R.E. Slater - Sadness

Sadness

by R.E. Slater

¹This be the verse you grave for me:

   'Here he lies where he long'd to be;
   'Home is the sailor, home from sea,
   'And the hunter home from the hill.'

My sadness comes upon the wings of  thanksgiving;

Yet it is a heavy sadness which grips me

One which cannot be undone --

Nor should it be undone --

Fallen upon my heart and soul.

Which are it's proper resting place,

   Carried o'er many years past,

   Across many life events fled,

   Both the very good and very bad,

But, on balance, good... but bad too,

In so many important ways to me.

Memories that are now 'Nevermore,'

As the harkey ²poet once said,

Unlike my present precious memories

These older memories rest deeper inside,
   Here is where I miss the old faces,

   their bright eyes,
   their voices and laughter,
   their jocularity, teases and reflections,

   met in somber moments of wisdom and pain --

Of all that we shared together when together

When working farm or field or vegetable garden;

When hunting or travelling together,

Of the family picnics at grandma's nextdoor --

Yea, all, all, all gone --

Nevermore and nevermore and nevermore.

This kind of wistful sadness

Comes from living with those you love.

Not only family but uncles and aunts,
And friends who once became family,

Wandering into our lives, then wandering out....

Of places lived during youth and afterwards,

Places and events which mature us,

Test us, prove us, upon the high tides

And heavy seas sometimes calm and sometimes not.

At once the years of sorrow are completed

But never gone, completed in a strange way

Never to be reclaimed as they were claimed

Living in their moments of dred or charm.

Sadly remembered their irrepeatable natures,

That even before leaving they had already left --

   My grandparents on their farm,

   My long heritage now past with them,

   The wild lands I walked unencumbered,

   Before roads and businesses and commissions.

All now recycled in updated ways of memory,

Irrevocable life stages and events,

Piling one on top of the other, until,
When looking back as an older man,

All the beautiful moments have twinkled out,

Running together likes paints on a canvas,

Beheld their special memories,

...Memories that are no longer.

Sadly, they cannot be rewound,

Nor undone, nor relived, nor prevented,

Nor even held as they once were,
But lie as remembered experiences,
As wonderous beautiful moments flying by,

Of home and family then and now,

Now lying still in the moment, collecting dust,

Once nurturing, energizing, flowing with newness.
   Even so Lord, 'Thank you for the many good moments,
   And 'deliverance from the bad moments' --

   Those which pained me, harmed me, changed me,

   From who I was to who I am today as a

   Patient, if not enduring, survivor of life's

   Many changeable moods and attires.

May the mundane and unremarkable

Never quit our spirits restlessly alive,

For it is in these common moments

Where everlasting life everlastingly abides.

Binding event to event, as the moments fly,

As a series of crescendoing waves upon the ear,

Spilling across the soul and out upon the shoals,

From shoreline to shoreline

Before lifting the sails to ship out again --

   To never-ending encounters, relationships,

   Words, deeds, actions, calamities, traumas, pain...

   Criss-crossing life's flowing seas beautiful and hard.

'Yea, Lord, help us to become good sailors,

Masters who sail life's many uneven, flowing tides,

Learning to steer fair or foul towards home;

To become hunters of the hills we know and love,

Building the kind of home we yearn, need and know.

   To be true in our hearts as we know

   Our hearts to be true --

   Caretakes of those we meet, however short,

   Or long, mentoring future sailors of the seas

   Or hunters crossing hills and dales

   To not weary the task nor succumb

   Our frail hearts its griefs and sorrows.'

Amen and Amen and Amen

R.E. Slater
July 2, 2023

@copyright R.E. Slater Publications

all rights reserved

*Two References:

1Under the wide and starry sky,

    Dig the grave and let me lie.

Glad did I live and gladly die,

    And I laid me down with a will.

This be the verse you grave for me:

    'Here he lies where he longed to be;

Home is the sailor, home from sea,

    And the hunter home from the hill.'

