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Far away in the wilds of the north,
at the ending of the summer,
red and white is the mushroom that grows
where the forest shadows lie:
gathered and dried for the howl of the wolf
at the threshold of the winter,
when the mushroom will feed every dream
and will open every eye.
Here where the streets are filled with lights
and the first faint signs come forth,
just a few short weeks from now,
it’s Christmas time!
Children will set their hearts on snow,
and their hopes toward the north,
where the icy wind will blow,
and Christmas will be white!
When they waken and dance
as the wind starts to swirl and to kindle,
soon the howl of the wolf
raises reindeer aloft into the air.
Down the paths of the sky,
under stars and the shimmer of the sleigh bells,
red and white for the shaman who sings
with the snowfall in his hair.
Here where the shops are thronged with folk
making ready for the feast,
bringing every goodness home
at Christmas time,
loved ones will come from far and wide
through the wind and rain and storm
to a welcome always warm,
to celebrate the year!
Everyone is here,
and Christmas time has come!
If tonight you look outside your window at the sky,
(then you might) see the sleigh pass by,
(and you might) hear the shaman’s voice amid the snow:
“Fly reindeer, fly! Fly!”
Come, all people, and join in the dance
of the magic and the reindeer,
fill your hearts and your towns
with the warmth of a million coloured lights.
Bring your feast to the fire
to be shared in the gladdening of nations,
throw your thanks in the air
for the reindeer to raise them to the heights!
Then winter legends rise again,
when the northern skies grow near,
and the wondrous ones appear,
from hallows of the past,
heralding the day,
showing us the way
that we might heal the world!
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2. |
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With winter comes the wanderer,
and kindness follows in his wake.
His wounded heart can never heal,
but through it light will break.
It was a cousin of the king
who to the court a bride did bring.
His own wife journeyed by his side,
when brigands assailed the company
and all but those two died.
With winter comes the wanderer,
and kindness follows in his wake.
The snow came fierce enough to kill,
and they sought shelter neath the hill,
but still must die, did not the wife,
her mother’s bracelet on her wrist,
cry out “I bear an amethyst!”
And the hill opened wide.
With winter comes the wanderer,
and kindness follows in his wake.
His wounded heart can never heal,
but through it light will break.
They sheltered long beneath the hill,
but soon his pride and stubborn will
set him at odds with his kind hosts.
He raged at them and struck his wife,
and woke to stony solitude,
and banishment for life.
With winter comes the wanderer,
in snow and ice, in freezing mist.
Of warmth, of love, of red-gold light,
of that fair haven hid from sight,
the memory branded on his heart,
through all his long and lonely days,
must burn therein always.
And so he wanders, mourning still
his sundered wife beyond the hill,
and to amend his arrogance,
leaves hidden gifts, as if by chance,
or Yuletide’s wishes fill.
With winter comes the wanderer,
in snow and ice, in freezing mist,
seeking in vain the hidden realm
unlocked by a pale amethyst.
Though kindness follows in his wake,
each day he curses his mistake,
but from his wounded heart,
the red-gold light will ever break.
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3. |
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When the gale rises high,
lifting leaves in the autumn sky,
catch them as they pass you by,
store them away for snow!
When they swirl all around,
never let them touch the ground.
Keep their power safely bound,
use it to bring the snow!
Leaves of scarlet-gold
lose their grip when the year grows old,
but the strongest leaves
fly in the high summer storms.
Though the gale tears them free,
they keep all their potency;
use them very sparingly
casting a spell for snow!
While the leaves sleep,
building up their energy,
you must align yourself to the North.
Walk the high paths,
facing the coldest air;
make yourself a conduit,
a wire from the North.
Let yourself be known;
watch with a sideways eye.
Open your mind’s back door
to the North.
And then it starts,
the slumbering leaves awake,
the waiting crow calls,
the windows start to shake.
Now comes the moment
when the leaves are released.
Let the jars be opened,
let the leaves taunt the gods,
bring their wrath from the
north and east!
So they fly far from here,
making waves in the atmosphere;
this could even be the year
Christmas is crowned with snow!
Will the air turn cold?
Will those green leaves be too bold?
Will the Polar Vortex lose its
way in the storm?
We must all wait and see -
make a wish on the Christmas tree.
Was it chance, or was it me,
casting a spell for snow?
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4. |
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All over Europe, in lands of the winter,
since time immemorial, this outline is drawn:
mist on the windows, where children draw pictures,
to show they remember the Snow Goose Song.
When all the geese fly south for the winter,
one stays behind to fly northwards instead,
all through the storm-clouds, the wind and the lightning,
to ransom the sun from the realms of the dead.
On and on she flies unwearying over frozen seas.
If she fails, the sun will vanish,
every corner of the world will freeze.
All through the autumn, the days become shorter,
the first breath of frost throws a ring round the moon.
Children draw pictures in mist on the windows,
in hope that the Snow Goose will send word soon.
On and on she flies unwearying over frozen seas.
If she fails, the sun will vanish,
every corner of the world will freeze.
Far away, all alone, no-one sees the Snow Goose die,
but the legend tells them why:
to release the sun,
to release the sun.
When the Snow Goose yields up her last breath,
wings let their feathers fall down from the heights,
turn into snowflakes to kiss the cold ground,
and her heart gives fire to the Northern Lights…
And we dance in the snow,
so that all our neighbours know
there will be a new sunrise.
Draw the sign of the Snow Goose
(draw the sign of the Snow Goose).
And we hold out our hands
to the world from North to South,
round the earth’s imagined corners,
till we all belong
in the Snow Goose Song.
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5. |
A Babe is Born
03:56
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6. |
Cantemus in Choro
07:16
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7. |
O Christmas Day
04:56
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8. |
Cradle Song
04:32
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Sweet dreams, form a shade
O'er my lovely infant's head!
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy, silent, moony beams!
Sweet Sleep, with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown!
Sweet Sleep, angel mild,
Hover o'er my happy child!
Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my delight!
Sweet smiles, mother's smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes!
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.
Sleep, sleep, happy child!
All creation slept and smiled.
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
While o'er thee thy mother weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace;
Sweet babe, once like thee
Thy Maker lay, and wept for me:
Wept for me, for thee, for all,
When He was an infant small.
Thou His image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee!
Smiles on thee, on me, on all,
Who became an infant small;
Infant smiles are His own smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.
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9. |
Christmas Bells
03:10
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