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Musicians wrestle everywhere
All day—among the crowded air
I hear the silver strife
And—walking—long before the morn
Such transport breaks upon the town
I think it that "New Life"!

If is not Bird—it has no nest
Nor "Band"—in brass and scarlet—drest
Nor Tamborin—nor Man
It is not Hymn from pulpit read
The "Morning Stars" the Treble led
On Time's first Afternoon!

Some—say—it is "the Spheres"—at play!
Some say that bright Majority
Of vanished Dames—and Men!
Some—think it service in the place
Where we—with late—celestial face
Please God—shall Ascertain!

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