- Requiem, by Robert Louis Stevenson

2Edgar Allen Poe, 'The Raven"

Stories of Christmas

A Visit from St. Nicholas

Clement Clarke Moore (1779-1863)

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her ’kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of Toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a pedler just opening his pack.
His eyes—how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle,
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."

 

O'er the Hill and O'er the Vale

For Epiphany

Author Anonymous

Translator: John Mason Neale

O'er the hill and o'er the vale,
    Come three kings together,
Caring nought for snow and hail,
    Cold and wind and weather;
Now on Persia's sandy plains,
Now where Tigris swells with rains,
    They their camels tether;
Now through Syrian lands they go,
Now through Moab, faint and slow,
    Now o'er Edom's heather.

O'er the hill and o'er the vale,
    Each king bears a present;
Wise men go a Child to hail,
    Monarchs seek a peasant:
And a star in front proceeds,
Over rocks and rivers leads,
    Shines with beams incessant:
Therefore onward, onward still!
Ford the stream and climb the hill:
    Love makes all things pleasant.

He is God ye go to meet:
    Therefore incense proffer:
He is King ye go to greet;
    Gold is in your coffer.
Also Man, He comes to share
Ev'ry woe that man can bear;
    Tempter, railer, scoffer:
Therefore now, against the day
In the grave when Him they lay,
    Myrrh ye also offer.

Christmas Bells

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I heard the bells on Christmas Day

Their old, familiar carols play,

And wild and sweet

The words repeat

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,

The belfries of all Christendom

Had rolled along

The unbroken song

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till, ringing, singing on its way

The world revolved from night to day,

A voice, a chime,

A chant sublime

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth

The cannon thundered in the South,

And with the sound

The Carols drowned

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;

‘There is no peace on earth,’ I said;

‘For hate is strong,

And mocks the song

Of peace on earth, good-will to men!’

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:

‘God is not dead; nor doth he sleep!

The Wrong shall fail,

The Right prevail,

With peace on earth, good-will to men!’

Christmas Day

by R.E. Slater

We squealed and slid across the wandering creek bed's overflows, upon our little legs and shiny skates, desperately trying to stay upright, o'er frozen pools of gathered water held fast in windage ripples and protruding branches, navigating as we could the wooded stream's winding length swept bare the cold December winds one happy Christmas Day. 

Across the frozen fields we glimpse our dairy farm upon its rounded hills, and grandma's aged house nearby our own, who, as a little girl did skate as we this day, sliding upon our feet and bellies, laughing as we slid and fell - or muttering a few cross words in pain - while brothers, mom and dad darted about, grinning our wizened collie's splaying legs, like my own, seeking purchase upon stilled land and wind and water.

R.E. Slater

November 26, 2022

@copyright R.E. Slater Publications

all rights reserved

Merry Christmas

by Nicholas Gordon

Merry Christmas!

Isn't it fun

To say "Merry Christmas"

to everyone?

Time for a party

And presents and things

That make children happy

And give their hearts wings!

Silent Night

by Joseph Mohr 

Silent night, holy night
All is calm, all is bright
Round yon Virgin Mother and Child
Holy Infant so tender and mild
Sleep in heavenly peace
Sleep in heavenly peace

Silent night, holy night!
Shepherds quake at the sight
Glories stream from heaven afar
Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia!
Christ, the Saviour is born
Christ, the Saviour is born

Silent night, holy night
Son of God, love's pure light
Radiant beams from Thy holy face
With the dawn of redeeming grace
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth "

Cradle Hymn or "Away in a Manger"

by Martin Luther

Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,
The little Lord Jesus laid down His sweet head.
The stars in the bright sky looked down where he lay—
the little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay.

The cattle are lowing, the baby awakes,
But little Lord Jesus, no crying He makes.
I love thee, Lord Jesus! look down from the sky,
And stay by my cradle till morning is nigh.

Christmas Long Ago

by Jo Geis

Frosty days and ice-stilled nights,

Fir trees trimmed with tiny lights.

Sound of sleigh bells in the snow,

That was Christmas long ago.

