In the last faint tone of the music his gentle spirit passed away.
Thus died Beethoven, a true artist, a good and generous man, a devout Catholic. Simple, frank, loyal to his principles, his life was spent in working out what he conceived his duty; and though his task was wrought in privation, in solitude, and distress, though happiness was not his lot in this world, doth there not remain for him an eternal reward?
The Viennese gave him a magnificent funeral. More than thirty thousand persons attended. The first musicians of the city executed the celebrated funeral march composed by him, and placed in his heroic symphony; the most famous poets and artists were pall-bearers, or carried torches; Hummel, who had come from Weimar expressly to see him, placed a laurel crown upon his tomb. Prague, Berlin, and all the principal cities of Germany, paid honors to his memory, and solemnized with pomp the anniversary of his death. Such was the distinction heaped on the dust of him whose life had been one of suffering, and whose last years had been solitary, because he felt that his infirmities excluded him from human brotherhood.
The Assumption Of Our Lady.
If sin be captive, grace must find release;
From curse of sin the innocent is free.
Tomb prison is for sinners that decease;
No tomb but throne to guiltless doth agree.
Though thralls of sin lie lingering in the grave,
Yet faultless corse with soul reward must have.
The dazzled eye doth dimmèd light require,
And dying sights repose in shrouding shades;
But eagles' eyes to brightest light aspire,
And living looks delight in lofty glades.
Faint-wingèd fowl by ground do faintly fly:
Our princely eagle mounts unto the sky.
Gem to her worth, spouse to her love ascends;
Prince to her throne, queen to her heavenly king;
Whose court with solemn pomp on her attends,
And choirs of saints with greeting notes do sing.
Earth rendereth up her undeservèd prey:
Heaven claims the right, and bears the prize away.
Southwell.