Such thrills as e’er a noble singer brings;
He had the power to set their souls aright;
And on the heights of ecstacy take wings—
Those gifts of voice and heart that others beam
With floods of mirth while yet itself serene.
The program of the evening neared its close,
When some admirer called out Carbott’s name;
A dozen called it then. He slowly rose
And said, “The hour’s late; time we’re going home,”
But leave, they’d not, without from him a song;