We Three Kings
Hugh Jackman! (Wolverine….), David Hobson, Peter Cousen
We three kings of Orient are;
Bearing gifts we traverse afar,
Field and fountain, moor and mountain,
Following yonder star.
Refrain
O star of wonder, star of light,
Star with royal beauty bright,
Westward leading, still proceeding,
Guide us to thy perfect light.
Born a King on Bethlehem’s plain
Gold I bring to crown Him again,
King forever, ceasing never,
Over us all to reign.
Refrain
Frankincense to offer have I;
Incense owns a Deity nigh;
Prayer and praising, voices raising,
Worshipping God on high.
Refrain
Myrrh is mine, its bitter perfume
Breathes a life of gathering gloom;
Sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying,
Sealed in the stone cold tomb.
Refrain
Glorious now behold Him arise;
King and God and sacrifice;
Alleluia, Alleluia,
Sounds through the earth and skies.
Refrain
Angels we have heard on high
Sweetly sounding o’er the plains
And the mountains in reply
Echoing their joyous strains
Gloria, in excelsis Deo! Gloria, in excelsis Deo!
Shepherds why this jubilee?
Why your joyous strains prolong?
What the gladsome tidings be
Which inspire your heavenly song?
Gloria, in excelsis Deo! Gloria, in excelsis Deo!
Come to Bethlehem and see
Christ whose birth the angels sing
Come adore on bended knee
Christ the Lord, the newborn King!
Gloria, in excelsis Deo! Gloria, in excelsis Deo!
See Him in the manger laid
Whom the choirs of angels praise;
Mary, Joseph lend your aid,
While our hearts in love we raise
Gloria, in excelsis Deo! Gloria, in excelsis Deo!
Memorial Day. My father served during the Korean War, but not in Korea, in Europe. He died in 2002. I miss you Daddy.
The 11th hour of the 11th day of the 11th month…
In Flanders Fields
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe;
To you, from failing hands, we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Written by Lt-Colonel John McRae (1915)