Product Description:
PDF score of In Flanders Fields by Drew Swatosh and Lt. Col John McCrae
Please note: 10 copy minimum. Please purchase one copy per member of your choir
Please note: 10 copy minimum. Please purchase one copy per member of your choir
Program Note:
In Flanders Fields sets Lt. Col John McCrae’s famous poem about loss on the battlefields in Belgium and France during World War I. This piece started life as an assignment to write a piece from a melody from my first composition teacher, Dave Averre. It was first a piano piece about autumn, which was then requested to be expanded into a choral work. One of the first choral works I performed was a setting of this poem back in 7th grade, a formative experience that I used to create another. Even with my limited understanding of text setting, this piece won first place in the 11th-grade division of the Washington State Music Teachers Association composition contest and helped ignite my passion for writing vocal and choral music.
Instrumentation
SATB & Piano
Recording:
Score:
Text:
In Flanders Fields
Lt. Col. John McCrae
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.
Lt. Col. John McCrae
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.
We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.
Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.