tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609668410134276508.post249056593448807359..comments2023-06-21T09:14:08.639-05:00Comments on Skipping Past Cornfields: Searching for ZingJulianahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15407208541547891658noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8609668410134276508.post-7259882673650065972010-10-30T17:20:13.948-05:002010-10-30T17:20:13.948-05:00My father had a wonderful comment, which I hope he...My father had a wonderful comment, which I hope he will forgive my posting without permission. At the end of the comment I've posted the lyrics to the song he references.<br /><br />"I wanted to comment on one particular passage: 'I have not felt my voice and spirit click in many months, and I doubt I will feel that connection in the same way again.' I am reminded of an old song, 'The Lost Chord.' Perhaps you know it. 'Seated one day at the organ, I was weary and ill at ease, and my fingers wandered idly over the noisy keys. I knew not what I was playing, nor what I was dreaming of, but I struck one chord of music sweet like the sound of a great amen.' Ever after the speaker in the song has searched for that one lost chord, never again to find it.<br /> <br />I used to think, years ago, as I heard that song that there are only a finite number of chords that can be played. The lost one is among them, is findable. But of course I was wrong. It was the chord in whatever context of sounds--and feelings--and setting-- that was special. The exact circumstances of the sound's appeal cannot be replicated, hence the chord is lost, never to be heard in precisely the same way again. So with your moment in the cathedral or wherever."<br /><br />Here's the song--"The Lost Chord," from a poem by Adelaide Anne Procter and set to music by Arthur Sullivan while at the bedside of his dying brother.<br /><br />Seated one day at the organ,<br />I was weary and ill at ease,<br />And my fingers wandered idly<br />Over the noisy keys.<br /><br /><br />I know not what I was playing,<br />Or what I was dreaming then;<br />But I struck one chord of music,<br />Like the sound of a great Amen.<br /><br /><br />It flooded the crimson twilight,<br />Like the close of an angel's psalm,<br />And it lay on my fevered spirit<br />With a touch of infinite calm.<br /><br /><br />It quieted pain and sorrow,<br />Like love overcoming strife;<br />It seemed the harmonious echo<br />From our discordant life.<br /><br /><br />It linked all perplexéd meanings<br />Into one perfect peace,<br />And trembled away into silence<br />As if it were loth to cease.<br /><br /><br />I have sought, but I seek it vainly,<br />That one lost chord divine,<br />Which came from the soul of the organ,<br />And entered into mine.<br /><br /><br />It may be that death's bright angel<br />Will speak in that chord again,<br />It may be that only in Heav'n<br />I shall hear that grand Amen.Julianahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15407208541547891658noreply@blogger.com