Nor less the power of song, when peace Has dawn’d apace, and hopes increase, As men in thrall have found release, Their fetters from them flinging. Oh, what could make their thanks complete, Did crowds exultant fail to meet In great Town Hall, or village street, And shout their joy in singing! Or when sad souls the wine would quaff Of mirth brimm’d bubbling o’er with laugh, What sparkling draughts in their behalf, The comic bard comes bringing! And ever, round the social board, As full the foaming pledge is pour’d, See how good-will the heart could hoard Is lavish’d with the singing. How blest are homes, all fill’d with song, The mother’s hum, the choral strong, The hymn that bears great thoughts that throng Where all pure hope is winging! How heaves the breast in air so sweet, How thrills the blood it fills to meet, While all the spirit bounds to greet The joys of life in singing! There let sweet love a pair ensnare With dainty dreams of visions fair, Wherein, like wings athrob the air, Rare wedding bells are ringing. Then, stirr’d by moods that move the heart, What tunes upon the lip will start, As if true love could not impart Such sweets except through singing! The cares may come that track success, Or storms of swift and full distress May make of life a wilderness, A flood of anguish bringing; The sorrows of the soul will rise, And pour their woe through weeping eyes, And drain at last the source of sighs, When hearts o’erflow in singing. If doubt and vice with cloud and tide Surround a wretch whose father’s pride And mother’s love have wellnigh died, And sister’s hands are wringing, Ah, then, beyond the waves that roar, He too may heed the friendly shore, Where others, won from woes before, Their heartfelt praise are singing. Through mists that, like a shroud around, In densest folds the soul had bound, My life has known a song to sound, Nerve dying hope by ringing As clear as tolls a lighthouse bell Where ghost-like rush the breakers fell— The soul they would have borne to hell Was warn’d from it by singing. A shadeless waste, a mist-hid sea, Were earth that knew no songs of glee; And what would heaven beyond it be If anthems ne’er were springing From voices there, where funeral knells Are sweeter far than marriage bells To love call’d hence that ever dwells Within the sound of singing! The wise who once thought heavenly spheres, As all unroll’d their store of years, Woke music through their atmospheres That soft and far was ringing; Heard subtler music, it may be, Where love rules all, yet all are free, And though not thoughts, yet hearts agree, For all beat time in singing.