| |
| FROM 1 harmony, from heavenly harmony, | |
| This universal frame began: | |
| When nature underneath a heap | |
| Of jarring atoms lay, | |
| And could not heave her head, | 5 |
| The tuneful voice was heard from high, | |
| ‘Arise, ye more than dead!’ | |
| Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry, | |
| In order to their stations leap, | |
| And Music’s power obey. | 10 |
| From harmony, from heavenly harmony, | |
| This universal frame began: | |
| From harmony to harmony | |
| Through all the compass of the notes it ran. | |
| The diapason closing full in Man. | 15 |
| |
| What passion cannot Music raise and quell? | |
| When Jubal 2 struck the chorded shell, | |
| His listening brethren stood around, | |
| And, wondering, on their faces fell | |
| To worship that celestial sound: | 20 |
| Less than a God they thought there could not dwell | |
| Within the hollow of that shell | |
| That spoke so sweetly and so well. | |
| What passion cannot Music raise and quell? | |
| |
| The trumpet’s loud clangour | 25 |
| Excites us to arms, | |
| With shrill notes of anger, | |
| And mortal alarms. | |
| The double, double, double beat | |
| Of the thundering drum | 30 |
| Cries Hark! the foes come; | |
| Charge, charge, ’tis too late to retreat! | |
| |
| The soft complaining flute, | |
| In dying notes, discovers | |
| The woes of hopeless lovers, | 35 |
| Whose dirge is whispered by the warbling lute. | |
| Sharp violins proclaim | |
| Their jealous pangs and desperation, | |
| Fury, frantic indignation, | |
| Depth of pains, and height of passion, | 40 |
| For the fair, disdainful dame. | |
| |
| But O, what art can teach, | |
| What human voice can reach, | |
| The sacred organ’s praise? | |
| Notes inspiring holy love, | 45 |
| Notes that wing their heavenly ways | |
| To mend the choirs above. | |
| |
| Orpheus could lead the savage race; | |
| And trees uprooted left their place, | |
| Sequacious of the lyre; | 50 |
| But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher: | |
| When to her organ 3 vocal breath was given, | |
| An angel heard, and straight appear’d | |
| Mistaking earth for heaven. | |
| |
Grand Chorus As from the power of sacred lays | 55 |
| The spheres began to move, | |
| And sung the great Creator’s praise | |
| To all the Blest above; | |
| So when the last and dreadful hour | |
| This crumbling pageant shall devour, | 60 |
| The trumpet shall be heard on high, | |
| The dead shall live, the living die, | |
| And Music shall untune the sky! | |
