Seated one day at the organ, I was weary and ill at ease,
And my fingers wander'd idly over the noisy keys;
I knew not what I was playing, or what I was dreaming then,
But I struck one note of music like the sound of a great Am.
It flooded the crimson twilight like the close of an Angel's Psalm,
And it lay on my fever'd spirit with a touch of infinite calm.
It quieted pain and sorrow like love overcoming strife,
It seem'd the harmonious echo from our discordant life.
It link'd all perplexed meanings into one perfect peace
And trembled away into silence as if it were loth to cease;
I have sought, but I seek it vainly, that one lost chord divine,
Which came from the soul of the organ and enter'd into mine.
It may be that Death's bright Angel will speak in that note again;
It may be that only in Heav'n I shall hear that grand Am!
(With appologies to Authur Sullivan and Adelaide Proctor)