Alexander von Zemlinsky (1842–1900) lived during the great age of lost chords. When Zemlinsky was a little boy, Arthur Sullivan wrote set to music the famous poem about hearing a concord beyond all concords. But although Sullivan's piano mimics an organ swelling in rich modulations, I don't think that any specific chord could be considered a “lost” chord, or even that any chord formation would present the slightest challenge to the humblest student of Simon Sechter or Heinrich Schenker. But the text, by the poet Adelaide Anne Procter, doesn't invite any particular search for occult harmonies. A “chord divine” that links “perplexèd meanings Into one perfect peace,” a chord that is the grandest of Amens, has to be something familiar. There are plenty of lost discords, but there are no lost concords: nothing is ultraconcordant beyond the octave, the fifth, and the other very simple ratios. An Amen heard in heaven can't be more heart easing than an ordinary plagal cadence, unless transfigured ears can hear things we can't hear; a plagal cadence is exactly what Sullivan supplies at the end of his song.