THE CHOIR AT ST. PETERS BAY" By Rev. Thomas Gordon

1 never, never can forget

That day so long ago in May, When first I heard St. Peters Choir Sing Angels’ Mass, like Angel lay.

‘Twas simply done by simple folk No singer sang for sordid self,

No artist throat trill’d treble tone, No taint th‘re was of pride or pelf.

The trailing years have flown since then Have changed the boy to sable gray, I’ve rambled far athwart the land, Roam‘d far from St. Peters Bay.

I've heard the Sistine singers sing,

Of all God’s singers, p’rhaps the best;

I’ve heard monks chant before white shrines, Heard nuns soothe sin—sear’d souls to rest.

But never has my soul reach’d heights So bright, so white, so far away,

By any tones like those I heard

The singers sing at St. Peters Bay.

Twas not the songs the singers sang

‘Twas the soul behind the songs they sung; “Twas not that naught I understood,

‘Twas rather that my heart was young.

In after years I wander’d back

To hear once more those soothing sounds; The ancient singers all were dead.

In peaceful sleep in mossy mounds.

The tuneful fathers all were gone; Their sons now sing in self-same strain In cadence just as sweet and strong But long’d I for their sires again.

Or was it truly more I yearn’d

For vanished May’s, before sin‘s flame Sorch’d sear the whiteness of my soul That knew God’s music when it came!

The date this poem was written is unknown.

262