Word: chants
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...great drama of the Mass, through which runs a succession of solemn and joyful psalms, hymns and prayers, offers many a place for song where now no voice save that of the priest is raised. In austere, simple Gregorian chant the congregation may voice its faith more deeply and emotionally than any choir singing Bach or Beethoven. As the celebrant begins the Mass the people might intone a majestic Kyrie Eleison and then the Gloria which angels sang at Christ's birth. Just before the priest consecrates the Host there may be a full-voiced Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus Dominus...
...volume of cant, hysterically intoned and accompanied by dark threats of boycott and ostracism. And Mr. Hitler, who is not unaware of the position of minorities in those countries which now scorn him most openly, must be pardoned if he displays a cynical unwillingness to beat his breast and chant "Peccavi...
...Jewish family mourns its dead by sitting shivah-in stocking feet, on rough boxes instead of chairs-during the first seven days. For eleven months after the death there is daily Kaddish, a prayer in the synagog, usually led by a son or daughter of the deceased. Some rabbis chant a routine, blanket Kaddish at the end of services, for all the congregation's dead. After eleven months the deceased is presumed to be redeemed by these prayers, to pass on from Gehenna (Hell) to Heaven. On the twelvemonth, and on successive anniversaries, prayers are again offered, and Yahrzeit...
...Osages and the greed of half-civilized whites nibbling at the Reservation's borders, Major Miles (all Indian Agents were automatically ''Major") had his hands full. The dice were loaded: "civilization" was bound to win. The quiet, unbitter history closes with Eagle That Dreams singing his chant to the rising sun. "When the lower edge of the sun barely touched the horizon the chant stopped and the early morning world seemed to be listening, except for the coughing of the pumps carried from the oil fields on the heavy...
...great, wooden-floored warehouse is neatly piled with bunches of tobacco leaves. Buyers inspect them, fingering them, and measuring them with their eyes. The auctioneer, at one end of the room, starts to chant. Coat off, hat on the back of his head, hands on his hips, he sways to the rhythmic rise and fall of his cry. "Hobben-dobben-hobben-dobben-hobben-dobben," is the way it sounds if you have never heard it, "Hobben-dobben, ay-ay-ay-ay -ay -ni -ni -ni -ni-ni-ten-ten-ten-ten-SOLD." By crooks of fingers, nods of heads, distention...