Bambino Divino (Traditional)

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  • CPDL #46147:     
Editor: Francesco Spiga (submitted 2017-08-31).   Score information: A4, 1 page, 128 kB   Copyright: Personal
Edition notes: The same setting as #46144, transposed down a fifth, for 3 voices male choir (tenor, baritone, bass).
Arranger: Francesco Spiga
  • CPDL #46144:     
Editor: Francesco Spiga (submitted 2017-08-31).   Score information: A4, 1 page, 128 kB   Copyright: Personal
Edition notes: Arranged for soprano, alto and tenor (or baritone).
Arranger: Francesco Spiga

General Information

Title: Bambino Divino
Composer: Anonymous (Traditional)
Lyricist: Anonymous

Number of voices: 3vv   Voicings: SAT, SAB, TTB or TBB
Genre: SacredCarolFolksong   Meter: 66. 66

Language: Italian
Instruments: A cappella

First published:

Description: Ancient lauda of unknown origin.

External websites:

Original text and translations

Italian.png Italian text

Bambino Divino
Tra l'ombre apparì,
Tra grotte di notte
Più chiara del dì.

Maria la pia
Sul fieno posò
Il nato portato,
Che i Cieli creò.

Nel gelo, col velo,
Le membra coprì;
E'l Figlio qual Giglio
Tra spine vagì.

Allora l'adora,
E'l latte gli dà
D'un Seno, ch'è pieno
D'amor, e pietà.

Gli canta la Santa
Sua Madre così;
E'l canto col pianto
Degl'occhi s'unì.

O raro, preclaro,
Divino mio Re,
Tra stenti pungenti
Nascesti, perché?

Almeno tu fieno
Che pungi il mio ben,
Con dure punture
Impiaga il mio sen.

O veli crudeli
Non siate nò più:
Tra nodi men sodi
Stringete Gesù.

O vita gradita
di questo mio cor:
O Prole mio Sole
Dolcissimo Amor.
 

English.png English translation

The Divine Child
Between the shadows appeared,
In the caves, in a clearer night
Than the day.

The pious Mary
Laid on the hay
The child she carried,
The Creator of the Skies.

In the frost, with a veil,
She covered his limbs;
And the Son, like a Lily,
Cried between the thorns.

Then she adores Him
And gives Him milk
From her Breast, which is full
Of love, and devotion.

Sings to Him,
His Saint Mother, these words;
And her voice joined
The tears from her eyes.

O my rare, illustrious,
Divine King,
Thou were born between
Stinging struggles. Why?

Thou, at least, hay,
Stinging my beloved,
With hard punctures
Hurt my breast.

O veils, do not be
Anymore cruel:
Between less hard knots
Hold Jesus.

O life, dear
To my heart.
O Offspring, my Sun,
Sweetest Love.

Translation by Francesco Spiga