First on a string, a pitch
to catch the ear,
And then the wind for which
to lift the spirit there.
Soon louder comes the drum
to bring our heart in step;
and brave the brass, the one
to give the music depth.
Before it all, all eyes upon
and each on time, not slow
and none too quick.
Each note a gem or drop of rain,
a jewel that makes the hearer glad he came.
The score, a stroke of genius born,
with rhythm, string pulled tight, and horn.
Baton between the fingers strong and sure,
creating sacred melody thatís pure;
and reaching peaks of rapture for a sense
made for His pleasure in the present tense.
Vibrations rolling through the air as sound,
and caught by organs by which they may be found.
At times the cymbal crashing, trumpets roar,
at times the reeds and pipes do whisper more.
Each note designed to hold a special place
and work its work when called upon by grace,
as spirits float and sail with angelís wing.
We all are instruments, and all were made to sing.