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Kaitlin Simonson, conductor

Dan Meinhardt, piano

November 6, 2021

5:30 & 7:30pm

How can I keep from singing?, Sarah Quartel

Bailey Wells, solo

Muusika, Pärt Uusberg

Gloria, Ola Gjeilo

Renee Ong, piano

In Autumn, Gwenyth Walker

Julia Napolitano, soprano

Isabella Kopits, mezzo-soprano

Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Sarah Quartel

Song of Miriam, Elaine Hagenberg

I Lift my Voice, Andrea Ramsey

What happens when a woman?, Alexandra Olsavsky of Artemisia

O vos omnes, Miklós Kocsár

Light of a Clear Blue Morning, The Wailin’ Jennys  

Jayne Edwards, solo

Marie Madeleine, Traditional Acadian arr. Jeanette Gallant

Dan Meinhardt, spoons

Concert Program
Sheet Music


Texts and Translations


Robert Lowry (1862-99) 

arr. Sarah Quartel 

Bailey Wells, solo

My life flows on in endless song;

Above earth's lamentations,

I hear the real, though far-off tune

That hails a new creation. 

Through all the tumult and the strife

I hear its music ringing.

It sounds an echo in my soul,

how can I keep from singing?

While though the tempest loudly roars,

I hear the truth, it liveth.

And though the darkness 'round me close,

songs in the night it giveth.

No storm can shake my inmost calm

While to that rock I'm clinging.

Since love is lord of heaven and earth,

how can I keep from singing?

I lift my eyes, the cloud grows thin;

I see the blue above it, 

And day by day this pathway smooths

since first I learned to love it. 

The peace of love makes fresh my heart, 

a fountain ever springing;

All things are mine in love and joy! 

How can I keep from singing!


Text: Juhan Liiv (1864-1913)
Music: Pärt Uusberg (b. 1986)

Somewhere the original harmony must exist, 
hidden somewhere in the vast wilds. 
In Earth’s mighty firmament, 
in the far reaches of swirling galaxies, 
in sunshine, 
in a little flower, in the song of a forest, 
in the music of a mother’s voice, 
or in teardrops --
somewhere, immortality endures,
and the original harmony will be found.
How else could it have formed in human hearts --


Ola Gjeilo

Gloria in excelsis Deo. 
Et in terra pax hominibus
bonae voluntatis.
Laudamus te, 
benedicimus te, 
adoramus te,
glorificamus te.
Cum Sancto Spiritu in Gloria Dei Patris, 


from Songs for Women's Voices

Text: May Swenson (1913-1989)

Music: Gwyneth Walker (b. 1947) 

Julia Napolitano and Isabella Kopits, duet

I will lie down in autumn
let birds be flying
Swept in a hollow by the wind
I’ll wait for dying 
I will lie inert unseen
my hair same-colored with grass and leaves 
Gather me for the autumn fires
with the withered sheaves
I will sleep face down in the burnt meadow
not hearing the sound of water over stones
Trail over me cloud and shadow
Let snow hide the whiteness of my bones


from As You Like It (Act 2, Scene 7)
William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
Composer: Sarah Quartel

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,

  Thou art not so unkind

      As man's ingratitude;

  Thy tooth is not so keen,

  Because thou art not seen,

      Although thy breath be rude.

Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly:

Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:

  Then, heigh-ho, the holly!

      This life is most jolly.

  Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,

  That does not bite so nigh

      As benefits forgot:

  Though thou the waters warp,

  Thy sting is not so sharp

      As friend remembered not.

Heigh-ho! sing . . .


Text: Rabbi Ruth Sohn 
Music: Elaine Hagenberg

I, Miriam, stand at the sea

and turn 

to face the desert

stretching endless and 


My eyes are dazzled

The sky brilliant blue

Sunburnt hands unyielding white. 

My hands turn to dove wings. 

My arms


for the sky

and I want to sing

the song rising inside me. 

My mouth open

I stop. 

Where are the words?

Where the melody?

In a moment of panic 

My eyes go blind. 

Can I take a step 

Without knowing a 


Will I falter

Will I fall 

Will the ground sing away from under me? 

