To Melody

I think that man hath made no beauteous thing More lovely than a glorious melody That soars aloft in splendor, full and free, And graceful as a swallow on the wing! A melody that seems to move, and sing, And quiver, in its radiant ecstasy, That bends and rises like a slender tree Which sways before the gentle winds of Spring! Ah, men will ever love thee, holy art! For thou, of all the blessings God hath given, Canst best revive and cheer the wounded heart And nearest bring the weary soul to Heaven! Of all God’s precious gifts, it seems to me, The choicest is the gift of melody.