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SATB choir, piano and optional flute (SATB choir)
L.F.
With the Lark
Night is for sorrow and dawn is for joy,
Chasing the troubles that fret and annoy;
Darkness for sighing and daylight for song,
Cheery and chaste the strain, heartfelt and strong.
All the night through, though I moan in the dark,
I wake in the morning to sing with the lark.
Deep in the midnight the rain whips the leaves,
Softly and sadly the wood-spirit grieves.
But when the first hue of dawn tints the sky,
I shall shake out my wings like the birds and be dry;
And though, like the rain-drops, I grieved through the dark,
I shall wake in the morning to sing with the lark.
On the high hills of heaven, some morning to be,
Where the rain shall not grieve thro' the leaves of the tree,
There my heart will be glad for the pain I have known
For my hand will be clasped in the hand of mine own;
And though life has been hard and death's pathway been dark,
I shall wake in the morning to sing with the lark.
SKU: AN.AMP-0914
Composed by Laura Farnell. Octavo. Alliance Music Publications #AMP 0914. Published by Alliance Music Publications (AN.AMP-0914).Farnell.
Sing with the Lark is based on a poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar. Dunbar (1872-1906), the son of two escaped slaves, became one of our first nationally-accepted African-American authors through his poetry, novels and plays.
His poem, With the Lark, is the source of the text of this piece. The lark is a bird that is known for its elaborate songs and is, therefore, frequently referenced in literature and music. Here, sing with the lark refers to hope for a brighter future, even in the midst of the dark and stormy seasons of life.
Night is for sorrow and dawn is for joy,
Chasing the troubles that fret and annoy;
Darkness for sighing and daylight for song,
Cheery and chaste the strain, heartfelt and strong.
All the night through, though I moan in the dark,
I wake in the morning to sing with the lark.
Deep in the midnight the rain whips the leaves,
Softly and sadly the wood-spirit grieves.
But when the first hue of dawn tints the sky,
I shall shake out my wings like the birds and be dry;
And though, like the rain-drops, I grieved through the dark,
I shall wake in the morning to sing with the lark.
On the high hills of heaven, some morning to be,
Where the rain shall not grieve thro' the leaves of the tree,
There my heart will be glad for the pain I have known
For my hand will be clasped in the hand of mine own;
And though life has been hard and death's pathway been dark,
I shall wake in the morning to sing with the lark.