The harp the monarch minstrel swept
The King of men, the loved of Heaven
Which Music hallow'd while she wept
O'er tones her heart of hearts had given
Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven!
It soften'd men of iron mould
It gave them virtues not their own;
No ear so dull, no soul so cold
That felt not, fired not to the tone
Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throne!
It told the triumphs of our King
It wafted glory to our God;
It made our gladden'd valleys ring
The cedars bow, the mountains nod;
Its sound aspired to heaven and there abode!
Since then, though heard on earth no more
Devotion and her daughter Love
Still bid the bursting spirit soar
To sounds that seem as from above
In dreams that day's broad light can not remove
The King of men, the loved of Heaven
Which Music hallow'd while she wept
O'er tones her heart of hearts had given
Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven!
It soften'd men of iron mould
It gave them virtues not their own;
No ear so dull, no soul so cold
That felt not, fired not to the tone
Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throne!
It told the triumphs of our King
It wafted glory to our God;
It made our gladden'd valleys ring
The cedars bow, the mountains nod;
Its sound aspired to heaven and there abode!
Since then, though heard on earth no more
Devotion and her daughter Love
Still bid the bursting spirit soar
To sounds that seem as from above
In dreams that day's broad light can not remove
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