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Rise Up, Emma Lazarus
Price: $3.00 ea (License
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I. The New Ezekiel
II.
The New Colossus
SSSAAA a cappella
Sacred and secular
texts in English
by Emma Lazarus
Duration: six
minutes
Difficulty rating (1-5): 4 Premiered March 14, 2003 by The New York Treble Singers, New York City, directed by Virginia Davidson. I wrote this piece specifically for the New York Treble Singers 2003 composition competition, for which it won first prize. Since this is a very professional twelve-voice group, I purposely wrote six-part, fairly complex music. The first movement is very energetic and reminds me of some of Randall Thompson’s music. The second movement uses Lazarus’ famous text which is inscribed on the base of the Statue of Liberty. I was fortunate to meet Gregg Smith at the New York premiere of the piece. He has been a wonderful supporter since then. Complete perusal score available upon request. TEXT
The New Ezekiel
What, can these dead bones live,
whose sap is dried
By twenty scorching centuries of
wrong?
Is this the House of Israel, whose
pride
Is as a tale that’s told, an
ancient song?
Are these ignoble relics all that
live
Of psalmist, priest, and prophet?
Can the breath of very heaven bid
these bones revive,
Open the graves and clothe the ribs
of death?
Yea, prophesy, the Lord hath said.
Again say top the wind, come forth
and breathe afresh,
Even that they may live upon these
slain,
And bone to bone shall leap, and
flesh to flesh.
The Spirit is not dead, proclaim
the word,
Where lay dead bones, a host of
armed men stand!
I ope your graves, my people, saith
the Lord,
And I shall place you living in
your land.
The New Colossus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame
With conquering limbs astride from land to
land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall
stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame,
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries
she
With silent lips, “Give me your tired, your
poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore,
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”
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| PAUL CAREY
composer / conductor All materials and information on this site © 2008 Paul Carey and respective music publishers No part of this site or its contents may be reproduced without written consent. 
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