Did she open? Doth she? Will she? So, as wondering we behold, Grows the picture to a sign, Pressed upon your soul and mine; For in every breast that liveth Is that strange, mysterious door;-- Though forsaken and betangled, Ivy-gnarled and weed-bejangled, Dusty, rusty, and forgotten;-- There the piercèd hand still knocketh, And with ever-patient watching, With the sad eyes true and tender, With the glory-crownèd hair,-- Still a God is waiting there. THE OLD PSALM TUNE You asked, dear friend, the other day, Why still my charmèd ear Rejoiceth in uncultured tone That old psalm tune to hear? I've heard full oft, in foreign lands, The grand orchestral strain, Where music's ancient masters live, Revealed on earth again,-- Where breathing, solemn instruments, In swaying clouds of sound, Bore up the yearning, trancèd soul, Like silver wings around;-- I've heard in old St. Peter's dome, Where clouds of incense rise, Most ravishing the choral swell Mount upwards to the skies. And well I feel the magic power, When skilled and cultured art Its cunning webs of sweetness weaves Around the captured heart. But yet, dear friend, though rudely sung, That old psalm tune hath still A pulse of power beyond them all My inmost soul to thrill. Those halting tones that sound to you, Are not the tones I hear; But voices of the loved and lost There meet my longing ear. I hear my angel mother's voice,-- Those were the words she sung; I hear my brother's ringing tones, As once on earth they rung; And friends that walk in white above Come round me like a cloud, And far above those earthly notes Their singing sounds aloud. There may be discord, as you say; Those voices poorly ring; But there's no discord in the strain Those upper spirits sing. For they who sing are of the blest, The calm and glorified, Whose hours are one eternal rest On heaven's sweet floating tide. Their life is music and accord; Their souls and hearts keep time In one sweet concert with the Lord,-- One concert vast, sublime. And through the hymns they sang on earth Sometimes a sweetness falls On those they loved and left below, And softly homeward calls,-- Bells from our own dear fatherland, Borne trembling o'er the sea,-- The narrow sea that they have crossed, The shores where we shall be. O sing, sing on, belovèd souls! Sing cares and griefs to rest; Sing, till entrancèd we arise To join you 'mong the blest THE OTHER WORLD It lies around us like a cloud, A world we do not see; Yet the sweet closing of an eye May bring us there to be.