Auld Lang Syne: Its Real Meaning--Like New Year's Eve, With A Bit of A Chill

It is known as "sacred harp" or shape-note singing, and it is, apparently, an American tradition that brings communities (like church congregations) together to do four-part harmonies and which, or so said our facilitator, is making something of a comeback in Wisconsin. Members of my church tried it on for size after a recent service.

Suffice it to say that a quick education in shaped notes didn't immediately take, so I did what any other red-blooded, American non-musically trained person does: I faked it. Fortunately, I was sitting with the tenors (which I am, once in a while, if I get it right), so we had the task of actually singing the words and the actual melody (while the three other groups had various other challenges), which meant that eventually, we'd actually be singing the song itself while others arranged their voices in support.

No pressure there; plenty surrounded me to cover. We dived right in. We sang old songs with familiar melodies, except for "Amazing Grace," which never changes. I must say that the further along we got, the better we sounded.

We got to the last song, which, as a last song, made all kinds of sense: "Plenary," which goes to the tune of "Auld Lang Syne." Nobody sings the latter except at New Year's Eve, taking "a cup of kindness yet" and all that. Those lyrics salute the year that's passed, but "Plenary" reminds us of our common fate when something else passes: People. Here you go:

Hark! From the tomb a doleful sound, 
Mine ears attend the cry,
Ye living men, come view the ground
Where you must shortly lie.

(Refrain) Where you must shortly lie,
Where you must shortly lie,
Ye living men, come view the ground
Where you must shortly lie.

Princes, this clay must be your bed,
Inspite of all your tow'rs;
The tall, the wise, the reverend head,
Must lie as low as ours.
(Refrain)

Great God! Is this our certain doom?
And are we still secure?
Still walking downward to the tomb,
And yet prepared no more!
(Refrain)

I guess that's why it isn't sung at New Year's Eve, huh? Everyone wants the next year to be a good one, but nobody wants to be reminded of that year where we will all, in the final analysis, be the same.

That last stanza chills. Nobody's really ready to go, are they? At least, not all of a sudden. We all want to have that death bed, that chance to sign off. But we simply don't know that unless we've had the good luck (and it is good luck, actually) to have been warned that something inside of us won't die and it's making sure that we will and not very long from now and we're at long last helpless to successfully intervene. Then, as they say, it becomes time to put one's affairs in order.

Having dodged a very close call myself not that long ago and given a sudden reprieve, I'm going to sing a little and write a little more and read a whole lot and maybe get chances to talk about it here and there. I'm going to do serious, original research and original research that isn't all that serious but is worth noting. I'm going to get with my family and whatever friends I have left and have a few enjoyable moments with them. If other good things happen, then great. The idea, I've concluded, is to leave room for those things and don't ignore them. They, too, pass by but once.

The end will always be at our shoulders. The trick is to live until you die. No need to fake that. Besides, five people at Molson Coors in Milwaukee left for work yesterday not knowing--prepared no more--that someone else, someone with horrible evil in his heart, would keep them from returning home ever again. That is a frightful randomness. No better reminder need be made.

Be well, be careful, and I'll see you down the road.


Mister Mark