  27. A Song for St. Cecilia's Day, 1687. I. From harmony, from heav'nly harmony This universal frame began: When nature underneath a heap Of jarring atoms lay, And cou'd not heave her head, The tuneful voice was heard from high, Arise, ye more than dead. Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry, In order to their stations leap, And Music's power obey. From harmony, from heavenly harmony This universal frame began: From harmony to harmony Through all the compass of the notes it ran, The diapason closing full in Man. II. What passion cannot Music raise and quell! When Jubal struck the corded shell, His list'ning brethren stood around, And, wond'ring, on their faces fell To worship that celestial sound. Less than a God they thought there could not dwell Within the hollow of that shell, That spoke so sweetly and so well. What passion cannot Music raise and quell! III. The trumpet's loud clangour Excites us to arms, With shrill notes of anger And mortal alarms. The double double double beat Of the thund'ring drum Cries, Hark! the foes come; Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat. IV. The soft complaining flute In dying notes discovers The woes of hopeless lovers, Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute. V. Sharp violins proclaim Their jealous pangs, and desperation, Fury, frantic indignation, Depth of pains, and height of passion, For the fair, disdainful dame. VI. But oh! what art can teach, What human voice can reach, The sacred organ's praise? Notes inspiring holy love, Notes that wing their heavenly ways To mend the choirs above. VII. Orpheus cou'd lead the savage race; And trees uprooted left their place, Sequacious of the lyre: But bright Cecilia rais'd the wonder higher: When to her organ vocal breath was giv'n, An angel heard, and straight appear'd, Mistaking Earth for Heav'n. Grand Chorus. As from the pow'r of sacred lays The spheres began to move, And sung the great Creator's praise To all the Bless'd above; So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And Music shall untune the sky. 1743 Edition. |
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