As when above orchestral undertone,
The plaining wail of muted violin,
The hushed oböe and the distant din,
Of muffled drum or viol's raucous groan —
Sudden arises one pure voice-like tone,
A silver trumpet's tongue that stirs the soul
To feel the theme, and the harmonious whole
A sonant setting seems for that alone;
So, high above earth's murmurous stir and strife,
Riseth thy voice in clear enringing song —
No minor plaint of dull despairing pain,
But one true note of hope that bids us long
For higher things; and all the din of life
Seems to subserve the sweetness of thy strain.