I hold it truth, with him who sings To one clear harp in divers tones, That men may rise on stepping-stones Of their dead selves to higher things.
— Alfred Lord Tennyson
Praise him with the sound of the trumpet: praise him with the psaltery and harp.Praise him with the timbrel and dance: praise him with stringed instruments and organs.Praise him upon the loud cymbals: praise him upon the high sounding cymbals.Let every thing that hath breath praise the Lord.
— Anonymous
Love took up the harp of Life, and smote on all the chords with might; Smote the chord of Self, that, trembling, passed in music out of sight.