The Lost Chord

by Adelaide Anne Procter

Seated one day at the organ,
    I was weary and ill at ease,
And my fingers wandered idly
    Over the noisy keys;

I know not what I was playing,
    Or what I was dreaming then,
But I struck one chord of music,
    Like the sound of a great Amen,
    Like the sound of a great Amen.

It flooded the crimson twilight,
    Like the close of an Angel's Psalm,
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
    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 chord again;
It may be that only in Heav'n,
    I shall hear that grand Amen.

It may be that Death's bright Angel,
    Will speak in that chord again;
It may be that only in Heav'n,
    I shall hear that grand Amen.