The Lost Chord
By Adelaide Anne Proctor
Seated one day at the organ
I was weary and ill at ease,
And my fingers wandered idly
O’er 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 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 perplexed meanings
Into one perfect peace,
And trembled away into silence
As if it were loth to cease.
I have sought, but seek it vainly,
That one lost chord divine,
That came from 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.
Title: The Lost Chord
Author:
Location:
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Media: Newspaper article, glued to Page 451 of the Ledger of Captain W. B.
Blair
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