eyes are smiling, sure it’s like a morn in Spring. In the lilt of Irish laughter you can hear the angels sing.

When Irish hearts are happy, all the world seems bright and gay, and when Irish eyes are smiling sure they steal your heart away.

arr. Craig Courtney Three Irish Folk Songs

Wearing Of The Green (Dion Boucicault) O, Paddy, dear, and did you hear the news that’s going round, The shamrock is forbid by law to grow on

Irish ground. Saint Patrick’s Day no more to keep, his color can’t be seen, For there’s a bloody law against the wearing of the green.

I met with Napper Tandy, and he took me by the hand, and he said: “How’s poor old Ireland, and how does she stand?” She’s the most distressful country that ever you have seen; They’re hanging men and women for the wearing of the green.

Then since the color we must wear is

England’s cruel red, Sure Ireland’s sons will ne’er forget the blood that they have shed; You may take the shamrock from your hat, and cast it on the sod, But ‘twill take root and flourish still tho’ underfoot ‘tis trod.

Down By The Salley Gardens (W.B. Yeats) Down by the salley gardens, my love and I did meet. She passed the salley gardens with little snow white feet. She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree, But I being young and foolish, with her did not agree.

In a field down by the river, my love and I did stand, When the law can stop the blades of grass from growing as they grow, And when the leaves in summertime, their verdure dare not show, Then will I change the color that I wear in my *caubeen; But till that day, please God, I’ll stick to wearing of the green.

But if at last our color should be torn from

Ireland’s heart, Her sons with shame and sorrow from the dear old soil will part; I’ve heard whisper of a land that lies beyond the rolling sea, Where rich and poor stand equal in the light of freedom’s day.

O Erin, must we leave you, driven by the tyrant’s hand? Must we ask a mother’s welcome from a strange and distant land, Where the cruel Cross of England shall nevermore be seen; And where, please God, we’ll live and die, still wearing of the green

*caubeen = Gaelic for hat

And on my leaning shoulder, she laid her snow white hand. She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the *weirs, But I was young and foolish, and now I am full of tears.

*weir = a dam in a stream, used to redirect water