Classic Poem

AS IT WAS PLAYING ON A COLD STORMY DAY .

Say , was it, my harp, the invisible wing
Of a spirit that passed o'er thy musical string?
And comes it in love, with its light, airy hand,
To play me a song from the heavenly land?

Though chill is the wind, and fitful it blows,
Yet sweet as in summer thy music still flows;
But, when rages the blast, and contending winds roar,
In silence you wait till the tempest is o'er.

And thus, like thy strings, is the virtuous mind, —
Harmonious e'en in adversity's wind;
But, when by the tempests of life it is driven,
It remembers, in silence, the storm is from Heaven.