Led by the Children of the Chapel
They made be madrigals to-night,
And they were lyric men
Renewing still the luted flight
Of all the songs of Ben;
O children of the Chapel, sing,
As in that far melodious spring.
Unvext the dulcet numbers flow,
As on enchanted ears
They fell to ease a fresher woe
Than loads our later years;
O children of the Chapel, still
With music bid us to good-will.
Under the woven, dim, concent
Are tones that steal across
The ages from a past content
Upon our present loss;
O children of the Chapel, be
Our masters yet, for Charity.