Archival–but still I remember–
Joy to the world
He is risen
Lord knows where they found it–a tiny book of sheet music, once used in church camp singalongs. The song was called “He Is Risen” and they rearranged it for three voices instead of four, and brought it to the college chorale’s accompanist. They only sang it during Holy Week, at a chapel service, as part of a program of Easter music, but I can hear them now–alto on the left to those in the audience, the mezzo in the middle, soprano on the right; brunette, sandy-headed, blonde, in pretty spring pastel dresses. The soprano was just in the first flowering of her voice and had to dial back the power of it, to keep from overwhelming the mezzo, whose voice was small and inclined to waver, while the alto provided a reassuring foundation for them both. A fairly commonplace little song, save for that moment, on the last repetition of “He’s risen” when the soprano soared upward to nail an A above high C, solid as the hammer blow that left a scar in His palm for Doubting Thomas to touch.
Long ago, indeed. But I remember it this Easter morning.