With organs that survive their bellows!

And bring, oh bring, your ancient styles

In which our elders lov’d to roam,

Those flourishes that strayed for miles,

Till some good fiddle led them home!

Oh come, ye ancient London Cries,

When Christmas Carols erst were sung!

Come, Nurse, who dron’d the lullabies,

“When Music, heavenly Maid, was young!”

No matter how the critics treat,