| FROM Harmony, from heavenly Harmony | |
| This universal frame began: | |
| When Nature underneath a heap | |
| Of jarring atoms lay | |
| And could not heave her head, | 5 |
| The tuneful voice was heard from high, | |
| Arise, ye more than dead! | |
| |
| Then cold and hot, and moist and dry, | |
| In order to their stations leap. | |
| And Music's power obey. | 10 |
| From harmony, from heavenly harmony | |
| This universal frame began: | |
| From harmony to harmony | |
| Through all the compass of the notes it ran, | |
| The diapason closing full in Man. | 15 |
| |
| What passion cannot Music raise and quell? | |
| When Jubal struck the chorded shell | |
| His listening brethren stood around, | |
| And, wondering, on their faces fell | |
| To worship that celestial sound. | 20 |
| Less than a god they thought there could not dwell | |
| Within the hollow of that shell | |
| That spoke so sweetly and so well. | |
| What passion cannot Music raise and quell? | |
| |
| The trumpet's loud clangor | 25 |
| Excites us to arms, | |
| With shrill notes of anger | |
| And mortal alarms. | |
| The double double double beat | |
| Of the thundering drum | 30 |
| Cries, "Hark! the foes come; | |
| Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat!" | |
| |
| The soft complaining flute | |
| In dying notes discovers | |
| The woes of hopeless lovers, | 35 |
| Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute. | |
| |
| Sharp violins proclaim | |
| Their jealous pangs and desperation, | |
| Fury, frantic indignation, | |
| Depth of pains, and height of passion | 40 |
| For the fair disdainful dame. | |
| |
| But oh! what art can teach, | |
| What human voice can reach | |
| The sacred organ's praise? | |
| Notes inspiring holy love, | 45 |
| Notes that wing their heavenly ways | |
| To mend the choirs above. | |
| |
| Orpheus could lead the savage race, | |
| And trees unrooted left their place | |
| Sequacious of the lyre: | 50 |
| But bright Cecilia raised the wonder higher: | |
| When to her Organ vocal breath was given | |
| An Angel heard, and straight appear'd— | |
| Mistaking earth for heaven. | |
| |
Grand Chorus.
As from the power of sacred lays | 55 |
| The spheres began to move, | |
| And sung the great Creator's praise | |
| To all the blest above; | |
| So when the last and dreadful hour | |
| This crumbling pageant shall devour, | 60 |
| The trumpet shall be heard on high, | |
| The dead shall live, the living die, | |
| And Music shall untune the sky. | |
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