The Orchestra Leader
Dear Mr. Stock, grandly you stand before us,
Playing on violins in airy chorus,
On harps and trombones and the big bassoon,
Flutes and bass-drums and cellos all in tune.
Perhaps you think these are your instruments
For making music out of wind and dreams.
Ah no, a thing is seldom what it seems! —
These are materials and elements.
We are the orchestra whereon you play —
Our hearts at your command quiver like strings.
We make your music — on your spirit's wings
We rise and strike supernal chords; with you
We join the choir invisible, and say
Melodious words too wonderful for speech.
Ah, master, play us well — keep our hearts true
To key and pitch and vision! Let us reach
High courts together, where the tunes that fly
Circle the stars and echo in the sky.
Playing on violins in airy chorus,
On harps and trombones and the big bassoon,
Flutes and bass-drums and cellos all in tune.
Perhaps you think these are your instruments
For making music out of wind and dreams.
Ah no, a thing is seldom what it seems! —
These are materials and elements.
We are the orchestra whereon you play —
Our hearts at your command quiver like strings.
We make your music — on your spirit's wings
We rise and strike supernal chords; with you
We join the choir invisible, and say
Melodious words too wonderful for speech.
Ah, master, play us well — keep our hearts true
To key and pitch and vision! Let us reach
High courts together, where the tunes that fly
Circle the stars and echo in the sky.
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