1 There's music in the upper heaven--
The choral notes that swell
Are sweeter, fuller, richer far
Than human lips can tell,
When rings the gush of golden harps,
And heavenly lutes are swept,
To tell the quenchless love of him
Who o'er a lost world wept.
2 The gliding rush of countless wings,
Borne on the swelling breeze,
That wafts the rustling music by
Amid embowered trees;
The echo of the myriad feet
That fall on pavements fair,
Of glittering, dazzling gold, that gleams
In untold brightness there.
3 The music of the pearly gates,
When back by angels flung,
Admitting there a ransomed soul,
Their sinless bands among:
The silvery sound that's swelling up
When flows the stream of life;
The rustle of the emerald leaf
With healing virtues rife.
4 And then the tide of melody
That swells and bursts, when rings
The new song in that far-off world,
That thrilling rapture brings:
But, awed, we may not note its power,
Its depth we may not sound;
Unfathomed, fathomless, it rolls
In glorious might around.