A little child, at an organ
In a room across the way,
While trying to learn his lesson
Awoke me from dreams to-day.
The exercises were simple
But he soon began to cry,
And I heard him say with feeling:
“’Tis really no use to try!”
Then the master, bending o’er him
As patiently as before,
Said: “Let me take your place, dear,
And I’ll show you how once more.”
Soon I hear instead of discord
A sweet, harmonious sound,
While the master’s skillful fingers
The musical keys have found.
Within the souls of the many
Are keys of ivory white,
Which will waken to sweetest music
If in tune and touched aright;
But how oft we hear a discord
When the wrong keys have been tried
And the amateur is playing
While the Master stands aside.