Zinzendorff and Other Poems/Death of a Young Musician
DEATH OF A YOUNG MUSICIAN.
Music was in thy heart, and fast entwin'd,
And closely knotted with its infant strings,
Were the rich chords of melody. When youth
And Science led thee to their classic bower
A pale and patient student, the lone lamp
Of midnight vigil, found thee pouring out
Thy soul in dulcet sound. In Memory's cell,
Still live those thrilling tones, as erst they broke
Beguiling with sweet choral symphonies
The festal hour. But lo! while thou didst wake
The solemn organ to entrancing power,
Tracing the secret spells of harmony,
On through deep rapture's labyrinthine maze,
Devotion came, and breath'd upon thy brow,
And made her temple in thy tuneful breast.
So, Music led thee to thy Saviour's feet,
Serene and true disciple, and their harps
Who fondly hold untiring guardianship
O'er frail man's pilgrim-path, were tremulous
With joy for thee.
Nor vainly to thy soul
Came Heaven's high message, wrapp'd in minstrelsy,
For to its service, with unshrinking zeal
The blossom of thy life was dedicate.
Thy hand was on God's altar, when a touch
Sudden and strange and icy-cold, unloos'd
Its fervent grasp. Thy gentle heart was glad
With the soft promise of a hallow'd love.
But stern Death dash'd it out. Now there are tears
In tenderest eyes for thee.
—Yet we, who know
That Earth hath many discords for a soul
Fine-ton'd and seraph-strung, and that the feet
Which fain would follow Christ, are sometimes held
In the dark meshes of a downward course
Till strong repentance turn them back with tears,
Do feel thy gain.
'Tis well thou art at home,
Spirit of melody and peace and love.