Explore "Beecher" by Ambrose Bierce on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
So, Beecher's dead. His was a great soul, too -- / Great as a giant organ is, whose reeds / Hold in them all the souls of all the creeds / That man has ever taught and never knew.
When on this mighty instrument He laid / His hand Who fashioned it, our common moan / Was suppliant in its thundering. The tone / Grew more vivacious when the Devil played.
No more those luring harmonies we hear, / And lo! already men forget the sound.
They turn, retracing all the dubious ground / O'er which it led them, pigwise, by the ear.