The Anniversaries :: :: University of Virginia Library

Of all the creature-souls whose light
Has stolen too much of mortal gazing;
Of all the Usurping Ones whose height
Has been advanced too near the Infinite,
Whom men have hallowed with too rich a raising;
Our souls do gladdest pardon find for thee,
Celestial Saint Cecily!
Sweet heed unto thy marvels may be given,
And mortal listeners dwell the more in Heaven.
In the First Fair's own radiancy,
Sweet Ministrant, thou enspherest me

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Upborne above the fond idolatry
That felt thee all divine,
Nor stinted prayer, nor sparëd shrine,
But bowed its glowing soul, bright Cecily, 'neath thine.

O thou from whose sweet, sovereign soul
The awful organ came,
Cecilia, most melodious name,
Did not kind Heaven
On thee as in a nectar-chargëd bowl
Its sweetness all outpour?
Could ever soul hold more?
Not one bright Heaven thine own—in thee lay all the Seven!
Not dumb to thee those tuneful Spheres,
O not too high for thee the starry strain!
For once they did not sing in vain,
The immortal song streamed through the mortal ears.
Thou couldst prevail upen their harmony

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To come and stay with thee,
Couldst send it forth divinely thus;
Thine Organ, sovereign Saint, our Spheres Harmonious!

Yes, Heaven with thee would ever stay,
Celestial Cecilia!
O! was there error in that angel's dwelling
In the clear strains from thy deep soul outwelling,
As in the harmony from all Heaven swelling,
As in the music of the sky?
Small wonder that thine awful organ won
His soul to such divine oblivion
Of the divineness there on high!
The Heavenly One could find
His Heaven with thee;
The Harmonious Angel joined
The music of mortality.
This earth of thine he felt not dim;
Thy glory was enough for him.

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Nor mourned he from the Seraphim away,
Nor sighed he for the pure-eyed Cherubim,
But felt it more delight to stay
And take his Heaven from thee, divine Cecilia!

And he was of the Blissful Throng!
And he had helped the Eternal Song.
O! then, what wonder, Saint, that we
Poor mortal folk, in thy sweet company
Do quite forget our earth as his bright dwelling he—
That we sad ones, that we sinners
Seize the Heaven thine organ brings,—
That thou dost make us weaklings winners
Of heavenly heights and angel wings?
O! here we need not stay.
Take, take us Heavenward, kind Cecilia!
Thou openest all the realms afar,
Thy finger points, thy rapture leads;
Thou fetchest forth the fiery car,
Thou yokest the immortal steeds!

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O those streams of solemn sound!
That sweet awfulness around!
O that deep adoring hymn!
O that hour divinely dear!
On, on, glad soul, ascend!
Of mounting make no end!
O that Earth so very dim!
O this Heaven so strangely near!

Cecilia! art thou sovereign here
Amidst mortality?
O keepest thou such glorious cheer
Where men do weep and die?
O! here, O! here, can such divineness come
Down at thy sweet command?
O! can thy strains build up our Heavenly Home
Here in the Pilgrim Land?
Can the divine confederacy
Of organ and of hymn
Uplift our earth-bound souls on high
Close to the Seraphim?

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O then, where Seraphim do sing and shine,
There, 'neath the Heavenly Lover's smile divine,
What cheer sublime, sweet Cecily, thou makest!
On what enamoured ears at home thou breakest!
There where no song is sadder for one sigh,
There where no sins do make our music mourn,
There where each melody is gladness-born,
Where all the music is an ecstasy,—
There, there, seraphic Cecily,
No end of thy melodious empery!
There amidst all life divine,
How doth thy harmonious soul
Its sweetness all unroll,
And Heaven grow twofold Heaven at every strain of thine!