It Is Well With My Soul /embed/JeremyWestcottItIsWellWithMySoul" width="560" height="384" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen="true" mozallowfullscreen="true" allowfullscreen> hosted blogs)[archiveorg JeremyWestcottItIsWellWithMySoul width=560 height=384 frameborder=0 webkitallowfullscreen=true mozallowfullscreen=true] Advanced embedding details, examples, and help! It Is Well With My Soul There are no reviews yet. Be the first one to write a review. SIMILAR ITEMS (based on metadata)Add to Bag Add to Bag Add to Bag The Eternals – StarsMP3 £0.99 John Holt – Fancy Make UpMP3 £0.99 Cecille Campbell – Whisper To MeMP3 £0.99 The Heptones – Party TimeMP3 £0.99 The Gaylads – Joy In The MorningMP3 £0.99 Marcia Griffiths – My AmbitionMP3 £0.99 The Heptones – Love Won't Come EasyMP3 £0.99 Alton Ellis – Hurting MeMP3 £0.99 The Wailing Souls – Row Fisherman RowMP3 £0.99 Ken Boothe – Home Home HomeMP3 £0.99 Jackie Mittoo – Our ThingMP3 £0.99 Ken Boothe – When I Fall In LoveMP3 £0.99
Larry & Alvin – Throw Me CornMP3 £0.99 Duke Morgan – Lick It BackMP3 £0.99 Carlton and The Shoes – Me and YouMP3 £0.99 Dennis Brown – Easy Take It EasyMP3 £0.99 The Classics – Pack UpMP3 £0.99 Ken Boothe – Moving AwayMP3 £0.99Out now! With excellent sleevenotes by Lloyd Bradley (author of the classic book Bass Culture - When Reggae Was King (Penguin)) this album is dedicated to rocksteady at Studio One as well as covering reggae soul and the birth of reggae. Featuring an all-star selection of artists: Ken Boothe, Marcia Griffiths, Jackie Mittoo, The Heptones, John Holt, Alton Ellis, Dennis Brown and more. Soul Jazz Records' Studio One Rocksteady is released in CD- jewel case, 16-page booklet with card slipcase, as well as a heavyweight double-vinyl edition in deluxe strong gatefold sleeve (with full sleeve notes and free download code) and also as a digital download. "A Superb choice of songs, an essential selection" David Rodigan "Soul Jazz’s excellent collection… even without the history, the importance, and the ins and outs, this music isn’t as much of an intellectual pursuit as it is a pleasure in every note… tremendously tight vocal arrangements… just chock full of creativity, developing a unique sound in every single."
"This stunning compile… perfectly articulates rocksteady's correlation with sweet, sweet soul music… "Songs of love and lust had never channelled such a rich slice of cultural and social life as here" Wire Magazine “Splendid anthology” Rock & Folk, France "First class compilation for connoisseurs.” engages in fundamental questions on Christianity with the intention to openly discuss different opinions between Christians and non-believers.Each Saturday, in the award-winning programme Unbelievable, Justin Brierley asks questions like: Is there evidence for God? Can we trust the Bible? Did Jesus rise from the dead?Justin tackles these and other issues, on a show that gets Christians and non-believers talking to each other.If you like to listen to your favourite show at your own time and the place that suits you best, then podcasts are for you, just download episodes or listen online via your smartphone, PC, laptop or tablet. Moreover, by subscribing you will receive a notification every time a new episode is available, so you never miss a thing.
Get earlybird tickets for Unbelievable? The Conference 2017 (+ free DVD)Coloring Book Studio Album by released inG-Eazy and Kehlani go from living the “Good Life” to living the fast life in the music video for their Fate of the Furious collaboration. The visual takes on a Fast and Furious attitude... Download the recording of Christopher Walken reading the poem here: Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore--While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping--rapping at my chamber door."'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door-- Only this and nothing more." Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.Eagerly I wished the morrow;--vainly I had sought to borrowFrom my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore--For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore-- Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtainThrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door--Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door;-- This it is and nothing more." Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,And so faintly you came tapping--tapping at my chamber door,That I scarce was sure I heard you"--here I opened wide the door:-- Darkness there and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"
-- Merely this and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,Soon again I heard a tapping, somewhat louder than before,"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore--Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore;-- 'Tis the wind and nothing more." Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.Not the least obeisance made he; not an instant stopped or stayed he;But, with mien of lord and lady, perched above my chamber door--Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door-- Perched and sat and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore--Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore." Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,Though its answer little meaning--little relevancy bore;For we cannot help agreeing that no living human beingEver yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door--Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door, With such a name as "Nevermore." But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke onlyThat one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.Nothing further then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered--Till I scarcely more than muttered, "Other friends have flown before--On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before." Then the bird said, "Nevermore." Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,Caught from some unhappy master, whom unmerciful DisasterFollowed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore--Till the dirges of his Hope the melancholy burden bore Of 'Never--nevermore.'"
But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linkingFancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore--What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking "Nevermore." This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressingTo the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease recliningOn the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er, She shall press, ah, nevermore! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer,Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor."Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent theeRespite--respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"
"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!--Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted--On this home by Horror haunted--tell me truly, I implore--Is there--is there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me, I implore!" "Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!--prophet still, if bird or devil!By that Heaven that bends above us--by that God we both adore--Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,It shall clasp a saintly maiden whom the angels name Lenore--Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore." "Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked, upstarting--"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!Leave my loneliness unbroken!--quit the bust above my door!Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!" And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting--still is sittingOn the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;