Classic Poem

And when the Death-fate stern and tragic
Astounds men with a vast disaster,
Then Music with her balmy magic
The desolate hearts of men can master.

Her strains sublime in measures solemn
Of organ-pompous funeral-marches
Entwine the minster's loftiest column
And echo down the vaulted arches.

She sings the requiem of departed
Heroic souls their country cherished;
She brings hope to the broken-hearted,
Restores ideals that had perished.

The gamut of all human passions
Her power divine controls and covers;
She sways, inspires, consoles, melts, fashions,
Fires warriors, poets, artists, lovers.