'My requiem

My requiem

The last melody Mozart wrote was his sweetest. He had spent weeks upon it, and after giving the last touches, he fell asleep. His daughter entered at length, and her footsteps awoke him.

"Come here, my Emilie," he said, "my task is done. The requiem, my requiem , is finished."

"Say not so, my father," answered the gentle girl. "You must soon be better. Even now your cheek has a glow upon it."

"Do not deceive yourself, my child," said the dying father. "This wasted form can never be restored. Take these notes, my last notes, sit down by my piano, and sing them. Let me hear once more, those tones which have been so long my solace and my joy."

Emilie did as her father requested, and sang, in a voice enriched with tenderest emotion, the sweet requiem he had composed.

Turning from the piano, she looked into her father's face for his approving smile. Instead of this, she saw the still, passionless smile which the enrapt and joyous spirit had left, with the seal of death upon the beloved features. He had soared away to the eternal world, on the wings of his own last sweet song.

In the same way, we should so live — bravely, truly, obediently, unselfishly, diligently, in faith and love and prayer — that the ending of our life may be a tender, immortal song, fit to bear away our spirit on its wings to the gates of blessedness.

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