Classic Poem

Choral service, solemn chanting,
Echoing round cathedrals holy —
Can aught else on earth be wanting
In heav'n's bliss to plunge us wholly?
Let us great Cecilia honour
In the praise we give unto them,
And the merit be upon her.

Cold the heart that would undo them,
And the solemn organ banish
That this sainted Maid invented.
Holy thoughts too quickly vanish,
Ere the expression can be vented.
Raise the song to Catherine ,
In her torments most divine!
Ne'er by Christians be forgot —
Envied be — this Martyr's lot.

Lawton , who these names combinest,
Aim to emulate their praises;
Women were they, yet divinest
Truths they taught, and story raises
O'er their mouldering bones a Tomb,
Not to die till Day of Doom.