Classic Poem

It seemed to me a little rivulet
That gently flows along its course,
By woodland and thru field,
And then its scanty bosom filled by rain,
A larger stream becomes
And flows till rocky crags and steppes are reached
And tossed-by storms and lashed by winds
A raging cataract it is.
Spent its fury, now at last
In depths of placid lake,
Its voice once more is calm.

And thus your music moved me, thrilled me;
Gently first, in paeans of joy
It swept into my soul.
And then it rose, crescendo on crescendo
Until this very heart of mine
Did surge and strain as anchored ship in storm;
Tossed and billowed and at length o'er flowed
In soothing flood of harmony,
And softly then it spread o'er all
In blessed wealth of soul,
Its benediction sweet.