Tykes on sleds with shouts of glee,

Icy-window filigree.

Sugarplums and candle glow,

Part of Christmas long ago.

Footsteps stealthy on the stair,

Sweet-voiced carols in the air.

Stocking hanging in a row,

Tell of Christmas long ago.

Starry nights so still and blue,

Good friends calling out to you.

Life, so fact, will always show...

Dreams of Christmas on long ago.

Let Every Day Be Christmas

by Norman W. Brooks

Christmas is forever,

not for just one day,

for loving, sharing, giving,

are not to be put away,

like bells and lights and tinsel,

in some box upon a shelf,

no, the good you do for others

is the good you do yourself.

Mom is Making Christmas

by Vicky A. Luong

Cookies baking in the kitchen -

The smell floating through the air;

Mom is making Christmas

with her usual Merry flair!

The house is gaily decorated,

Each gift she stitched with love;

We'll gather around the Christmas tree

for an evening of old-fashioned fun.

This evening she'll sing carols for us

With her angel's voice and smile;

Yes, Mom is making Christmas -

A true reason to rejoice!

O Little Town of Bethlehem

O little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie!

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by.

Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting Light;

The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.

For Christ is born of Mary, and gathered all above,

While mortals sleep, the angels keep their watch of wondering love.

O morning stars together, proclaim the holy birth,

And praises sing to God the King, and peace to men on earth!

How silently, how silently, the wondrous Gift is giv’n;

So God imparts to human hearts the blessings of His Heav’n.

No ear may hear His coming, but in this world of sin,

Where meek souls will receive Him still, the dear Christ enters in.

Where children pure and happy pray to the blessèd Child,

Where misery cries out to Thee, Son of the mother mild;

Where charity stands watching and faith holds wide the door,

The dark night wakes, the glory breaks, and Christmas comes once more.

O holy Child of Bethlehem, descend to us, we pray;

Cast out our sin, and enter in, be born in us today.

We hear the Christmas angels the great glad tidings tell;

O come to us, abide with us, our Lord Emmanuel!

Love Came Down at Christmas

by Christina Rossetti

Love came down at Christmas, 

   Love all lovely, Love Divine; 

Love was born at Christmas, 

   Star and angels gave the sign. 

Worship we the Godhead, 

   Love Incarnate, Love Divine; 

Worship we our Jesus: 

   But wherewith for sacred sign? 

Love shall be our token, 

   Love be yours and love be mine, 

Love to God and all men, 

   Love for plea and gift and sign

A Song Was Heard At Christmas

by Timothy Dudley Smith

A Song was heard at Christmas

To wake the midnight sky;

A Savior's birth and peace on earth

And praise to God on high.

The angels sang at Christmas

with all the hosts above.

And still we sing the newborn King

His glory and his love.

Let us end these "Stories of Christmas" with prayer and purpose for the war torn people of the Ukraine harmed and broken by the terrorism of a solitary Russian leader who defies his people and those nations around him with defilement across all he deigns.

Like the abolitionist minister of old, Thomas Hill, we prayer and act on behalf of the Ukrainian people who now suffer winter's brutal cold, starvation, no medicines, and loss of family and friends. We now pray and purpose a Second Advent upon the evils of this world which refuse to love and share humanity's feep need for living altars and remembered sepulchre's as reminders that we each share the other's burdens.

R.E. Slater

November 26, 2022

THE SECOND ADVENT

by Thomas Hill

Not in a humble manger now,
Not of a lowly virgin born,
Announced to simple shepherd swains,
That watch their flocks in early morn ;

Nor in the pomp of glory, come,
While throngs of angels hover round,
Arrayed in glittering robes of light,
And moving to the trumpet’s sound ;

But in the heart of every man,
O, Jesus, come, and reign therein,
And banish from the human breast
The darkening clouds of guilt and sin.

Come, spread thy glory over earth,
Fill every heart with truth and love,
Till thy whole kingdom here below
Be filled with peace like that above.

