Passionately musical—Janet Knott had been sent abroad to study.
Homesick and weary she wandered about in a strange city, knowing not even the language.
The gray sky—the grayer buildings. Was there not in this city a kindly soul—one she could talk to—confide in—
In a narrow street—suddenly the rich deep tones of an organ reached her soul—
Built in among great buildings a small Church. There at least she could find comfort—and the organ.
Was it a Requiem—minor chords—the keys seemed to sob under the pressure of withered hands.
Janet sobbed too. She was homesick. Lonely—
The music stopped and the old organist came down and spoke with her. He asked why she was crying.
Your music is so sad, she whispered—
Ah, my child, that is life—I am told to compose a Requiem—