Sonnet

As when above orchestral undertone, The plaining wail of muted violin, The hushed oböe and the distant din, Of muffled drum or viol's raucous groan— Sudden arises one pure voice-like tone, A silver trumpet's tongue that stirs the soul To feel the theme, and the harmonious whole A sonant setting seems for that alone; So, high above earth's murmurous stir and strife, Riseth thy voice in clear enringing song— No minor plaint of dull despairing pain, But one true note of hope that bids us long For higher things; and all the din of life Seems to subserve the sweetness of thy strain.