Ode on Chazanuth

ARISE and sing, thou deathless melody—

Life’s blended song—

Bearing on wings of sound aloft with thee

A mortal throng.

Lo, living yet, beloved, lingering strain,

My harp of old,

Voice of a patience that hath borne the pain

Of years untold!

Each olden chord awaketh, every tone,

Soaring at length,

Mingling a mighty gladness with a groan

Of fallen strength.

Angels be gathering Earth’s ascending prayer,

That, heavenward bound,

Shall deck the Throne with wreathed garlands fair

Of wafted sound.

Song of the ages, lo! the fettered soul

Shall break its bond,

And, wrapt in thee, look forth upon the whole

Of Heaven beyond.

Sing on, sweet minstrel, thine immortal song—

My harp for aye,

Vision of hope to men that live and long

And pass away.