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104
The Centenary of Mozart.
DECEMBER 4TH, 1891.
God called whom for too short a time he gave,
Dust back to dust, snapped string and broke the shell,
And as they bore him towards the tolling bell
Of old St. Marx, no hands were there to wave
Adieu, no mourners but the winds that rave,
The tears shed for him were the rains that fell,
But all the hearts that ever felt his spell
Stand bowed to-day beside that pauper grave.
Dust back to dust, snapped string and broke the shell,
And as they bore him towards the tolling bell
Of old St. Marx, no hands were there to wave
Adieu, no mourners but the winds that rave,
The tears shed for him were the rains that fell,
But all the hearts that ever felt his spell
Stand bowed to-day beside that pauper grave.
Mozart, thy soul, familiar grown with Death
Long since, laid willing touch upon the door
That opened to the land where sorrows cease,
And leaving here on earth th' unfinished score
Went onward, singing, with an angel's breath,
The requiem music of eternal peace.
Long since, laid willing touch upon the door
That opened to the land where sorrows cease,
And leaving here on earth th' unfinished score
Went onward, singing, with an angel's breath,
The requiem music of eternal peace.
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