 | [To John S. Dwight, in] John Sullivan Dwight : Brook-Farmer, Editor, and Critic of Music |  |
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TO JOHN S. DWIGHT.
O Presence reverend and rare,
Art thou from earth withdrawn?
Thou passest as the sunshine flits
To light another dawn.
Art thou from earth withdrawn?
Thou passest as the sunshine flits
To light another dawn.
Surely, among the symphonies
That praise the ever-blest,
Some strophe of surpassing peace
Inviteth thee to rest.
That praise the ever-blest,
Some strophe of surpassing peace
Inviteth thee to rest.
Thine was the treasure of a life
Heart-ripened from within,
Whose many lustres perfected
What youth did well begin.
Heart-ripened from within,
Whose many lustres perfected
What youth did well begin.
The noble champions of thy day
Were thy companions meet,
In the great harvest of our race,
Bound with its priceless wheat.
Were thy companions meet,
In the great harvest of our race,
Bound with its priceless wheat.
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Thy voice its silver cadence leaves
In Truth's resistless court,
Where of thy faithful services
Her heralds make report.
In Truth's resistless court,
Where of thy faithful services
Her heralds make report.
Here thou, a watchful sentinel,
Didst guard the gates of Song,
That no unworthy note should pass
To do her temple wrong.
Didst guard the gates of Song,
That no unworthy note should pass
To do her temple wrong.
Dear are the traces of thy days
Mixed in these walks of ours:
Thy footsteps in our household ways
Are garlanded with flowers.
Mixed in these walks of ours:
Thy footsteps in our household ways
Are garlanded with flowers.
If we surrender earth to earth,
The frame that's born to die,
Spirit with spirit doth ascend
To live immortally.
The frame that's born to die,
Spirit with spirit doth ascend
To live immortally.
| [To John S. Dwight, in] John Sullivan Dwight : Brook-Farmer, Editor, and Critic of Music | |