Dear Old Wabash, thy loyal sons shall ever love thee,
And o'er thy classic halls, the Scarlet flag shall proudly flash.
Long in our hearts, we'll bear the sweetest mem'ries of thee,
Long shall we sing thy praises, Old Wabash!
And loud and long shall echo the song, Till hill and valley are ringing
And spread the fame of her honored name, Wherever the breezes blow.
Till sweet and clear the world shall hear, The sons of Wabash singing,
And flying free the world shall see, Our scarlet banner go.
A classic in country music's ever-flourishing You-Think-You've-Got-Problems subgenre, "God's Will," the slow-burning piano ballad and emotional capstone to McBride's 2003 album Martina, valorizes a young boy with braces on his legs and a permanent, resilient smile on his face. Written by Barry Dean and Tom Douglas (and inspired by Dean's daughter), its lyrics dole out one Forrest Gump-channeling, Pinterest-worthy heart-suplex after another: "'Hey Jude' was his favorite song/At dinner he'd ask to pray/And then he'd pray for everybody in the world but him."
Inspired by a magazine article on war casualties, Tim McGraw and Brad and Brett Warren wrote "If You're Reading This" in the spring of 2007. The song's lyrics are in the form of a letter a soldier has written in case he dies in combat, with personal goodbyes to his mother, father and wife. McGraw performed the song for the first time at the ACM Awards in May 2007, and was joined onstage by military families who lost loved ones while in service to their country. Radio stations begin playing what was essentially a bootlegged version, which gained momentum with each passing week until the singer's label issued an official release.
Written in tribute to a friend who committed suicide, "Sweet Old World" is a standout from Williams' 1992 album of the same name, which is full of contemplations about life, death and all that we leave behind. Williams began writing the song in 1979 after poet Frank Stanford killed himself with three gunshots to the heart, but it didn't see the light of day until more than 13 years later. Williams told the New Yorker she held the ballad "because my career has been distinguished by other people, who have always been men, telling me what I should sound like." Sonically, it's rather simple, with Williams singing into an empty abyss, bursting with both sadness and anger.
Though Ray Price first met Kris Kristofferson when the latter was a janitor at Columbia Studios, the singer wouldn't remember the songwriter's name until he heard his "For the Good Times" demo between sets during an 1969 tour. After opening with the line "Don't be so sad," the song becomes increasingly tragic, detailing the last moments of a failing relationship before winding down to the closing chorus, "Hear the whisper of the raindrops blowing soft against the window/And make believe you love me one more time/For the good times." Price was immediately taken by these lyrics, but Columbia initially released his take on them as a B side for the honky-tonk "Grazin' in Greener Pastures." Nevertheless, by the end of 1970 "For the Good Times" had become the biggest country song of the year, and in the years following it would become a pop standard covered by artists like Elvis Presley, Frank Sinatra, Johnny Cash and Michael Jackson, who sang it for his mother at her 50th birthday party.
The success continued for the group with the Sydney Dance Company using three of their songs in the production of Beauty and the Beast. Sadly the band separated in 1996; however, all members continued working in the music industry on varying projects and front man Jack Jones continued his work in the music world with several artists and more notably with Electric Mary from 2004 to 2011.
Born on the Hudson twenty-two years gone
Bred and raised in the city
From my daddy's knee I learned the Union songs
But Grandma sang lullabies of Dixie
And though the northern winter fills my heart with joy
Ooh it's a southern sun that shines down on this Yankee boy
Mama dreamed of Paris nights and boatin' on the Seine
She said, "we're gonna make it there too as soon as Papa comes home again"
And she'd speak to me in broken French, dressed like a painting of Lautrec's
In the night she'd clutch me to her breast and say, "we'll make it outta here yet"
And though the Parisian women strut so fine down the Eiffel mall
It's a southern one I sing my songs for
With a local bunch of do-good boys and an old man from the West
We crossed the land in a caravan, yes, we traveled with the best
With circus acts and vaudeville hacks and a Mississippi Delta Queen
She told me the news and sold me the blues in an alley in New Orleans
And though the western plains are still stained with the blood of great cowboys
It's a southern sun that shines down on this Yankee boy, oh yeah
Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of the farmer
Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea; and a shady
Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine wreathing around it.
Rudely carved was the porch, with seats beneath; and a footpath
Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in the meadow.
Under the Sycamore-tree were hives overhung by a penthouse,
Such as the traveller sees in regions remote by the roadside,
Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed image of Mary.
Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the well with its moss-grown
Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for the horses.
Shielding the house from storms, on the north, were the barns and the farm-yard,
There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the antique ploughs and the harrows;
There were the folds for the sheep; and there, in his feathered seraglio,
Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, with the selfsame
Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent Peter.
Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a village. In each one
Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch; and a staircase,
Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous corn-loft.
There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and innocent inmates
Murmuring ever of love; while above in the variant breezes
Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of mutation.
Thus, at peace with God and the world, the farmer of Grand-PrÃ
Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline governed his household.
Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and opened his missal,
Fixed his eyes upon her as the saint of his deepest devotion;
Happy was he who might touch her hand or the hem of her garment!
Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness befriended,
And, as he knocked and waited to hear the sound of her footsteps,
Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the knocker of iron;
Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the village,
Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance as he whispered
Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the music.
But, among all who came, young Gabriel only was welcome;
Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the blacksmith,
Who was a mighty man in the village, and honored of all men;
For, since the birth of time, throughout all ages and nations,
Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by the people.
Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children from earliest childhood
Grew up together as brother and sister; and Father Felician,
Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had taught them their letters
Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the church and the plain-song.
But when the hymn was sung, and the daily lesson completed,
Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil the blacksmith.
There at the door they stood, with wondering eyes to behold him
Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as a plaything,
Nailing the shoe in its place; while near him the tire of the cart-wheel
Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle of cinders.
Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gathering darkness
Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through every cranny and crevice,
Warm by the forge within they watched the laboring bellows,
And as its panting ceased, and the sparks expired in the ashes,
Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going into the chapel.
Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop of the eagle,
Down the hillside hounding, they glided away o'er the meadow.
Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous nests on the rafters,
Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, which the swallow
Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the sight of its fledglings;
Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest of the swallow!
Thus passed a few swift years, and they no longer were children.
He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the face of the morning,
Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened thought into action.
She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes of a woman.
"Sunshine of Saint Eulalie" was she called; for that was the sunshine
Which, as the farmers believed, would load their orchards with apples
She, too, would bring to her husband's house delight and abundance,
Filling it full of love and the ruddy faces of children.
38c6e68cf9