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Die Nacht ist hin, nun wird es Licht,
Da Jakobs Stern die Wolken bricht.
Ihr Völker, hebt die Häupter auf
Und merkt der goldnen Zeiten Lauf!
Du süßer Zweig aus Jesses Stamm,
Mein Heil, mein Fürst, mein Schatz, mein Lamm,
Ach, schau doch hier mit Freuden her,
Wie mein Herz die Wiege wär!
Ach komm doch liebster Seelenschatz!
Der Glaube macht dir reinen Platz,
Die Liebe steckt das Feuer an,
Das auch den Stall erleuchten kann.
Ihr Töchter Salems, küßt den Sohn!
Des Höchsten Liebe brennet schon.
Kommst, küßt das Kind! Es stillt den Zorn.
Ach, nun erhebt der Herr mein Horn!
Night is passed, dawn comes,
Jacob’s star breaks through the clouds.
Peoples, raise up your heads
And note the begin of the golden times!
You sweet branch of Jesse’s trunk,
My savior, my prince, my treasure, my lamb,
Look with joy
How my heart would be the cradle!
Oh come my dearest treasure!
For you my faith makes a pure place, and
My love ignites a flame,
Which will also fill the stable with light.
You daughters of Salem, kiss the son!
The love of the Highest is already burning.
Come, kiss the child! It will stem your anger.
Now the Lord raises my horn!
–Johann Christian Günther, Weihnachtsode (1721) in: Sämtliche Werke, vol. 2, pp. 168-169 (1931)(S.H. transl.)
Listening Suggestion for Christmas Day:
I: Johann Sebastian Bach, The Christmas Oratorio, BWV 248. This is not one of Bach’s better known works–it lacks the drama and pathos of other works suitable for the Christmas season, especially the two passions. Bach cobbled this work together from a number of motets and cantatas, especially from the Advent cycle. But the composition works very effectively. And the second part, “Brich an du schönes Morgenlicht,” a chorale for choir and orchestra, composed in 1734, thematically tracks Günther’s poem very closely. Bach knew and admired Günther’s poetry, including this work.
II: Michael Praetorius, Christmette (A Christmas Mass, Lutheran rite)(1603-20). If you don’t know about the great polyphonic tradition before Bach, or think it was only some place south of the Alps, you should examine the Praetorius Christmas Mass assembled by Paul McCreesh and the Gabrieli Consort and Players on a Deutsche Grammophon/Archiv recording. The music is powerful, even transporting, and not widely heard. Praetorius is the towering figure of the period in which Reformation fades into Baroque, a man of great genius and humanity. He achieved fame across Europe not only for his sacred music, but also for his marvelous compilations of courtly dance tunes, and with his fame he also accumulated wealth that was almost unheard of for a composer of this era. When he died, in 1621, he bequeathed his entire fortune to a foundation for the relief of the poor and infirm. Praetorius wrote a series of treatises on the art of constructing and playing the organ, on composition and an almost forgotten treatise which relates music theory to theology, the Syntagma musicum. He also collected widely from the region. This recording is an attempt to reconstruct a Lutheran Christmas Mass in the form in which it would have been celebrated around 1610, drawing on compositions from Praetorius (but also Scheidt and Schütz) for the musical elements. The vocal music includes several of Praetorius’s most significant shorter works, including the hymn “Vom Himmel hoch, da komm ich her,” the sacred motet “Jesaja dem Propheten das geschah,” and the two communion motets “Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern” and “Uns ist ein Kindlein heut geborn.” The recessional is arguably the most important early Baroque work associated with the celebration of Christmas, “In dulci jubilo.” The mass runs eighty minutes. This music extends the bounds of time itself, and listening to it nourishes, inspires and moves anyone who truly listens forward on an important inward journey. Eighty minutes: but a glimmer in time.
More from Scott Horton:
Six Questions — October 18, 2014, 8:00 pm
Nathaniel Raymond on CIA interrogation techniques.
Mark Denbeaux on the NCIS cover-up of three “suicides” at Guantánamo Bay Detention Camp
From the June 2014 issue
For the past three years my dosimeter had sat silently on a narrow shelf just inside the door of a house in Tokyo, upticking its final digit every twenty-four hours by one or two, the increase never failing — for radiation is the ruthless companion of time. Wherever we are, radiation finds and damages us, at best imperceptibly. During those three years, my American neighbors had lost sight of the accident at Fukushima. In March 2011, a tsunami had killed hundreds, or thousands; yes, they remembered that. Several also recollected the earthquake that caused it, but as for the hydrogen explosion and containment breach at Nuclear Plant No. 1, that must have been fixed by now — for its effluents no longer shone forth from our national news. Meanwhile, my dosimeter increased its figure, one or two digits per day, more or less as it would have in San Francisco — well, a trifle more, actually. And in Tokyo, as in San Francisco, people went about their business, except on Friday nights, when the stretch between the Kasumigaseki and Kokkai-Gijido-mae subway stations — half a dozen blocks of sidewalk, which commenced at an antinuclear tent that had already been on this spot for more than 900 days and ended at the prime minister’s lair — became a dim and feeble carnival of pamphleteers and Fukushima refugees peddling handicrafts.
One Friday evening, the refugees’ half of the sidewalk was demarcated by police barriers, and a line of officers slouched at ease in the street, some with yellow bullhorns hanging from their necks. At the very end of the street, where the National Diet glowed white and strange behind other buildings, a policeman set up a microphone, then deployed a small video camera in the direction of the muscular young people in drums against fascists jackets who now, at six-thirty sharp, began chanting: “We don’t need nuclear energy! Stop nuclear power plants! Stop them, stop them, stop them! No restart! No restart!” The police assumed a stiffer stance; the drumming and chanting were almost uncomfortably loud. Commuters hurried past along the open space between the police and the protesters, staring straight ahead, covering their ears. Finally, a fellow in a shabby sweater appeared, and murmured along with the chants as he rounded the corner. He was the only one who seemed to sympathize; few others reacted at all.
Number of U.S. congressional districts in which trade with China has produced more jobs than it has cost:
Young bilingual children who learned one language first are likelier than monolingual children and bilingual children who learned languages simultaneously to say that a dog adopted by owls will hoot.
An Oklahoma legislative committee voted to defund Advanced Placement U.S. History courses, accusing the curriculum of portraying the United States as “a nation of oppressors and exploiters.”
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