Classic Poem

In the great Church the holy organ stood,
And took in all its lauds a glorious part,
Affecting every listener's ear and heart
With its own plaintive or ecstatic mood.
O thunderbolt of war! what did'st thou there?
Methinks, it suited with thy function more,
To burst the war-drum, or explode the store,
Or spurn their eagles into drift, than bear
Down on this ark of praise with hostile force:
They knew not, when they sped thee on thy course,
That thou would'st jar with sweet Saint Cecily
And their own Handel, swooping from the sky
To storm the organ with one crashing blow,
As though it were a fortress of the foe!