If there's a heaven, he would often think,
it sounds just like my music, how the strings
bound yet are ordered, how the choir sings
stretching its voices. Mere pen and ink
God's instruments to help him show a crowd
of idle people how they might be wise
might live like Christians, if they'd turn their eyes
from quiet sins to virtue sung out loud
and then he'd shut that notebook, smile and laugh
mock his own pride, The very same high note
that praises God above was one that he wrote
in airs of love abandoned. He was half
in love with pagan joy, passion and lust.
Loved god, in music placed his deepest trust.
