Music, in melodic form,
That speaks of peace, again of storm,
Of selfish minds that don’t conform,
Of gay delight and somber thought,
Of something ventured, something wrought,
Of happy lips that love has taught,
Expressing feelings deep and dear,
That makes you one with what you hear,
And with a rhythm strong and clear
Lifts you up in ecstasy,
Commander of yourself so free,
In you the final goal you see,
Supreme in sweet life’s highest worth,
In loyal harmony from birth
To sing great “I” upon this earth
(Music, as melodic fire,
Moves you, pulls you, turns you lyre,
Quivers mouth in moaned desire,
Stings your eyes with almost tears,
Re-washes them with joys of years,
Till all inside you re-appears
As something sacred, clean and right
Held by you with all your might,
Though all the world should sink in night)—
This, this is you and you’re the one
Who soars on by the morning sun
Through storm and strife till won is done!

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