But from our spirits they shall not be banished;
For on and on shall the sweet music pour
That was the soul of them, the loved, the vanished;
And we, who listen, shall not lose them quite
In that mysterious night."
THE ANGER OF BEETHOVEN
This night the enchanting musicians rendered a trio of Beethoven—
Light and lovely, or solemn, as in a Tuscan tower
The walls with gracious tapestries gleam, and the deep-cut windows
Give on landscapes gigantic, framing the four-square world
When sudden the music turned to anger, as nature's murmur
Sometimes to anger turns, speaking, in voice infuriate,
Cruel, quick, implacable; inhuman, savage, resistless—
And I thought of that sensitive spirit flinging back in scorn tempestuous
And in art supreme, immortal, the infamous arrows of fortune.
MOTHER AND CHILD
Mother and Child! There is no holier sight
In all the realms of morning and of night;
And all the meaning of that word, Divine,
Shines in the tender glory of this sign.
The world learns Worship here; it kneels in awe,
Seeing a mystery, knowing a mighty law.
Sin cannot live in presence of this grace,
No least unworthiness perplex the place.
