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But here is the finger of God, a flash of the will that
can, Existent behind all laws, that made them, and, lo, they
And I know not if, save in this, such gift be allowed to
man, That out of three sounds he frame, not a fourth sound,
but a star. Consider it well: each tone of our scale in itself is
naught; It is everywhere in the world, — loud, soft, and all is
said : Give it to me to use! I mix it with two in my thought; And, there! Ye have heard and seen : consider and
bow the head !
Well, it is gone at last, the palace of music I reared; Gone ! and the good tears start, the praises that come
too slow; For one is assured at first, one scarce can say that he
feared, That he even gave it a thought, the gone thing was
Never to be again! But many more of the kind
to me? To me, who must be saved because I cling with my
mind To the same, same self, same love, same God: ay,
what was, shall be.
Therefore to whom turn I but to Thee, the ineffable
Name? Builder and maker, Thou, of houses not made with
hands! What, have fear of change from Thee, who art ever the
same ? Doubt that Thy power can fill the heart that Thy power
expands ? There shall never be one lost good! What was, shall
live as before ; The evil is null, is naught, is silence implying sound; What was good, shall be good, with, for evil, so much
. good more; On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven, a perfect 10.
All we have willed or hoped or dreamed of good, shall
exist; Not its likeness, but itself; no beauty, nor good, nor
power Whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the
melodist When eternity affirms the conception of an hour. The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too
hard, The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the
Are music sent up to God by the lover and the bard ; Enough that He heard it once: we shall hear it by
And what is our failure here but a triumph's evidence For the fulness of the days? Have we withered or
agonized ? Why else was the pause prolonged but that singing might
issue thence ? Why rushed the discords in, but that harmony should
be prized ?
Sorrow is hard to bear, and doubt is slow to clear,
woe : But God has a few of us whom He whispers in the ear; The rest may reason and welcome : 't is we musicians
Well, it is earth with me ; silence resumes her reign:
I will be patient and proud, and soberly acquiesce. Give me the keys. I feel for the common chord again,
Sliding by semitones, till I sink to the minor, - yes, And I blunt it into a ninth, and I stand on alien ground, Surveying awhile the heights I rolled from into the
deep; Which, hark, I have dared and done, for my resting-place
is found, The C Major of this life : so, now I will try to sleep.