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



Cries, 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.

