Seated one day at the or­gan,
I was wea­ry and ill at ease,
And my fin­gers wan­dered id­ly
Over the noi­sy keys;
I know not what I was play­ing,
Or what I was dream­ing then,
But I struck one chord of mu­sic,
Like the sound of a great Amen,
Like the sound of a great Amen.

It flood­ed the crim­son twi­light,
Like the close of an an­gel’s psalm,
And it lay on my fe­vered spirit,
With a touch of in­fi­nite calm,
It qui­et­ed pain and sor­row,
Like love ov­er­com­ing strife,
It seemed the har­mo­ni­ous ec­ho
From our dis­cord­ant life,
It linked all the per­plexed mean­ings
Into one per­fect peace,
And trem­bled away in­to si­lence,
As if it were loth to cease;
I have sought but I seek it vain­ly,
That one lost chord di­vine,
Which came from the soul of the or­gan,
And en­tered in­to mine.

It may be that death’s bright an­gel
Will speak in that chord again;
It may be that on­ly in Heav’n
I shall hear that great Amen.
It may be that death’s bright an­gel
Will speak in that chord again;
It may be that on­ly in Heav’n
I shall hear that great Amen.