As from the pow'r of sacred Lays
The Spheres began to move,
And sung the great Creator's praise
To all the bless'd above;
So when the last and dreadful hour
This crumbling Pageant shall devour,
The trumpet shall be heard on high,
The Dead shall live, the Living die,
And music shall untune the Sky.
-- John Dryden "A Song for St Ceclia's Day 1687"
Posted by at February 1, 2003 03:25 PM