The song still unformed---

How can I sing? 

To take the first step---

To sing a new song---

Is to close one’s eyes

and dive 

into unknown waters, 

For a moment knowing nothing risking all---

But then to discover

The waters are friendly

The ground is firm. 

And the song---

the song rises again. 

Out of my mouth 

come words lifting the wind. 

And I hear 

for the first 

the song

that has been in my heart 



even to me.


We invite the audience to join in singing 
Words and Music by Andrea Ramsey

When I lift my voice, let it be in song, 

A defiant note in the face of wrong, 

I won’t stand alone, we’ll stand side by side, 

‘cause we know that love is always justified. 


When they try to divide us, 

it will only unite us. 

I lift my voice. 

When I lift my voice, let it be for good, 

Let me care as much as I know I should, 

I won’t stand alone, we’ll stand side by side, 

‘cause we know that love is always justified. 



Alexandra Olsavsky

Maria Chelko and Aysha Maisonet, duet

What happens when a woman takes power?
What happens when she won’t back down? 
What happens when she wears the crown? 
What happens when she wears her own body? 
What happens when she sets the beat? 
What happens when she bows to nobody? 
What happens when she stands on her own two feet? 
We rise above; 
We lead with love; 
We have won; 
We are one; 
We’ve just begun.


Miklós Kocsár 

O vos omnes qui transitis per viam:

attendite et videte si est dolor sicut dolor meus.

Oh all you who pass along this way, 

Behold and see if there is any sorrow like unto my sorrow. 


As sung by The Wailin' Jennys

Transcribed by Julia Napolitano

Jayne Edwards, solo

It's been a long dark night

And I've been a waitin' for the morning

It's been a long hard fight

But I see a brand new day a dawning

I've been looking for the sunshine

You know I ain't seen it in so long

But everything's gonna work out just fine

And everything's gonna be alright

That's been all wrong

'Cause I can see the light of a clear blue morning

I can see the light of a brand new day

I can see the light of a clear blue morning

Oh, and everything's gonna be alright

It's gonna be okay

It's been a long, long, time

Since I've known the taste of freedom

And those clinging vines

That had me bound, well I don't need 'em

Oh, I've been like a captured eagle, 

you know an eagle's born to fly

Now that I have won my freedom, 

like an eagle I am eager for the sky


Traditional Acadian 

arr. Jeanette Gallant

Dan Meinhardt, spoons

Marie Madeleine ton p’tit jupon de laine, 

ta p’tite jupe carreautée, ton p’tit jupon piqué.

Mon père avait une p’tite vache noire. 

Ell’ donnait yin que du lait caillé. 

Elle cherchait yin qu’à m’en corner. 

J’étais obligé de l’attacher. 

Un jour son câbl’il a cassé. 

La vache m’a envoyé revolver. 

La vache m’a envoyé revoler. 

À plat ventre sur le tas d’fumier. 

J’étais beau quand je m’suis relevé. 

Ça a pris trois jours pour m’nettoyer. 

Mary Madeleine your little woolen petticoat, 

your little checkered skirt, your little fitted petticoat. 

My father had a little black cow. 

She gave nothing but sour milk. 

She wanted nothing but to corner me, 

I was obliged to tie her up. 

One day her cable broke. 

The cow sent me flying. 

The cow sent me flying. 

Lying on a heap of manure. 

I was sightly when I got up. 

It took three days to get clean. 

Sheet Music



Edith Henrich

Morning is lifting slowly out of darkness, 

white as devotion, skywide, without knowing 

how like belief is the implicit, outward 

       motion of growing. 

Shape is restored at dawn to objects singly

as though each separate thing were beautiful 

because of its existence, difference seeming 

       To be the soul. 

Solids are whole again, as though discovered

with love, with hands; dimensions are made clear

as though it were an act of faith: the circle 

       Becomes the sphere. 

Color is new upon each sunlit surface;

lifting lines are reimbursed with flight;

cool and level lie the planes of morning

       covered with light. 

Slow as belief is all awakening:

the groping leaf, the groping hand, the blind

blood groping out of chaos toward whatever 

       pattern it can find. 

