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THE SOUL OF SONG. 



From harmony, from heavenly harmony, 



This universal frame hegan : 



From harmony to harmony 



Through all the compass of the notes it ran, 



The diapason closing full in man. 



Drtden. 



Philosophers tell us that light, heat, and sound, are hut the various 

 effects of an agitated or vibrating medium. That a certain number 

 of one kind of vibrations in a given time produce some definite ray of 

 colour ; while a definite number of some other kind give birth to a 

 peculiar sound. Sounds thus produced by vibrating currents of air 

 may be either noises or musical tones ; the distinction being dependent 

 entirely on the nature and number of the vibrations. A mere noise 

 is produced by vibrations which have no mathematical proportion one 

 to the other : musical tones result from vibrations which bear mathe- 

 matical analysis ; each separate tone having its specific number 

 of vibrations, and bearing musical and numerical relation to all 

 other musical tones. Inasmuch as red, blue, or yellow light are the 

 productions of waves in the thin ether, so are all sounds, whether of 

 the dear human voice or the dread " rattling thunder," but effects 

 referable to ripplings or wavings of the air. So far, sound is but a 

 simple result of natural causes, — a plain prose fact. But as the grey 

 and brown tints of the earth are lifted out of the region of prose into 

 that of poetry by the gay hues of flowers, so is human speech, and all 

 other sounds, lifted out of the dead level of mere utility into a region 

 of life by a poetry which asserts itself in song. God has so willed it 

 that while the world brings forth bread for the body, it shall bring 

 forth beauty for the soul. "We prize the corn because it nourisheth ; 

 we love the fresh green of the waving wheat because it is a thing of 

 beauty. "Words are instruments of power, and among the highest in 

 the list of mere utilities ; but when the jangle of commerce ceases, 

 and the tender utterance of sympathy begins, how poor the words of 

 the mind, how rich the music of the heart ! Nature ever climbs up 

 towards the spiritual ; she never ceases with use, she must have 



