(In memory of Theodore Thomas, 1905)
Glory of architect, glory of painter, and sculp-
tor, and bard,
Living forever in temple and picture and statue
and song,--
Look how the world with the lights that they lit
is illumined and starred,
Brief was the flame of their life, but the lamps
of their art burn long!
Where is the Master of Music, and how has he
vanished away?
Where is the work that he wrought with his
wonderful art in the air?
Gone,--it is gone like the glow on the cloud
at the close of the day!
The Master has finished his work, and the glory
of music is--where?
Once, at the wave of his wand, all the billows of
musical sound
Followed his will, as the sea was ruled by the
prophet of old:
Now that his hand is relaxed, and his rod has
dropped to the ground,
Silent and dark are the shores where the mar-
vellous harmonies rolled!
Nay, but not silent the hearts that were filled by
that life-giving sea;
Deeper and purer forever the tides of their
being will roll,
Grateful and joyful, O Master, because they have
listened to thee,--
The glory of music endures in the depths of
the human soul.