Lost Chord


Seated
one
day
at
the
organ,
I
was
weary
and
ill
at
ease,
And
my
fingers
wandered
idly
Over
the
noisy
keys;
I
know
not
what
I
was
playing,
Or
what
I
was
dreaming
then,
But
I
struck
one
chord
of
music,
Like
the
sound
of
a
great
Amen,
Like
the
sound
of
a
great
Amen.
It
flooded
the
crimson
twilight,
Like
the
close
of
an
angel’s
psalm,
And
it
lay
on
my
fevered
spirit,
With
a
touch
of
infinite
calm,
It
quieted
pain
and
sorrow,
Like
love
overcoming
strife,
It
seemed
the
harmonious
echo
From
our
discordant
life,
It
linked
all
the
perplexed
meanings
Into
one
perfect
peace,
And
trembled
away
into
silence,
As
if
it
were
loth
to
cease;
I
have
sought
but
I
seek
it
vainly,
That
one
lost
chord
divine,
Which
came
from
the
soul
of
the
organ,
And
entered
into
mine.
It
may
be
that
death’s
bright
angel
Will
speak
in
that
chord
again;
It
may
be
that
only
in
Heav’n
I
shall
hear
that
great
Amen.
It
may
be
that
death’s
bright
angel
Will
speak
in
that
chord
again;
It
may
be
that
only
in
Heav’n
I
shall
hear
that
great
Amen.