John Davidson — The Ballad of Heaven

He wrought at one great work for years; The world passed by with lofty look; Sometimes his eyes were dashed with tears; Sometimes his lips with laugher shook. His wife and child went clothed in rags, And in a windy garret starved; He trod his measure on flags, And high on heaven his music carved. Wistful he grew but never feared; For always on the midnight skies His rich orchestral score appeared In stars and zones and galaxies. He thought to copy down his score; The moonlight was his lamp; he said, ‘Listen my love,’ but on the floor His wife and child were lying dead.