As swelling organ yearning soul doth trance.
There is no sorrow set in thy pure song;
Thy notes to realms where all is joy belong.
Thou callest—woods grow greener through thy voice,
The stainless skies in deeper peace rejoice,
All their best glories through thy singing throng—
Voice of a life that ne’er knew thought of wrong!
No martyr life of conquered grief is thine,
Whose happiness but through old tears can shine;
So, sure, didst thou in Eden sing ere Eve,