Graduation Recital
Jimmy Hartmann, Baritone
Sunday December 6th, 12pm
Rosch Recital Hall
Ilmenau
Über allen Gipfeln
ist Ruh,
in allen Wipfeln
spürest du
kaum einen Hauch;
die Vögelein schweigen im Walde,
warte nur, balde
ruhest du auch!
Wandrers Nachtlied II
(same text as Ilmenau)
Der Wanderer
Ich komme vom Gebirge her,
Es dampft das Tal, es braust das Meer,
Ich wandle still, bin wenig froh,
Und immer fragt der Seufzer, wo?
Die Sonne dünkt mich hier so kalt,
Die Blüte welk, das Leben alt,
Und was sie reden, leerer Schall,
Ich bin ein Fremdling überall.
Wo bist du, mein geliebtes Land,
Gesucht, geahnt, und nie gekannt?
Das Land, das Land so hoffnungsgrün,
Das Land, wo meine Rosen blühn;
Wo meine Freunde wandelnd gehen,
Wo meine Toten auferstehen,
Das Land, das meine Sprache spricht,
O land, wo bist du?
Ich wandle still, bin wenig froh,
Und immer fragt der Seufzer, wo?
Im Geisterhauch tönt's mir zurück,
"Dort, wo du nicht bist, ist das Glück."
Above all summits
it is calm.
In all the tree-tops
you feel
scarcely a breath;
The birds in the forest are silent,
just wait, soon
you will rest as well!
I come down from the mountains,
The valley dims, the sea roars.
I wander silently and am somewhat unhappy,
And my sighs always ask "Where?"
The sun seems so cold to me here,
The flowers faded, the life old,
And what they say has an empty sound;
I am a stranger everywhere.
Where are you, my dear land?
Sought and brought to mind, yet never known,
That land, so hopefully green,
That land, where my roses bloom,
Where my friends wander
Where my dead ones rise from the dead,
That land where they speak my language,
Oh land, where are you?
I wander silently and am somewhat unhappy,
And my sighs always ask "Where?"
In a ghostly breath it calls back to me,
"There, where you are not, there is your
happiness."
Three Latin Motets
Jesu, dulcis memoria

Jesu, dulcis memoria, Jesus, sweet remembrance,

dans vera cordis gaudia, Granting the heart its true joys,
sed super mel et omnia, But above honey and all things
eius dulcis praesentia. Is His sweet presence.

Nil canitur suavius, Nothing more pleasing can be sung,

nil auditur iucundius, Nothing gladder can be heard
nil cogitatur dulcius, Nothing sweeter can be thought
quam Iesus Dei Filius. Than Jesus, son of God.

Jesu, spes paenitentibus, Jesus, hope of the penitent,

quam pius es petentibus! How merciful you are to those who ask,
quam bonus te quaerentibus! How good to those who seek,
sed quid invenientibus? But O, what you are to those who find!

Nec lingua valet dicere, Tongue has no power to describe

nec littera exprimere: Nor writings to express
expertus potest credere, But only belief can know by experience
quid sit jesum diligere. What it is to love Jesus.

Sis, Iesu, nostrum gaudium, Be our joy, O Jesus,

qui es futurus praemium: Who will be the prize we win,
sit nostra in te gloria, May all our glory be in you, always
per cuncta semper saecula. And through all ages.

Laudate Dominum

Laudáte Dóminum in sánctis éjus: Praise God in his sanctuary;

laudáte éum in firmaménto virtútis éjus
Laudáte éum in virtútibus éjus:
laudáte éum secúndum multitúdinem magnitúdinis
éjus.
Laudáte éum in sóno túbæ:
laudáte éum in psaltério et cíthara.
Laudate eum in tympano et choro:
laudáte éum in chórdis et órgano.
Laudáte éum in cýmbalis benesonántibus:
laudáte éum in cýmbalis jubilatiónis.
Ómnis spíritus láudet Dóminum.
praise him in his mighty heavens.
Praise him for his acts of power;
praise him for his surpassing greatness.
Praise him with the sounding of the trumpet,
praise him with the harp and lyre,
praise him with timbrel and dancing,
praise him with the strings and pipe,
praise him with the clash of cymbals,
praise him with resounding cymbals.
Let everything that has breath praise the Lord!
Ubi caritas et amor
Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est.
Congregavit nos in unum Christi amor.
Exultemus, et in ipso iucundemur.
Timeamus, et amemus Deum vivum.
Et ex corde diligamus nos sincero.
Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est.
Simul ergo cum in unum congregamur:
Ne nos mente dividamur, caveamus.
Cessent iurgia maligna, cessent lites.
Et in medio nostri sit Christus Deus.
Ubi caritas et amor, Deus ibi est.
Simul quoque cum beatis videamus,
Glorianter vultum tuum, Christe Deus:
Gaudium quod est immensum, atque probum,
Saecula per infinita saeculorum. Amen.
Le nozze di Figaro
Non più andrai
Non più andrai, farfallone amoroso,
notte e giorno d'intorno girando;
delle belle turbando il riposo
Narcisetto, Adoncino d'amor.
Non più avrai questi bei pennacchini,
quel cappello leggero e galante,
quella chioma, quell'aria brillante,
quel vermiglio donnesco color.
Fra guerrieri, poffar Bacco!
Gran mustacchi, stretto sacco.
Schioppo in spalla, sciabla al fianco,
collo dritto, muso franco,
un gran casco, o un gran turbante,
molto onor, poco contante!
Ed invece del fandango,
una marcia per il fango.
Per montagne, per valloni,
con le nevi e i sollioni.
Al concerto di tromboni,
di bombarde, di cannoni,
che le palle in tutti i tuoni
all'orecchio fan fischiar.
Cherubino alla vittoria:
alla gloria militar!
Where charity and love are, God is there.
Christ's love has gathered us into one.
Let us rejoice and be pleased in Him.
Let us fear, and let us love the living God.
And may we love each other with a sincere heart.
Where charity and love are, God is there.
As we are gathered into one body,
Beware, lest we be divided in mind.
Let evil impulses stop, let controversy cease,
And may Christ our God be in our midst.
Where charity and love are, God is there.
And may we with the saints also,
See Thy face in glory, O Christ our God:
The joy that is immense and good,
Unto the ages through infinite ages. Amen.
You shall frolic no more, lustful butterfly,
Day and night flitting to and fro;
Disturbing ladies in their sleep
Little Narcissus, Adonis of love.
No longer will you have these beautiful feathers,
That light, romantic cap,
That hair, that glowing countenance,
That rosy, womanly complexion.
Among soldiers, by Bacchus!
A big mustache, a little kit.
A rifle on your shoulder, and a sabre on your side,
Standing up straight, hard faced,
A big helmet, or a big turban,
Plenty of honor, little pay!
And instead of dancing the fandango,
A march through the mud.
Through mountains, through valleys,
With snow and with the sun beating down.
To the beat of the bugle,
Of bombs, of cannons,
Whose thunderous report
Makes your ears ring.
Cherubino, to victory:
To glory in battle!