For such a glory, when on earth,
Thou prayedst to thy Father, God ;
He heareth thee, and soon will spread
Thy glory and thy truth abroad.

Then shall no more by brothers’ hands
The blood of brother men be spilled,
Nor earth’s fair scenes with captives’ tears
And groans of dying slaves be filled.

Postscript:

“Few if any persons in the community had so great cause for sorrow as the Abolitionists. One of the towers of our strength had fallen. The greatness of our loss was dwelt upon at the annual meeting of the Massachusetts Society a few days afterward, and it was unanimously voted :

‘That an address on the life and character of Charles Follen, and in particular upon his early and eminent services to the cause of abolition, be delivered by such person and at such time and place as the Board of Managers shall appoint.’

“Their appointment fell upon me, and I was requested to give notice so soon as my eulogy should be written. I gave such a notice early in February, when I was informed by the managers that they had not yet been able to procure a suitable place, for such a service as they wished to have in connection with my discourse. They had applied for the use of every one of the Unitarian and for several of the Orthodox churches in Boston, and all had been refused them. It was said that Dr. Channing did obtain from the trustees of Federal Street Church consent that the eulogy on Dr. Follen, whom he esteemed so highly, might be pronounced from his pulpit. But another meeting of the trustees, or of the proprietors, was called, and that permission was revoked. More sad still the meeting-house at East Lexington, which had been built under his direction, which he was coming from New York to dedicate, and in which he was to have preached as the pastor of the church if his life had been spared, — even that meeting-house was refused for a eulogy and other appropriate exercises in commemoration of the early and eminent services of Dr. Follen to the cause of freedom and humanity in Europe, and more especially in our country. Such was the temper of that time, such the opposition of the people in and about the metropolis of New England to Mr. Garrison and his associates. …”

Eliza Lee Follet published her husband’s memoirs after his death, wrote and edited children’s publications and continued to support anti-slavery causes. She died at age 72 at her home in Brookline, MA. on January 26, 1860 before the Civil War began.

Thomas Hill earned his Bachelor of Arts degree from Harvard the same year that he wrote this poetry pamphlet which ended with the Christmas poem above. In 1845, Thomas Hill earned a Doctor of Divinity degree. He was installed as pastor at the Unitarian Church in Waltham, MA., and 14 years later, took the position of President of Antioch College, Ohio, as well as pastor of the Church of the Redeemer in Cincinnati.

Dr. Hill was chosen to be President of Harvard in 1862, a position he held throughout the Civil War. He had occasion that same year to write to President Lincoln to advise that his son, Robert, whom Dr. Hill referred to as “Lincoln, Junior,” would be publicly admonished for smoking in Harvard Square.

Hill resigned from Harvard in 1868 for health reasons and spent his remaining years as pastor of the First Unitarian Church in Portland, ME.

Additional Resources

Dr. Thomas Hill: The Unitarian, Vol. 6 (1891)

Loss of Steamer Lexington: Power for Sanity: Selected Editorials of William Cullen Bryant, 1821-1861, by William Cullen Bryant, Fordham Univ. Press (1994):

At his death in 1878 William Cullen Bryant had been, for fifty-one years, the chief editor and a principal owner of the New York Evening Post. The paper had been started in 1801 by lawyer William Coleman in association with the Federalist political Alexander Hamilton. In 1826, Coleman hired Bryant as a reporter. Although Coleman may have engaged his services because of his growing distinction as a poet, Bryant was also by then an experienced writer of prose, having published more than fifty critical and familiar essays. He had been both editor of and most frequent writer for the monthly New York Review and the United State Review, and was known widely for his lectures on poetry before the New York Athenaeum. By the time he assumed the direction of the Evening Post after Coleman's death in 1829 he had proved himself, in three annual volumes of the holiday gift book The Talisman, to be proficient in a wit and irony soon reflected in his editorials.

