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Some who hear are rapt away
From the environment of clay,

Borne on wings of rapture
From Earth's trifling toys,

Ready to recapture
Something of Heaven's joys

Which they long had lost

At such bitter cost-
Borne beyond the evening star
Infinitely far

To the pearly gates

Where the Flame-guard waits
Each with his flashing scimitar!

Oh, the soul's attuned ear
Songs of heavenly choirs may hear
Praise to God forth-pouring,

Set to harps of gold
Struck by rapt adoring

Angel hosts white-stoled,
While the crystalline

Harmonies divine
Of the far-revolving spheres,
Carrying golden years,
Swell like organ-notes,
And above all floats
Love's eternal hymn of joys and tears.

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Master Bach, this was thy power !

Before thine organ seated
Didst thou make music flower
Like radiant many-prismed blossoms
In sterile human bosoms!

Oh, miracle repeated
A thousand times in thy dear life;

When men defeated,
Undone by strife,
New courage gained,

New hopes conceived;
When hearts sin-stained

Once more believed
That purity might be attained !
When Love, heart-banisht

Exile with broken wings,
Mourning her Eden vanisht

Once more to Hope's hand clings
And sees a beauteous vision
Of joy elysian,

Crowned with immortal rays,
And with an infinite yearning
Beholds the sweet returning
Of paradisal days!

Nathan Haskell Dole.


Faint through the twilight hazes

Shimmers one palpitant star; Faint through the woodland mazes

The Angelus sounds afar.

Only the brook's murmur golden

Falls on the wanderer's ear; Voices of memories olden

The soul holds breath to hear.

Voices of joy and sorrow

Vanished and far away
As the dawn of the sun-bathed morrow

Seems from this dying day,

When faint through the twilight hazes

Shimmers eve's palpitant star;
And faint through the woodland mazes
The Angelus dies afar.

Arlo Bates.



Who would know thee, a loving heart

bring, And hear with his heart's ears; else shall he

miss Thy perfect message and his own true bliss,As bird that fain would soar on single wing, But faints and falls in its unequal flight; For deepest depths of human tenderness Are thine, — the mother's love and

dear caress, The wanderer's longing for the blessed sight Of home and Fatherland, the lover's heart, Wild with despair, or thrilled with joyance

sweet Of happy souls who full requital meet. Thus nature's yearnings find in thee a part; O gentlest Master of them all, — since pain And joy do live, thou hast not lived in vain!

Zitella Cocke.


Music as of the winds when they awake,

Wailing, in the mid-forest; music that raves

Like moonless tides about forlorn sea-caves On desolate shores, where swell weird songs

and break In peals of demon laughter; chords athirst

With restless anguish of divine desires

The voice of a vexed soul ere it aspires With a great cry for light; anon a burst Of passionate joy - fierce joy of conscious

might, Down-sinking in voluptuous luxury; Rich harmonies, full-pulsed with deep delight,

And melodies dying deliciously As odorous sighs breathed through the quiet

night By violets. Thus Beethoven speaks for me.

John Todhunter.



Contentedly with strictest strands confined,
Sports in the sun that oceanic mind :
To leap their bourn these waves did never

long, Or roll against the stars their rock-bound song.

William Watson,

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