Fly Envious Time
The commissioners have exclusive performance rights until April 4, 2020. They also have exclusive recording rights until April 4, 2021.
DURATION
3’30”
INSTRUMENTATION
SATB (div.), piano
POET
John Milton
YEAR COMPOSED
2018
COMMISSIONER
Chromatica
THIS IS A MOVEMENT FROM:
O Time
ORDERING SCORES
Inkjar Publishing Company
Click here to email Inkjar for purchasing options
PERUSAL SCORE
Click here
PROGRAM NOTE
In Fly Envious Time, I excerpted John Milton’s poem On Time. This poem begins by accusing time of being greedy, stealing time from our lives, but ends with the assurance that time cannot touch us in the everlasting afterlife.
DURATION
3’30”
INSTRUMENTATION
SATB (div.), piano
POET
John Milton
YEAR COMPOSED
2018
COMMISSIONER
Chromatica
THIS IS A MOVEMENT FROM:
O Time
ORDERING SCORES
Inkjar Publishing Company
Click here to email Inkjar for purchasing options
PERUSAL SCORE
Click here
PROGRAM NOTE
In Fly Envious Time, I excerpted John Milton’s poem On Time. This poem begins by accusing time of being greedy, stealing time from our lives, but ends with the assurance that time cannot touch us in the everlasting afterlife.
TEXT
Fly envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,
Whose speed is but the heavy Plummets pace;
And glut thy self with what thy womb devours,
Which is no more then what is false and vain,
And meerly mortal dross;
So little is our loss,
So little is thy gain.
For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb'd,
And last of all, thy greedy self consum'd,
Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss
With an individual kiss;
And Joy shall overtake us as a flood,
When every thing that is good
And perfectly divine,
When once our heav'nly-guided soul shall clime,
Then all this Earthy grosnes quit,
Attir'd with Stars, we shall for ever sit,
Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee
O Time.
Fly envious Time, till thou run out thy race,
Call on the lazy leaden-stepping hours,
Whose speed is but the heavy Plummets pace;
And glut thy self with what thy womb devours,
Which is no more then what is false and vain,
And meerly mortal dross;
So little is our loss,
So little is thy gain.
For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb'd,
And last of all, thy greedy self consum'd,
Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss
With an individual kiss;
And Joy shall overtake us as a flood,
When every thing that is good
And perfectly divine,
When once our heav'nly-guided soul shall clime,
Then all this Earthy grosnes quit,
Attir'd with Stars, we shall for ever sit,
Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee
O Time.