Classic Poem

Have you never heard, in music's sound,
Some chords which o'er your heart
First fling a moment's magic round,
Then silently depart?
But with the echo on the air,
Roused by that simple lay,
It leaves a world of feeling there
We cannot chase away.
Yes, yes, — a sound hath power to bid them come —
Youth's half-forgotten hopes, childhood's remembered home.

When sitting in your silent home
You gaze around and weep,
Or call to those who cannot come
Nor wake from dreamless sleep;
Those chords, as oft as you bemoan
" The distant and the dead, "
Bring dimly back the fancied tone
Of some sweet voice that's fled!
Yes, yes, — a sound hath power to bid them come —
Youth's half-forgotten hopes, childhood's remembered home.

And when, amid the festal throng,
You are, or would be gay —
And seek to while, with dance and song,
Your sadder thoughts away;
They strike those chords and smiles depart,
As, rushing o'er your soul,
The untold feelings of the heart
Awake, and spurn control!
Yes, yes, — a sound hath power to bid them come —
Youth's half-forgotten hopes, childhood's remembered home.