| |
| SEATED one day at the organ, | |
| I was weary and ill at ease, | |
| And my fingers wandered idly | |
| Over the noisy keys. | |
| |
| I do not know what I was playing, | 5 |
| Or what I was dreaming then, | |
| But I struck one chord of music, | |
| Like the sound of a great Amen. | |
| |
| It flooded the crimson twilight, | |
| Like the close of an angel’s psalm, | 10 |
| And it lay on my fevered spirit, | |
| With a touch of infinite calm. | |
| |
| It quieted pain and sorrow, | |
| Like love overcoming strife; | |
| It seemed the harmonious echo | 15 |
| From our discordant life. | |
| |
| It linked all perplexed meanings | |
| Into one perfect peace, | |
| And trembled away into silence, | |
| As if it were loath to cease. | 20 |
| |
| I have sought, but I seek it vainly, | |
| That one lost chord divine, | |
| That came from the soul of the organ, | |
| And entered into mine. | |
| |
| It may be that Death’s bright angel | 25 |
| Will speak in that chord again; | |
| It may be that only in heaven | |
| I shall hear that grand Amen. | |
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