Sunday, February 19, 2012

We'll Sing to Abe Our Song


This starts a series of songs about the United States President Abraham Lincoln.
-> U-ci proto u seri ex plu kanta de USA presidenti Abraham Lincoln.

The songs are singable to the original melodies. In Glosa you may need to drop the last vowel of a line. My trick is to add a higher note just before the last note and keep the vowel.
-> Panto kanto es kanta-posi akorda plu origi kanta-mode. Per Glosa, pe uno-kron pote apo un ultima vokali de plu frase. Mi idio ra es dona a plus ma-alti nota ante ultima nota, e tena u vokali.

Much of the original sheet music can be found at the website of the Library of Congress.
-> Poli ex plu origi ge-presa musika pote gene detekti topo inter-reti-lo de Bibli-do de USA Kongresi.

Or you can buy the CD (English only, made by my family). Contact me for information at:
-> Alo-co pe pote merka u KD (solo England lingua, ge-face ex mi famili). Grafo a mi de info per:

The first is the favorite poem of Lincoln, put to music after his assassination.
-> U kanta mono es u maxi ge-amo poesi per Lincoln, ge-face u kanta po an cide.

* * * 

Oh!  Why should the spirit of mortal be proud?
Like a swift fleeting meteor, a fast flying cloud,
A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave,
He passeth from life to his rest in the grave.
The leaves of the oak and willows shall fade
Be scatter'd around and together be laid;
And the young and the old, and the low and the high,
Shall moulder to dust and together shall lie.

The infant and mother attended and loved;
The mother that infant's affection who proved.
The husband that mother and infant who blessed,
Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest.
So the multitude goes, like the flow'r of the wood,
That withers away to let others succeed.
So the multitude comes, even those we behold,
To repeat ev'ry tale that has often been told.

For we are the same, our fathers have been;
We see the same sights our fathers have seen.
We drink the same stream and view the same sun,
And run the same course our fathers have run.
The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think;
From the death we are shrinking our fathers would shrink;
To the life we are clinging, they also would cling,
But it speeds for us all like a bird on the wing.

They loved!  But the story we cannot unfold;
They scorned!  But no wail from their slumber will come;
They joyed!  But the tongue of their gladness is dumb!
They died!--aye, they died; we things that are now,
That walk on the turf that lies over their brow,
And make in their dwellings a transient abode,
Meet the things that they met, on their pilgrimage road.

Yea!  Hope and despondency, pleasure and pain,
We mingle together in sunshine and rain:
And the smile and the tear, the song and the dirge,
Still follow each other like surge upon surge.
'Tis  the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath,
From the blossom of health to the paleness of death:
From the gilded saloon, to the bier and the shroud!
Oh!  Why should the spirit of mortal be proud?


Qo-ka u spiritu de homi bombasti?
Homo drom meteori, u tako tempestu,
U flasc de urani, u bate de unda,
Pe pasa ab bio ad holo-tem kumbe.
Plu folia de dendro fu lose u kroma,
Fu gene ple spora, kon alelo kumbe.
Pan juve e gero e grav e humili
Fu gene es sapro, kumbe kon alelo.

Un infanti, u matri pa kura e filo,
U matri, qi merit u filo de infanti,
U sponsa, qi bene u matr e infanti--
Panto es ab in plu topo de morta.
So panto kin ab, homo flori de silva,
Qi morta te las un hetero sucede;
So panto mu veni, ja, panto in vista--
Iter un histori, na freqe audi.

Ka na nu es iso na patri pre es--
Na vid iso vista, na patri pa vide,
Na bib iso fluvi e vid iso heli
E hab iso more, na patri pa habe,
Plu puta, na face, na patri pa face,
Na fobo u morta, na patri pa fobo,
Na ten ad u bio, a qi mu pa tena;
Plus bio du tako, un avi per ptero.

Ja, spe para no-spe, kon hedo e algo--
Na mixa mu freqe, so heli ko pluvi;
U rid e lakrima, u kanta e fune--
Mu seqe alelo, so unda po unda.
U klude de oku, u brevi-tem spira,
Ab kroma de san a palidi de morta,
Ab festa kamera a na morta-va,
Qo-ka u spiritu de homi bombasti?

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