"Give us," says Carlyle, "O, give us the man who sings at his work! Be
his occupation what it may, he is equal to any of those who follow the
same pursuit in silent sullenness. He will do more in the same time--he
will do it better--he will persevere longer. One is scarcely sensible of
fatigue whilst he marches to music. The very stars are said to make
harmony as they revolve in their spheres. Wondrous is the strength of
cheerfulness, altogether past calculation its powers of endurance.
Efforts, to be permanently useful, must be uniformly joyous--a spirit
all sunshine--graceful from very gladness--beautiful because bright."
Again, this author says, who had so much music in his heart, though not
of the softest kind--rather of the epic sort:
"The meaning of song goes deep. Who is there that, in logical words, can
express the effect music has on us? A kind of inarticulate, unfathomable
speech, which leads to the edge of the infinite, and lets us for moments
gaze into that!"
The late Canon Kingsley certainly conceived much of the height and
depth, and length and breath of song, when he wrote:
"There is music in heaven, because in music there is no self-will. Music
goes on certain rules and laws. Man did not make these laws of music; he
has only found them out; and, if he be self-willed and break them, there
is an end of his music instantly: all he brings out is discord and ugly
sounds: The greatest musician in the world is as much bound by those
laws as the learner in the school; and the greatest musician is one who,
instead of fancying that because he is clever he may throw aside the
laws of music, knows the laws of music best, and observes them most
reverently.
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