In The Choir
On rolled the mighty melody,
As though multitude passed by
A sea of sound and sweetness; here and there
A clear young voice pealed high:
A glory crept along the vaulted roof,
And tinged the old grey stone:
The sunshine stole it from the windows where
The saints each stood alone.
Below knelt youth and beauty in their pride,
Fair as the flowers of June.
How did that psalm of strife and agony
Chime with each young heart's tune!
And then the heavy oaken door swung back:
A woman entered in
Wan in the face, and weary in her mien,
Her garments soiled and thin;
And like a blot upon a robe, she stood
Amid the gorgeous fane;
And youth and beauty drew themselves apart,
And she went out again.
Still, where the pictured Twelve Apostles stood
The light came coloured fair;
But yet methought those men of Galilee
Had scarce been welcome there!
The Deaf Musician
See a lark in the far summer sky,
My darling seated at her harp I see,
Playing the while our little children sing:
The world is full of music—not for me!
I dreamed last night of some dim abbey choir:
The lights were burning where the singers stood
Chanting my anthem. I crouched in the dark,
Weeping for joy to hear they called it good!
O music of my sleep, that mocks my soul
With cruel joys that are fulfilled no more
Than his who dreams of light and love at home,
And wakes to find himself on Arctic shore!
It haunts me always through my silent days,
With life before me like a closed gate.
If God had only bidden me to die;
Or anything but this hard work—to wait.
To wait and work, and know my work but as
Some poor fond mother from her infant reft,
Shuts the sweet memory safe from change and time,
And dreams to find her boy the babe she left!
And yet there is a thought will sometimes creep
It even mingled in my dream last night
I'd rather make my music in the dark,
Than only stand and sing it in the light!
Maybe the dream is nearer truth than sound,
And could I hear my tune, mine eyes might miss
Some of the sweetness soaring in my soul:
Better go wanting that, and having this!
And there are songs in heaven. God forgive
A poor deaf man for wondering what they are.
Perchance it is their echo that I catch,
And I shall hear those same songs sweeter far!
Family Music
Beside the window I sit alone,
And I watch as the stars come out,
I catch the sweetness of Lucy's tone,
And the mirth of the chorus' shout:
I listen and look on the solemn night,
Whilst they stand singing beneath the light.
Lucy looks just like an early rose
(Somebody else is thinking so),
And every day more fair she grows
(Somebody will not say me no),
And she sings like a bird whose heart is bless'd
(And Somebody thinks of building a nest!)
And now she chooses another tune,
One that was often sung by me:
I do not think that these nights in June
Are half so fine as they used to be,
Or 'tis colder watching the solemn night,
Than standing singing beneath the light.
Lucy, you sing like a silver bell,
Your face is fresh as a morning flower—
Why should you think of the sobs which swell
When leaves fall fast in the autumn bower?
Rather gather your buds and sing your song,
Their perfume and echo will linger long.
I'm grey and grave,—and 'tis quite time too,—
I go at leisure along my ways;
But I know how life appears to you,
I know the words that Somebody says:
As old songs are sweet, and old words true,
So there's one old story that's always new!
There is a grave that you do not know,
A drawer in my desk that you've never seen,
A page in my life that I never show,
A love in my heart that is always green:
Sing out the old song! I fear not the pain,
I sang it once—Lucy, sing it again!
