The Lost Chord
by ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER
Born October 30, 1825, died February 2, 1864

Adelaide Anne Procter was a poet and reformer. She was born in London , the first child of Bryan Walter Procter ('Barry Cornwall'), a poet, and Anne Procter. Highly gifted as a child, she studied geometry, piano, drawing, French, German and Italian. Her early poetry was given to her parents' literary circle in manuscript form. In 1853 she submitted poems to Charles Dickens's Household Words, and in the following six years the magazine published many of her poems. Her poetry was also published in All the Year Round, Cornwall and Good Words, its popularity deriving from its mixture of nostalgia, moral idealism and emotionalism. 'Philip and Mildred' urges women not to live their lives in the shadows of men.

In her mid-twenties she became a Roman Catholic, and this influenced her writing. Her perception of social ills was always intermixed with a religious sensibility. Her devotional lyrics have been used in Catholic and Protestant hymnals, and A Chaplet of Verse (1826) was published as a benefit for England 's first Catholic refuge for homeless women and children. She and some feminist friends founded The English Woman's Journal (1858) to urge women to enter the workforce as professionals. Her best-known lyric, 'A Lost Chord' appeared in the Journal. She worked tirelessly for better conditions for women in society, and was appointed by the National Association for the Promotion of Social Science to a committee which sought to discover ways for more women to enter the workforce. She died aged 39, and her contemporaries felt that overwork probably shortened her life. Charles Dickens wrote a memoir for her in 1866. Source

A Lost Chord

(In one grand moment I could hear
Angels bending near.)

Seated one day at the Organ,
I was weary and ill at ease,
And my fingers wandered idly
Over the noisy keys.

I do not know what I was playing,
Or what I was dreaming then;
But I struck one chord of music,
Like the sound of a great Amen.
(Like the sound of a great Amen.)

It flooded the crimson twilight
Like the close of an angel's Psalm
And it lay on my fevered spirit
With touch of infinite calm.

It quieted pain and sorrow,
Like love overcoming strife;
It seemed the harmonious echo
From our discordant life.

It linked all perplexed meanings
Into one perfect peace,
And trembled away into silence,
As if it were loathe to cease.

I have sought, but I seek it vainly,
That one lost chord divine,
That came from the soul of the organ
And entered into mine.

It may be that Death's bright angel
Will speak in that chord again,—
It may be that only in Heaven
I shall hear that grand Amen.

(It may be that Death's bright angel
Will speak in that chord again,—
It may be that only in Heaven
I shall hear that grand Amen, Amen)