*This Time, this place,
This world, your grace,
Your time, your faith,
Your voice, your grace!
Black shadows fall
From the lindens tall,
That lift aloft their massive wall
Against the southern sky;
And from the realms
Of the shadowy elms
A tide-like darkness overwhelms
The fields that round us lie.
But the night is fair,
And everywhere
A warm, soft vapor fills the air,
And distant sounds seem near,
And above, in the light
Of the star-lit night,
Swift birds of passage wing their flight
Through the dewy atmosphere.
I hear the beat
Of their pinions fleet,
As from the land of snow
the land of snow and sleet
They seek a southern lea.
I hear the cry
Of their voices high
Falling dreamily through the sky,
But their forms I cannot see.
O, say not so!
O, say not so!
Those sounds that flow
In murmurs of delight (and woe)
Come not from wings of birds.
They are the throngs
Of the poet's songs,
Murmurs of pleasures, and pains, and wrongs,
The sound of winged words.
This is the cry
Of souls, that high
On toiling, beating pinions, fly,
Seeking a warmer clime…
As from the land of snow
the land of snow and sleet
They seek a southern lea.
Oh, their voices high
Falling dreamily through the sky,
Those sounds that flow
In murmurs of delight
Come not from wings of birds.
*This Time, this place,
This world, your grace,
Your time, your faith,
Your voice, your grace!
A wind came up out of the sea,
And said, "O mists, make room for me."
It hailed the ships, and cried, "Sail on,
Ye mariners, the night is gone."
And hurried landward far away,
Crying, "Awake! it is the day."
And o'er the farms, "O chanticleer,
Your clarion blow; the day is near."
It said unto the forest, "Shout!
Hang all your leafy banners out!"
It touched the wood-bird's folded wing,
And said, "O bird, awake and sing."
It whispered to the fields of corn,
"Bow down, and hail the coming morn."
It shouted through the belfry-tower,
"Awake, O bell! proclaim the hour."
It crossed the churchyard with a sigh,
And said, "Not yet! in quiet lie."
It said unto the forest, "Shout!
Hang all your leafy banners out!"
It touched the wood-bird's folded wing,
And said, "O bird, awake and sing."
And hurried landward far away,
Crying, "Awake! it is the day."
*This Time, this place,
In your eyes – God`s grace!
This Time, this place,
This world, your grace!
Your time, your faith,
Your voice, your grace!
Antony Kalugin - composer, producer, musician, designer
born 11 Feb 1981. Ukraine/ Kharkiv
Please follow me on Bandcamp, Spotify and YouTube.
Let there be more Light!
supported by 68 fans who also own “Birds of Passage (part 1)”
What can I say about Big Big Train that I haven’t said before?
This album took a little while to grow on me but by the time I saw it live I was in love with its humongous, over-egged pomposity! They do it all with such passion, excitement and amazing musicianship.
Essential. Crinklechips
supported by 66 fans who also own “Birds of Passage (part 1)”
This might be the least folky of the Wobbler releases and I wasn't sure about it at all.
After a few listens however I'm loving the inventiveness and the endless melodies, all driven along by Kristian Hultgren's wonderful percussive bass. PartTimeZombie
supported by 66 fans who also own “Birds of Passage (part 1)”
The album takes off nicely with David Longdon's "The Strangest Times", but then gets into immediate free fall and deeply underwater for the next few tracks, quite unexpectedly. Fortunately, it recovers with Nick D'Virgilio's "Apollo" (hey, this guy CAN write good music, although he hides this ability most of the time) and the remaining three tracks, one of which is another Longdon masterpiece. So in the end the final impression is somewhat in the positive range. Sven B. Schreiber (sbs)