Bryant brought the conservative journal to the support of the Democratic Party of President Andrew Jackson, and held it thereafter to liberal principles, advocating free trade, free labor, and Free Soil. Except for the years from 1829 to 1836, Bryant held the editorial pen largely alone until after the Civil War. Occasional contributors formed a representative roster of leaders in many fields: Charles Francis Adams, Thomas Hart Benton, Francis P. Blair, Salman P. Chase, Thomas Cole, James Fenimore Cooper, Hamilton Fish, Parke Godwin (Bryant's son-in-law), Bret Harte, James K. Paulding, John Randolph, Samule J. Tilden, Martin and John Van Buren, Artemus Ward, Gideon Wlles, Walt Whitman, and Silas Wright. And now and then there were articles by British Parliamentarian Richard Cobden and artist-economist George Harvey, and the French critic Charles Sainte-Beuve.

Bryant's editorials after 1860 suggest separate treatment. The present volume traces the growth of his political and social maturity as he made of a conservative, parochial, small-city newspaper into a national organ which Charles Francis Adams in 1850 called the best daily journal in the United States.

R.E. Slater - Being Brave (The Cry of Children)

Being Brave
by R.E. Slater

The wistfulness of dreams

ends days innocence is tested.

Till then we wish upon stars

Asking questions afar

Pleading for answers

Hoping on days to come

Of rainbows and lemon drops

Wise and supporting.

Youths may end but rainbows never

Sorrow may drop where fantasy lived

In hearts both sad and brave...

Brave because they must be,

Sad because no help comes...

Somewhere, O' somewhere,

May rainbows find a way

To rise and stay O' days of grey.

Somewhere. O' somewhere, way up high

There are lands I have heard of once in lullabies...

Far away beyond the gumdrop trees

Where dreams come true beyond me and you...

Where troubles have flown and I may rest

A troubled breast upon bluebirds of happiness....

R.E. Slater

The Cry of Children

October 6, 2022

@copyright R.E. Slater Publications

all rights reserved

JUDY GARLAND at 21 singing OVER THE RAINBOW remastered audio. Judy Garland singing Over The Rainbow at the age of 21. Filmed during a broadcast of the Command Performance radio program.

Lyrics

Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high

There's a land that I heard of once in a lullaby

Somewhere over the rainbow, Skies are blue,

And the dreams that you dare to dream, really do come true...

Someday I'll wish upon a star

And wake up where the clouds are far behind me

Where troubles melt like lemon drops

Away above the chimney tops, that's where you'll find me

Somewhere over the rainbow, blue birds fly

Birds fly over the rainbow, why then, oh why can't I?

If happy little blue birds fly beyond the rainbow

Why, oh why can't I?

"Over the rainbow" Recorded by Judy Garland for the 1939 film "The Wizard of Oz" Music by: Harold Arlen Lyrics by: Yip Harburg A song that has stood the test of time (originally written in 1938) and is one of the most beautiful songs ever penned.

Over the Rainbow

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This article is about the 1939 song. For other uses, see Over the Rainbow (disambiguation).

"Over the Rainbow"
Judy Garland singing "Over the Rainbow" in The Wizard of Oz
Song by Judy Garland
Published	1939 by Leo Feist, Inc.
Composer(s)	Harold Arlen
Lyricist(s)	E.Y. Harburg

"Over the Rainbow" is a ballad by Harold Arlen with lyrics by Yip Harburg.^[1] It was written for the 1939 film The Wizard of Oz, in which it was sung by actress Judy Garland^[2] in her starring role as Dorothy Gale.^[1] It won the Academy Award for Best Original Song and became Garland's signature song.

About five minutes into the film, Dorothy sings the song after failing to get Aunt Em, Uncle Henry, and the farmhands to listen to her story of an unpleasant incident involving her dog, Toto, and the town spinster, Miss Gulch (Margaret Hamilton). Aunt Em tells her to "find yourself a place where you won't get into any trouble". This prompts her to walk off by herself, musing to Toto, "Someplace where there isn't any trouble. Do you suppose there is such a place, Toto? There must be. It's not a place you can get to by a boat, or a train. It's far, far away. Behind the moon, beyond the rain", at which point she begins singing.

