The Voice In The Cathedral

WITHIN the old cathedral, At the hour of evening prayer, When the golden tubes of the organ Poured music on the air, I knelt alone in the shadow Of the twilight grey and dim, Dreamily, drowsily hearing The sound of the choristers’ hymn-- I heard it, but scarcely listened, For I was in misery, Not even the glorious music Had power to comfort me.

The mighty chorus deepened And rolled through arches wide, Till softer, softer growing, With one faint chord it died; Then, solemnly and grandly, Clear on the sudden calm, Came floating a Voice--one only, Like an Angel’s singing a psalm-- A Voice so pure and tender, So rich and loving and low, That it touched my heart like an echo From the land of long ago.

My slumb’ring soul was wakened As that voice fell on my ears; My stubborn pride was conquered And quenched in grateful tears; My sorrows fled as Winter Flies from the smile of May, And my feeble heart was strengthened For the dangers of my way. O Voice divine, though human! O matchless power of Song! I shall hear you in my spirit And love you my whole life long!