 | Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold |  |
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SHE PASSED IN MUSIC.
She passed in music, for her deathWas wonderful and fair;
As if the Master with her breath
Did play His perfect air.
For all her life was leading up
Unto this gracious plan,
In sweetness like a loving cup
Until it over-ran.
And through her days' young festival
She kept a secret tune,
Which with its voices virginal
Made her bright bosom June.
Sometimes we heard or seemed to hear
The fragrance of a cry,
Which fashioned hope of solemn fear
And yet was mystery.
But in her shadow of sweet shame
She dreaded jest or doubt,
And only the dissolving frame
Could let its glory out.
She could not utter one small part,
Who treasures had to give;
Till the great music broke her heart,
And dying learned to live.
| Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold | |