“I don't sing my mother tongue
No, this is not a love song”
Till Lindemann (1963) German industrial metal musician
"Amerika"
Reise, Reise (2004)
“Sing, my tongue, the Savior's glory,
Of His Flesh the mystery sing;
Of the Blood, all price exceeding,
Shed by our immortal King.”
Pange, Lingua (hymn for Vespers on the Feast of Corpus Christi), stanza 1
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Do you have more details about the quote "Sing, my tongue, the Savior's glory,
Of His Flesh the mystery sing;
Of the Blood, all price exceeding,
Shed by our i…" by Thomas Aquinas?
Thomas Aquinas104
Italian Dominican scholastic philosopher of the Roman Catho… 1225–1274Related quotes
Joseph Haydn (1732–1809) Austrian composer
The libretto of an 18th-century oratorio by Joseph Haydn states in praise of Jehovah. Source: The Watchtower magazine, article: Praise the King of Eternity!, 4/1, 1996.
Abbott Eliot Kittredge (1834–1912) American minister
Source: Dictionary of Burning Words of Brilliant Writers (1895), P. 555.
Robert Penn Warren (1905–1989) American poet, novelist, and literary critic
Love's Voice (c.1935–1939)
Context: Such fable ours! However sweet,
That earlier hope had, if fulfilled,
Been but child's pap and toothless meat
— And meaning blunt and deed unwilled,
And we but motes that dance in light
And in such light gleam like the core
Of light, but lightless, are in right
Blind dust that fouls the unswept floor
For, no: not faith by fable lives,
But from the faith the fable springs
— It never is the song that gives
Tongue life, it is the tongue that sings;
And sings the song. Then, let the act
Speak, it is the unbetrayable
Command, if music, let the fact
Make music's motion; us, the fable.
“He has singed the beard of the king of Spain.”
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807–1882) American poet
The Dutch Picture, reported in Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. (1919).
“Such a price
The Gods exact for song;
To become what we sing.”
Matthew Arnold (1822–1888) English poet and cultural critic who worked as an inspector of schools
" The Strayed Reveller to Ulysses http://www.poetry-archive.com/a/the_strayed_reveller_to_ulysses.html"
Federico García Lorca Llanto por Ignacio Sánchez Mejías
Pero ya duerme sin fin.
Ya los musgos y la hierba
abren con dedos seguros
la flor de su calavera.
Y su sangre ya viene cantando:
cantando por marismas y praderas,
resbalando por cuernos ateridos,
vacilando sin alma por la niebla,
tropezando con miles de pezuñas
como una larga, oscura, triste lengua,
para formar un charco de agonía
junto al Guadalquivir de las estrellas.
¡Oh blanco muro de España!
¡Oh negro toro de pena!
¡Oh sangre dura de Ignacio!
¡Oh ruiseñor de sus venas!
Llanto por Ignacio Sanchez Mejias (1935)
Music and Moonlight (1874), Ode
Context: But we, with our dreaming and singing,
Ceaseless and sorrowless we!
The glory about us clinging
Of the glorious futures we see,
Our souls with high music ringing:
O men! it must ever be
That we dwell, in our dreaming and singing,
A little apart from ye.
We are afar with the dawning
And the suns that are not yet high,
And out of the infinite morning
Intrepid you hear us cry —
How, spite of your human scorning,
Once more God's future draws nigh,
And already goes forth the warning
That ye of the past must die.