  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. |
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