Though it chance sometimes to flow
In a minor strain; it will blend again
With the major tone you know.
And hide for a time the sun,
The sooner they’ll lift and reveal the rift,
If you let the melody run.
Though the voice may have lost its trill,
Though the tremulous note may die in your throat,
Let it sing in your spirit still.
Let it ring in the soul while here;
And when you go hence, ‘twill follow you thence,
And live on in another sphere.