English translation:
A spotless rose is blowing,
Sprung from a tender root,
Of ancient seers’ foreshowing,
Of Jesse promised fruit;
Its fairest bud unfolds to light
Amid the cold, cold winter,
And in the dark midnight.
The rose which I am singing,
Whereof Isaiah said,
Is from its sweet root springing
In Mary, purest maid;
Through God’s great love and might
The blessed babe she bore us
In a cold, cold winter’s night.
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comfort & joy, musical offerings | Tagged: Advent, Ola Gjeilo, Victoria Junior College Choir | 
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Yet another century-spanning polyphonic musical medley from Grant Woolard.
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18 Comments | simple pleasures | Tagged: Christmas, memory lane, vintage ads | Permalink
Posted by bluebird of bitterness
Home sweet home
Bob's sister Hannah
Bob's sister Ada
Bob's brother Otto
Bob's sister Eve
Bob's sister Nan
A baby picture of Bob and his siblings (clockwise from upper left: Otto, Eve, Hannah, Ada, Bob, and Nan)
Bob's childhood home
Bob's mom and dad
Bob in his youth
Bob's cousin Alphonse
Bob's Uncle Ralph and Aunt Edna
Bob's cousin Archibald
Bob's stepbrother Herbie (who really needs to quit smoking)
Bob's cousin Chester
Bob's Great Uncle Norbert and Great Aunt Phyllis
Bob's cousin Saffron (who will do anything for a drink)
Bob's cousin Thorndike
Bob's brother-in-law Vinnie
Bob's cousin Orville, who loves the Green Bay Packers
Bob's nieces Lulu and Bitsy, the biker chicks
Bob's stepsister Eloise, with the twins, Rudy and Trudy
Bob's Uncle Henry and Aunt Rowena
Bob's niece Esmerelda (who likes to live dangerously)
Bob's Great Uncle Arthur up in Saskatchewan
Bob's cousin Louie, the grackle of grumpiness
Miss Screech, Bob's journalism teacher
Bob's nephew Winthrop, who loves sports
Bob's Uncle Seymour and Aunt Bernice
Bob's second cousin Schlomo in Brooklyn
Bob's nephew Baxter
Bob's cousin Darrell
Nigel, Bob's pen pal in New Zealand
Bob's sister-in-law Delphine, who volunteers at the animal shelter
Percy the Pickpocket, Bob's third cousin once removed (the relative no one likes to talk about... every family has one)
The Bluebird of Happiness™ (no relation to Bob)
A pair of boobies (also no relation to Bob, but included for readers who desire titillation)
A pair of tits (in case the boobies were insufficiently titillating)
Bluebird Bitter™, the beer they named for Bob
Wednesday weirdness
December 4, 2019A musical meditation on overattachment to material things.
As we reach the twilight hours of our fleeting earthly time,
And know we will not see the sun tomorrow,
We may think with deep regret of all the things we leave behind,
But oh, my friends, do not give in to sorrow.
On the other shore, on the other shore,
We will reunite with all the things we ever owned before;
Our single socks will all be to their rightful pairs restored;
We’ll meet all our possessions on the other shore.
As we near those golden sidewalks floating on the clouds above,
Assuming heaven is our destination,
We may glance behind for one last look at everything we love,
But truly there’s no call for reservation.
On the other shore, on the other shore,
We’ll have piles and piles of jeans we can’t fit into anymore;
We’ll wear all those crazy cowboy shirts we got from Fred LaBour;
We’ll meet all our possessions on the other shore.
We’ll find books we bought in college and sold for half-price unread,
And sacks and sacks of earring backs lost under someone’s bed,
And baseball cards and army men and model planes galore,
And every tiny plastic high heel Barbie ever wore.
On the other shore, on the other shore,
We’ll have giant storage units free of charge for evermore;
Our tax receipts will all be saved in bags upon the floor;
We’ll meet all our possessions
On the other shore, on the other shore,
We’ll find National Geographics from 1974;
Our children’s art will cover God’s refrigerator door;
We’ll meet all our possessions on the other shore.
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