Mother
The Song
The Song
The organist begins his theme— He strikes the essence of his dream,A single, pealing, throbbing note; Then slowly, as a singing flute,The thought mounts forth to higher plane— We hear the symphony begun;The music swells in deeper tone, The dream is ever leading onTo greater depths of harmony, And clearer, sweeter melody;At last the promise is fulfilled, The song is mute, the organ stilled.
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