In million tones entwined for evermore
Music with angel-pinions hovers there,
To pierce man's being to its inmost core,
Eternal beauty as its fruit to bear;
The eye grows moist, in yearnings blest reveres
The godlike worth of music as of tears.
And so the lightened heart soon learns to see
That it still lives, and beats, and ought to beat,
Offering itself with joy and willingly,
In grateful payment for a gift so sweet.
And then was felt,—oh, may it constant prove!—
The twofold bliss of music and of love.
The remembrance of the Good
Keep us ever glad in mood.
The remembrance of the Fair
Makes a mortal rapture share,
The remembrance of one's Love
Blest is, if it constant prove.
The remembrance of the One
Is the greatest joy that's known.
[Written at the age of seventy-seven.]
When I was still a youthful wight,
So full of enjoyment and merry,
The painters used to assert, in spite,
That my features were small—yes, very;
Yet then full many a beauteous child
With true affection upon me smiled.
