Divine Pitch Musings is a series where we play songs that resonate with us, at A = 432Hz. Joshua Fought the Battle of Jericho - trad. / Megan Ward Lyrics: Joshua fought the battle of Jericho, Jericho, Jericho, Joshua fought the battle of Jericho And the walls came tumbling down. You may talk about your men of Gideon And talk about your men of Saul But the name of that man Joshua Stands tall above them all. Joshua fought the battle of Jericho... Now blow those rams' horns Joshua said And shout at my command With the Ark of the Covenant by my side The battle is in my hand. Joshua fought the battle of Jericho... Rahab the harlot had helped the spies And the spies had sworn to her That all she had within her house Will be spared by Joshua. Joshua fought the battle of Jericho... Around the walls of Jericho The trumpets began to sound And those fabled walls of Jericho They came a-tumbling down. Joshua fought the battle of Jericho... Why not spare the cattle? Or the donkeys or the sheep? Every living thing soon fell Beneath the soldiers' feet. Joshua fought the battle of Jericho... But Rahab hung the scarlet thread To her the spies returned Brought Rahab out of Jericho Before the city burned. Joshua fought the battle of Jericho...

Divine Pitch Musings is a series where we play songs that resonate with us, at A = 432Hz. The Rocky Road to Dublin - D. K. Gavan Lyrics: Well, in the merry month of June from me home I started Left the girls of Tuam nearly broken hearted Saluted father dear, kissed me darling mother Drank a pint of beer, me grief and tears to smother Then off to reap the corn, leave where I was born I cut a stout blackthorn to banish ghosts and goblins My brand new pair of clogs, rattling over the bogs Frightening all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin One, two, three four, five Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road And all the ways to Dublin, whack follol de rah In Dublin next arrived, I thought it such a pity To be so soon deprived a view of that fine city When I took a stroll, all among the quality My bundle it was stolen in a neat locality Something crossed me mind, when I looked behind No bundle could I find upon me stick a wobblin' Inquiring for the rogue, said me Connacht brogue It wasn't much in vogue on the rocky road to Dublin One, two, three four, five Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road And all the ways to Dublin, whack follol de rah From there I got away, me spirits never failing Landed on the quay, just as the ship was sailing Captain at me roared, said that no room had he But when I jumped aboard, a cabin found for Paddy Down among the pigs, I played some funny rigs Danced some hearty jigs, the water round me bubbling When off Holyhead I wished meself was dead Or better yet instead on the rocky road to Dublin One, two, three four, five Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road And all the ways to Dublin, whack follol de rah The boys of Liverpool, when we safely landed Called meself a fool, I could no longer stand it Blood began to boil, temper I was losing Poor old Erin's Isle they began abusing "Hurrah me soul" says I, me shillelagh I let fly Galway boys were by and saw I was a hobblin' With a loud "hurray!" they joined me in the fray We quickly cleared the way for the rocky road to Dublin One, two, three four, five Hunt the Hare and turn her down the rocky road And all the ways to Dublin, whack follol de rah

Divine Pitch Musings is a series where we play songs that resonate with us, at A = 432Hz. Tom o' Bedlam - trad. Lyrics: From the hag and hungry goblin That into rags would rend ye, The spirit that stands by the naked man In the Book of Moons defend ye, That of your five sound senses You never be forsaken, Nor wander from your selves with Tom Abroad to beg your bacon. And now I sing any song, any good song Sing for the saint and the sinner We can all go bare and we’ll live by the air Poor Tom sings for his dinner. Of thirty bare years have I Twice twenty been enragèd, And of forty been three times fifteen In durance soundly cagèd On the lordly lofts of Bedlam, With stubble soft and dainty, In bracelets strong and exile long With wholesome hunger plenty. And now I sing any song, any good song… I know more than Apollo, For oft, when he lies sleeping I see the stars at bloody wars In the wounded welkin weeping; The moon embraced her shepherd, And the Queen of Love her warrior, While the first did horn the star of morn, And the next the heavenly Farrier. And now I sing any song, any good song… The gypsies and the landlords Are none of Tom's comradoes, The punk I scorn and the cutpurse sworn, And the roaring boy's bravadoes. The meek, the mild, the gentle Me handle, touch, and spare not; But those that cross Tom Rynosseros Do what the panther dare not. And now I sing any song, any good song… With a host of furious fancies Whereof I am commander, With a burning spear and a horse of air, To the wilderness I wander. By a knight of ghosts and shadows I summoned am to tourney Ten leagues beyond the wide world's end Methinks it is no journey. And now I sing any song, any good song Sing for the saint and the sinner We can all go bare and we’ll live by the air Poor Tom sings for his dinner.

Divine Pitch Musings is a series where we play songs that resonate with us, at A = 432Hz. The Great Wharetutae - trad. Lyrics: Once there was built a great wharetutae A room with a view of incredible beaut-ae Chorus: O pass the roll over O pass the roll over O pass the roll over Each man in his turn. Mathematicians of great perspicacity Carefully worked out the cubic capacity They wrote it all down in indelible lipstick Diurnal results from the 20-foot dipstick They made due allowance for seasonal shrinkage And losses from seepage and losses from stinkage And then along came a great working party They worked very hard and they ate very hearty Dehydrated spuds and dehydrated steak and Dehydrated cabbage and rashers of bacon They thought for dessert there'd be nothing so nice as Some figs and some prunes and some dried apple slices Then all through the night there were torches a-flashing Some thumping and groaning and branches a-crashing And when the sun rose on their great shame and sorrow What had been a hole was a heap on the morrow.