pATS — JVlusic. 
{ 7~ HE Father spake ! In grand reverberations 
® Through space rolled on the mighty music tide, 
While to its low, majestic modulations 
The clouds of chaos slowly swept aside. 
And wheresoever in his rich creation 
Sweet music breathes—in wave, or bird, or 
’Tis but the faint and far reverberation* 
Of that great tune to which the planets roll! 
Frances Osgood. 
Music, when soft voices die, 
Vibrates in the memory. 
;&ster 
£3 HIDE me not, laborious band,. 
^ For the idle flowers I brought; 
Every Aster in my hand 
Goes home loaded with a thought. 
Emerson. 
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