"I yield, Gentlemen, without parlance. But--let me just hymn you
ONCE more!
It's a little thing, Sirs, that I ask; and a passion is music with
me!"
They saw that consent would cost nothing, and show as good grace, as
knew I,
Though tremble I did, and feel sick, as I paused thereat, dumb for
their words.
They gloomily nodded assent, saying, "Yes, if you care to. Once
more,
And only once more, understand." To that with a bend I agreed.
- "You've a fixed and a far-reaching look," spoke one who had eyed me
awhile.
"I've a fixed and a far-reaching plan, and my look only showed it,"
said I.

This evening of Sunday is come--the last of my functioning here.
"She plays as if she were possessed!" they exclaim, glancing upward
and round.
"Such harmonies I never dreamt the old instrument capable of!"
Meantime the sun lowers and goes; shades deepen; the lights are
turned up,
And the people voice out the last singing: tune Tallis: the Evening
Hymn.
(I wonder Dissenters sing Ken: it shows them more liberal in spirit
At this little chapel down here than at certain new others I know.)
I sing as I play. Murmurs some one: "No woman's throat richer than
hers!"
"True: in these parts, at least," ponder I. "But, my man, you will
hear it no more."