Background

Composer Harold Arlen and lyricist Yip Harburg often worked in tandem, Harburg generally suggesting an idea or title for Arlen to set to music, before Harburg contributed the lyrics.^[3] For their work together on The Wizard of Oz, Harburg claimed his inspiration was "a ballad for a little girl who... was in trouble and... wanted to get away from... Kansas. A dry, arid, colorless place. She had never seen anything colorful in her life except the rainbow". Arlen decided the idea needed "a melody with a long broad line".^[4]

By the time all the other songs for the film had been written, Arlen was feeling the pressure of not having the song for the Kansas scene. He often carried blank pieces of music manuscript in his pockets to jot down short melodic ideas. Arlen described how the inspiration for the melody to "Over the Rainbow" came to him suddenly while his wife Anya drove:

"I said to Mrs. Arlen... 'let's go to Grauman's Chinese ... You drive the car, I don't feel too well right now.' I wasn't thinking of work. I wasn't consciously thinking of work, I just wanted to relax. And as we drove by Schwab's Drug Store on Sunset I said, 'Pull over, please.' ... And we stopped and I really don't know why—bless the muses—and I took out my little bit of manuscript and put down what you know now as 'Over the Rainbow.'"^[5]

The song was originally sung in A-flat major.^[6] Arlen later wrote the contrasting bridge section based on the idea of "a child's piano exercise".^[7]

Italian newspaper Il Messaggero has noted a resemblance, both harmonic and melodic, between Over the Rainbow and the theme of the intermezzo (known as Ratcliff's Dream) of Pietro Mascagni's 1895 opera Guglielmo Ratcliff.^[8]

The Wizard of Oz

The "Over the Rainbow" and Kansas scenes were directed by the uncredited King Vidor, because the film's main director, Victor Fleming, was called in by David O. Selznick and MGM to direct Gone with the Wind. Fleming would later return to oversee the editing and post-production on The Wizard of Oz. The song was initially deleted from the film after a preview in San Luis Obispo, California, because MGM chief executive Louis B. Mayer thought it "slowed down the picture," was far over the heads of its targeted child audience, and sounded "like something for Jeanette MacDonald, not for a little girl singing in a barnyard". Fleming, producer Mervyn LeRoy, associate producer Arthur Freed, and Roger Edens, who was Judy Garland's vocal coach and mentor, fought together to have the song reinserted into the film and they eventually won.^{[citation needed]}

At the start of the film, part of the song is played by the MGM orchestra over the opening credits. A reprise of the song was deleted after being filmed. The reprise was to be sung by Dorothy while she was locked in the Wicked Witch's castle, helplessly awaiting death as the hourglass is running out. Although the visual portion of that reprise is presumably lost, the soundtrack still exists and was included in the 2-CD Deluxe Edition of the film's soundtrack released by Rhino Entertainment in 1995. In that intense rendition, Dorothy cries her way through it, unable to finish, concluding with, "I'm frightened, Auntie Em, I'm frightened!" This phrase was retained in the film and is followed immediately by Aunt Em's brief appearance in the crystal ball, where she is soon replaced by the visage of the Wicked Witch, (Margaret Hamilton), mocking and taunting Dorothy before turning the camera toward her cackle. Another instrumental version is played in the underscore in the final scene and over the closing credits.^{[citation needed]}

The music was played on a particularly renowned Stradivarius violin.^[9]

Recordings by Judy Garland

"Over the Rainbow" from The Wizard of Oz

0:28

A sample of the original version of "Over the Rainbow" from The Wizard of Oz, sung by Judy Garland

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Problems playing this file? See media help.

On October 7, 1938, Judy Garland recorded the song on the MGM soundstage with an arrangement by Murray Cutter. In September 1939, a studio recording of the song, not from the film soundtrack, was recorded and released as a single for Decca. In March 1940, that same recording was included on a Decca 78 four-record studio cast album entitled The Wizard of Oz. Although this isn't the version that appeared in the film, Decca continued to release the "cast album" into the 1960s after it was reissued on disc, a 331⁄3-rpm album.

