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USICIANS wrestle everywhere: All day, among the crowded air,
 * I hear the silver strife;

And — waking long before the dawn — Such transport breaks upon the town
 * I think it that "new life!"

It is not bird, it has no nest; Nor band, in brass and scarlet dressed,
 * Nor tambourine, nor man;

It is not hymn from pulpit read, — The morning stars the treble led
 * On time's first afternoon!

Some say it is the spheres at play! Some say that bright majority
 * Of vanished dames and men!

Some think it service in the place Where we, with late, celestial face,
 * Please God, shall ascertain!