ome, in order to get one hundred
more listeners into the room.

A German poet calls the "Messiah" "a Christian epic in musical
sounds." The expression is a felicitous description of its theme and
style. It celebrates the grandest of events with the sublimest
strains that music may utter. The great composer commanded, and all
the powers of music hastened with song and instrument to praise the
life, death, and triumph of the Christ. No human composition ever
voiced, in poetry or prose or music, such a masterly conception of
the Virgin's Son as that uttered by this magnificent oratorio.

The sacred Scriptures furnish the words. The seer's prophecies, the
Psalmist's strains, the evangelist's narrative, the angels' song,
the anthem of the redeemed, are transferred to aria, recitative, and
chorus. The sentiment is as majestic as the music is grand. He who
sought out the fitting words had studied his Bible, and he who
joined to them musical sounds dwelt in the region of the sublime.

All the emotions are touched by the oratorio. Words and music quiver
with fear, utter sorrow, plead with pathos, or exult in the joy of
triumph. A symphony so paints a pastoral scene that the shepherds of
Bethlehem are seen watching their flocks. One air, "He was
despised," suggests that its birth was amid tears. It was; for
Handel sobbed aloud while composing it. It is the threnody of the
oratorio.

The grandeur of the "Messiah" finds its highest expression in the
"Hallelujah Chorus." "I did think," said Handel, describing, in
imperfect English, his thought at the moment of composition,--"I did
think I did see all heaven before me, and the great God himself."

When the oratorio was first performed in London, the audience were
transported at the words, "The Lord God omnipotent reigneth." They
all, with George II., who happened to be present, started to their
feet and remained standing until the chorus was ended. This act of
homage has become the custom with all English-speaking audiences.

"You have given the audience an excellent entertainment," said a
patronizing nobleman to Handel, at the close of the first
performance of the "Messiah" in London.

"My lord," replied the grand old composer, with dignity, "I should
be very sorry if I only _entertained_ them; I wish to make them
_better_."

A few years before his death Handel was smitten with blindness. He
cont