The film version of "Over the Rainbow" was unavailable to the public until the soundtrack was released by MGM in 1956 to coincide with the television premiere of The Wizard of Oz.^[10] The soundtrack version has been re-released several times over the years, including a deluxe edition by Rhino in 1995.^[11]

After The Wizard of Oz appeared in 1939, "Over the Rainbow" became Garland's signature song. She performed it for thirty years and sang it as she had for the film. She said she wanted to remain true to the character of Dorothy and to the message of being somewhere over the rainbow.^[12]

* * * * * * *

Child of Sorrow
by SONG XIAOXIAN

© Translation: 2005, Simon Patton

the child of sorrow speaks unclearly, he can hardly bring himself

to talk of his own difficulties, he laughs a lot
he’s always biting on his lower lip, his riches
are as meagre as my kindnesses

one time, I turned out the collar
of his shirt for him, he blamed himself
perhaps, happiness is in the back pocket of his pants
anyhow, the money from his father
is enough to send him to school

his bike makes a creaking noise
and like the child of sorrow is always crying, he doesn’t have many clothes
every night, he shares an old desk with his ma
she does her marking, the child of sorrow learns his lessons

the 20-watt globe is just bright enough, just bright enough
homework done, the child of sorrow gets into his cot
he sleeps on a battered old sleeping mat
but the window is big enough, he can see the stars

the stars sparkle, never sleeping
great handfuls of them
just like toys in a dream—
has the child of sorrow had a glimpse of happiness then?

* * * * * * *

Kennington, Homeless (1890, Victoria, Australia)

The Cry of the Children

by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING

"Pheu pheu, ti prosderkesthe m ommasin, tekna;"
[[Alas, alas, why do you gaze at me with your eyes, my children.]]—Medea.

Do ye hear the children weeping, O my brothers,

      Ere the sorrow comes with years ?

They are leaning their young heads against their mothers, —

      And that cannot stop their tears.

The young lambs are bleating in the meadows ;

   The young birds are chirping in the nest ;

The young fawns are playing with the shadows ;

   The young flowers are blowing toward the west—

But the young, young children, O my brothers,

      They are weeping bitterly !

They are weeping in the playtime of the others,

      In the country of the free.

Do you question the young children in the sorrow,

      Why their tears are falling so ?

The old man may weep for his to-morrow

      Which is lost in Long Ago —

The old tree is leafless in the forest —

   The old year is ending in the frost —

The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest —

   The old hope is hardest to be lost :

But the young, young children, O my brothers,

      Do you ask them why they stand

Weeping sore before the bosoms of their mothers,

      In our happy Fatherland ?

They look up with their pale and sunken faces,

      And their looks are sad to see,

For the man's grief abhorrent, draws and presses

      Down the cheeks of infancy —

"Your old earth," they say, "is very dreary;"

   "Our young feet," they say, "are very weak !"

Few paces have we taken, yet are weary—

   Our grave-rest is very far to seek !

Ask the old why they weep, and not the children,

      For the outside earth is cold —

And we young ones stand without, in our bewildering,

      And the graves are for the old !"

"True," say the children, "it may happen

      That we die before our time !

Little Alice died last year her grave is shapen

      Like a snowball, in the rime.

We looked into the pit prepared to take her —

   Was no room for any work in the close clay :

From the sleep wherein she lieth none will wake her,

   Crying, 'Get up, little Alice ! it is day.'

If you listen by that grave, in sun and shower,

   With your ear down, little Alice never cries ;

Could we see her face, be sure we should not know her,

   For the smile has time for growing in her eyes ,—

And merry go her moments, lulled and stilled in

      The shroud, by the kirk-chime !

It is good when it happens," say the children,

      "That we die before our time !"

Alas, the wretched children ! they are seeking

      Death in life, as best to have !

They are binding up their hearts away from breaking,

      With a cerement from the grave.

