Of God’s will in the worlds, the strain unfolds
In sad perplexèd minors....
“We murmur—‘Where is any certain tune
Of measured music, in such notes as these?’—
But angels leaning from their golden seat,
Are not so minded! their fine ear hath won
The issue of completed[27] cadences,—
And, smiling down the stars, they whisper—Sweet.”[28]
