Here you will find the Poem A Song For St. Cecilia's Day, 1687 of poet John Dryden
Stanza 1 From harmony, from Heav'nly harmony This universal frame began. When Nature underneath a heap Of jarring atoms lay, And could not heave her head, 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 pow'r obey. From harmony, from Heav'nly harmony This universal frame began: From harmony to harmony Through all the compass of the notes it ran, The diapason closing full in man. Stanza 2 What passion cannot music raise and quell! When Jubal struck the corded shell, His list'ning brethren stood around And wond'ring, on their faces fell To worship that celestial sound: 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! Stanza 3 The trumpet's loud clangor Excites us to arms With shrill notes of anger And mortal alarms. The double double double beat Of the thund'ring drum t||Cres, hark the foes come; Charge, charge, 'tis too late to retreat. Stanza 4 The soft complaining flute In dying notes discovers The woes of hopeless lovers, Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling lute. Stanza 5 Sharp violins proclaim Their jealous pangs, and desperation, Fury, frantic indignation, Depth of pains and height of passion, For the fair, disdainful dame. Stanza 6 But oh! what art can teach What human voice can reach The sacred organ's praise? Notes inspiring holy love, Notes that wing their Heav'nly ways To mend the choirs above. Stanza 7 Orpheus could lead the savage race; And trees unrooted left their place; Sequacious of the lyre: But bright Cecilia rais'd the wonder high'r; When to her organ, vocal breath was giv'n, An angel heard, and straight appear'd Mistaking earth for Heav'n. GRAND CHORUS As from the pow'r of sacred lays The spheres began to move, And sung the great Creator's praise To all the bless'd above; So when the last and dreadful hour This crumbling pageant shall devour, The trumpet shall be heard on high, The dead shall live, the living die, And music shall untune the sky.