Adelaide Anne Procter

(30 October 1825 – 2 February 1864 / London)

A Lost Chord


SEATED one day at the Organ,
I was weary and ill at ease,
And my fingers wandered idly
Over the noisy keys.

I do not know what I was playing,
Or what I was dreaming then ;
But I struck one chord of music,
Like the sound of a great Amen.

It flooded the crimson twilight,
Like the close of an Angel's Psalm,
And it lay on my fevered spirit
With a touch of infinite calm.

It quieted pain and sorrow,
Like love overcoming strife ;
It seemed the harmonious echo
From our discordant life.

It linked all perplexéd meanings
Into one perfect peace,
And trembled away into silence
As if it were loth to cease.

I have sought, but I seek it vainly,
That one lost chord divine,
Which came from the soul of the Organ,
And entered into mine.

It may be that Death's bright angel
Will speak in that chord again,
It may be that only in Heaven
I shall hear that grand Amen.

Submitted: Thursday, January 01, 2004

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  • Krishnakumar Chandrasekar Nair (1/4/2014 3:32:00 AM)

    To strike a chord of melody
    On a calm and silent evening
    and feel it sink like a pebble
    Deep within our lake of feelings
    Is to hear the footsteps of the lord
    And be blest by that divine chord (Report) Reply

Read all 1 comments »

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