And All The Grottoed Aisles Along, Where Servitors Rejoice, The Chorused Echoes Run- Oremus Nos. The Inspiration Of The Breeze Gives Every Reed A Voice From Tenebrae And Silences; Over The Valleys Borne, Come Organ Harmonies; And When The Low Winds Call, The Pines With Miserere Mourn A Requiem Musical, Softer Than Moonbeams Fall Across The Starry Oriels Of Night, Flooding The Azure Round With Hushed Delight And Sanctity Of Sound.