Music, the sweetest all-inspiring gift of God.
Is ever welcome to the prisoner's ear;

There's nothing makes me feel half so well
As music of the heart when sung with cheer.

Here in this prison as I sit and pore
Over the past and present of my life,

My heart sings ever, o'er and o'er,
The darkest bitterness of a prisoner's strife.

But hark! in yonder chapel shrine
I hear sweet music as of yore;

I ask, "What music is that sounds so fine?"
The answer comes, "The Wolfes are at the door!"

I hasten, then, to brush my prison garb,
And toilet try to fix as best I can,
And then unto the chapel wend my way;
When there upon the rostrum stand

Five of the sweetest singers of our day!

There's Amy Wolfe, who changed her name to Brooks;

She leads her choir without the aid of books.

She sings with voice so sweet and delicate

That to her, First Soprano I dedicate.

Next, Minnie S., at the age of twenty-three,

Sings like a lark and busy as a bee,

Carefully guarding that no mistakes are made,

And handles her bewitching voice with harmony well staid.

Then sang the sweet Zoraydo F., with baritone most clear,

Who, at the age of twenty, delights to bring us cheer.

It seems as if her heart and soul were bent on doing right,

And when she sang she sang so sweet—Oh! it was out of sight.

The next I saw was Lyda M., with scarlet cheeks aglow;

She sings with voice most charming, a clear and sweet alto,

She's next the younger of them all, because she's just eighteen,

She captivates the heart of man—what a fairy little Queen!

Then last, not least, the little one, that is, Miss Kittie C.,

She just so busy when she sings she's like a honey bee.

Her eyes are clear as crystal, her locks are flowing gold,

She sings soprano quite as fine as any I have told.

I sat down in an empty seat close by the outside door,

And listened to such warbling as I never heard before.

Their voices drowned all sorrow and gushed forth many a tear,

Not for horror that I felt—it brought me real good cheer.

They drove away the pain of woe, that none but prisoners smart;

They sang the ever blessed song—true music of the heart.

We doff our striped caps to you, O girls of sweetest song,

And may we bid you be our friends and return again ere long.

Adieu, adieu, our lady friends, do not now say "farewell,"

Because we wish you all return with song too sweet to tell.

Come back! come back again and sing some lovely Sabbath day,

For your presence here to sing good cheer we all will ever pray.

And now unto the aged Wolfes please let me say one word:

Your home must be a palace filled with sirenic good;

Proud may you feel—and justly, too—of these five daughters fair,

And great the good they've done for us while in this prison lair.

There's but one wish that emanates from a prisoner's wicked heart.

That is to say, without delay, "May heaven take their part,

And to them bring eternal joy that'll pierce them like a dart!"

Each song they sing is welcome here—a masterpiece of art!

And now to part we sadly must (while I'm immersed in prison dust).

But hoping, too, 'twill not be long ere you return with sweetest song. Adieu! Adieu!