"The 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 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 perplexed meanings
Into one perfect peace,
And it trembled away into silence
As if it were loath to cease.
I have sought, but I seek it vainly,
That one last 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 Proctor