O stay, harmonious and sweet sounds, that die 
In the long vaultings of this ancient fane! 
Stay, for I may not hear on earth again 
Those pious airs--that glorious harmony; 
Lifting the soul to brighter orbs on high, 
Worlds without sin or sorrow! Ah, the strain 
Has died--even the last sounds that lingeringly 
Hung on the roof ere they expired! 
 And I 
Stand in the world of strife, amidst a throng, 
A throng that reckons not of death or sin! 
Oh, jarring scenes! to cease, indeed, ere long; 
The worm hears not the discord and the din; 
But he whose heart thrills to this angel song 
Feels the pure joy of heaven on earth begin!