A Lost Chord

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  SEATED one day at the Organ,
  I was weary and ill at ease,
  And my fingers wandered idly
  Over the noisy keys.

  I do not know what I was playing,
  Or what I was dreaming then ;
  But I struck one chord of music,
  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 perplexéd 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 Heaven
  I shall hear that grand Amen.

© Adelaide Anne Procter