“Yet once more on the organ play
To me, old neighbour mine;
Try if my heart may be refreshed
Still by its tones divine—”
The sick one prayed, the neighbour played,
So played he ne’er before;
So glorious are the tones that he
Knows his own touch no more.
’Tis some unearthly blessed strain
Bursts forth as he doth play—
He stops with awe—the list’ner’s soul
Hath gently passed away.