Sunrise with Scaffolding 
MRB Chelko

What wakes me is not the usual

sudden burst (the sun: 

yesterday’s dough repurposed).

This summer morning comes

with construction crews, thick

dust on their boots, crumbled mortar

speckling their shoulders. 

On a suspended platform 

they move across the window. The yellow pads

velcroed to their knees

                            a new kind of dawn. 

Busy and helmeted, 

correcting some flaw in the masonry, they

drill the wall beside my bed. They drill 

the inside of my head. Inside my head, the world

vibrates, hums, crumbles. 

                             Gravity is the will

to conform. Still, the human race has trained

even the spears of its buildings toward the sky as an act of resistance. 

So too the trees break form. 

Given the opportunity of a breeze

Their million hands attempt flight. 

But leaves only fly in death. And bricks 

in destruction. 

How should a person rise? 

Woman, Flux 
Jonterri Gadson

Night birds

know nothing 

of me

in my lone bed

making lists

of things

I cannot change. 

Let me be 

a harmonious interruption 

of hair and eyes, 

skin, voice, and darkness, 

my body

an intermittent flash

of starlight

that, at least, 

from a distance

appears constant. 

Phenomenal Woman
Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. 

I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size

But when I start to tell them, 

They think I’m telling lies. 

I say, 

It’s in the reach of my arms, 

The span of my hips, 

The stride of my step, 

The curl of my lips. 

I’m a woman


Phenomenal woman, 

That’s me. 

I walk into a room

Just as cool as you please,

And to a man, 

The fellows stand or

Fall down on their knees. 

Then they swarm around me, 

A hive of honey bees. 

I say, 

It’s the fire in my eyes, 

And the flash of my teeth, 

The swing in my waist, 

And the joy in my feet. 

I’m a woman 


Phenomenal woman, 

That’s me. 

Men themselves have wondered

What they see in me. 

They try so much 

But they can’t touch 

My inner mystery. 

When I try to show them, 

They say they still can’t see. 

I say, 

It’s in the arch of my back, 

The sun of my smile, 

The ride of my breasts, 

The grace of my style. 

I’m a woman


Phenomenal woman, 

That’s me. 

Now you understand

Just why my head’s not bowed. 

I don’t shout or jump about

Or have to talk real loud. 

When you see my passing, 

It ought to make you proud. 

I say, 

It’s in the click of my heels, 

The bend of my hair, 

The palm of my hand, 

The need for my care. 

‘Cause I’m a woman 


Phenomenal woman, 

That’s me. 

Wild Geese 
Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good. 

You do not have to walk on your knees 

for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. 

You only have to let the soft animal of your body 

       love what it loves. 

Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. 

Meanwhile the world goes on. 

Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain 

are moving across the landscapes,

over the prairies and the deep trees, 

the mountains and the rivers. 

Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, 

are heading home again. 

Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, 

the world offers itself to your imagination, 

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting--

over and over announcing your place 

in the family of things. 

Clear Morning 
Louise Gluck

I’ve watched you long enough, 

I can speak to you any way I like--

I’ve submitted to your preferences, observing patiently

the things you love, speaking

through vehicles only, in 

details of earth, as you prefer, 


of blue clematis, light

of early evening--

you would never accept

a voice like mine, indifferent

to the objects you busily name, 

your mouths 

small circles of awe--

And all this time

I indulged your limitation, thinking 

you would cast it aside yourselves sooner or later, 

thinking matter could not absorb your gaze forever--

obstacle of the clematis painting 

blue flowers on the porch window--

I cannot go on

restricting myself to images

because you think it is your right

to dispute my meaning:

I am prepared now to force

clarity upon you. 

Mary Ruefle

Here and there, between trees, 

cows lie down in the forest 

in the midafternoon

as though sleep were an idea

for which they were willing 

to die. 

Sheet Music



Special thanks to

Advent Lutheran Church

Katie Gallardo, choir headshots @katiegallardophoto

Evan Kirby, program design @evankirby2

Ryan Krukowski, concert photos and video @ryankrukowskimedia

Rebecca Soelberg, vocal coach and administrative consultant @soelsoprano

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