Go out, children, from the mine and from the city —

   Sing out, children, as the little thrushes do —

Pluck you handfuls of the meadow-cowslips pretty

   Laugh aloud, to feel your fingers let them through !

But they answer, " Are your cowslips of the meadows

      Like our weeds anear the mine ?

Leave us quiet in the dark of the coal-shadows,

      From your pleasures fair and fine!

"For oh," say the children, "we are weary,

      And we cannot run or leap —

If we cared for any meadows, it were merely

      To drop down in them and sleep.

Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping —

   We fall upon our faces, trying to go ;

And, underneath our heavy eyelids drooping,

   The reddest flower would look as pale as snow.

For, all day, we drag our burden tiring,

      Through the coal-dark, underground —

Or, all day, we drive the wheels of iron

      In the factories, round and round.

"For all day, the wheels are droning, turning, —

      Their wind comes in our faces, —

Till our hearts turn, — our heads, with pulses burning,

      And the walls turn in their places

Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling —

   Turns the long light that droppeth down the wall, —

Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling —

   All are turning, all the day, and we with all ! —

And all day, the iron wheels are droning ;

      And sometimes we could pray,

'O ye wheels,' (breaking out in a mad moaning)

      'Stop ! be silent for to-day ! ' "

Ay ! be silent ! Let them hear each other breathing

      For a moment, mouth to mouth —

Let them touch each other's hands, in a fresh wreathing

      Of their tender human youth !

Let them feel that this cold metallic motion

   Is not all the life God fashions or reveals —

Let them prove their inward souls against the notion

   That they live in you, or under you, O wheels ! —

Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward,

      As if Fate in each were stark ;

And the children's souls, which God is calling sunward,

      Spin on blindly in the dark.

Now tell the poor young children, O my brothers,

      To look up to Him and pray —

So the blessed One, who blesseth all the others,

      Will bless them another day.

They answer, " Who is God that He should hear us,

   While the rushing of the iron wheels is stirred ?

When we sob aloud, the human creatures near us

   Pass by, hearing not, or answer not a word !

And we hear not (for the wheels in their resounding)

      Strangers speaking at the door :

Is it likely God, with angels singing round Him,

      Hears our weeping any more ?

" Two words, indeed, of praying we remember ;

      And at midnight's hour of harm, —

'Our Father,' looking upward in the chamber,

      We say softly for a charm.

We know no other words, except 'Our Father,'

   And we think that, in some pause of angels' song,

God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather,

   And hold both within His right hand which is strong.

'Our Father !' If He heard us, He would surely

      (For they call Him good and mild)

Answer, smiling down the steep world very purely,

      'Come and rest with me, my child.'

"But, no !" say the children, weeping faster,

      " He is speechless as a stone ;

And they tell us, of His image is the master

      Who commands us to work on.

Go to ! " say the children,—"up in Heaven,

   Dark, wheel-like, turning clouds are all we find !

Do not mock us ; grief has made us unbelieving —

   We look up for God, but tears have made us blind."

Do ye hear the children weeping and disproving,

      O my brothers, what ye preach ?

For God's possible is taught by His world's loving —

      And the children doubt of each.

And well may the children weep before you ;

      They are weary ere they run ;

They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory

      Which is brighter than the sun :

They know the grief of man, without its wisdom ;

   They sink in the despair, without its calm —

Are slaves, without the liberty in Christdom, —

   Are martyrs, by the pang without the palm, —

Are worn, as if with age, yet unretrievingly

      No dear remembrance keep,—

Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly :

      Let them weep ! let them weep !

They look up, with their pale and sunken faces,

      And their look is dread to see,

For they think you see their angels in their places,

      With eyes meant for Deity ;—

"How long," they say, "how long, O cruel nation,

   Will you stand, to move the world, on a child's heart, —

Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation,

   And tread onward to your throne amid the mart ?

Our blood splashes upward, O our tyrants,

      And your purple shews your path ;

But the child's sob curseth deeper in the silence

      Than the strong man in his wrath !"