 | The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill |  |
179
THE BELLOWS-BOY
I blow the organ at St. Timothy's.
Did you know 't was not the master, after all,
(I used to think so, too) that speaks the great
Sweet sounds? He only beckons at the keys,
And God's winds come and sing for him; while I,
I draw the great winds in from up the air.
'T is hard, I tell you! Sometimes they hold back,
And make me tug and strain to draw them in.
But then they always come: all except once,
When I forgot to do my work.
Did you know 't was not the master, after all,
(I used to think so, too) that speaks the great
Sweet sounds? He only beckons at the keys,
And God's winds come and sing for him; while I,
I draw the great winds in from up the air.
'T is hard, I tell you! Sometimes they hold back,
And make me tug and strain to draw them in.
But then they always come: all except once,
When I forgot to do my work.
You see,
'T was a wild night, and after church was done,
The dear old voices had been battling hard,
Near drowned in storm and sea, and had got forth
Out of the roar and whirl, and on the beach
Lay panting, while the waves died into sobs,
Leaving them lying, watching the soft foam.—
I fell to dreaming with them, listening
How the blue water plashed, quiet and far,
Till, of a sudden, a horrible, drawn wail,
Then silence, out of which I started, dazed,
At a fierce red face and raging whisper, “Blow!”
'T was a wild night, and after church was done,
The dear old voices had been battling hard,
Near drowned in storm and sea, and had got forth
Out of the roar and whirl, and on the beach
Lay panting, while the waves died into sobs,
Leaving them lying, watching the soft foam.—
I fell to dreaming with them, listening
How the blue water plashed, quiet and far,
Till, of a sudden, a horrible, drawn wail,
Then silence, out of which I started, dazed,
At a fierce red face and raging whisper, “Blow!”
180
They took my work away, for that; but soon
I begged and begged it back again, and now
I try to tug so hard as not to hear.
I begged and begged it back again, and now
I try to tug so hard as not to hear.
Sometimes I creep round nights, when the choir is gone,
And stealthily unlock the carved oak doors,
To flatten my hand along the ivory keys,
As smooth and chill as ice. They will not speak,—
The smooth white lips, yet always I hear tunes,
Back in the empty dark, and over me
In the gold pipes: it may be my own thoughts,
Playing at music. One I always hear
That hangs in the dark like a great white flower, and there
It grows and fades.
And stealthily unlock the carved oak doors,
To flatten my hand along the ivory keys,
As smooth and chill as ice. They will not speak,—
The smooth white lips, yet always I hear tunes,
Back in the empty dark, and over me
In the gold pipes: it may be my own thoughts,
Playing at music. One I always hear
That hangs in the dark like a great white flower, and there
It grows and fades.
For, once, the minister
(Him with the great high forehead), Christmas Day,
Walked down the alley, and stopped, and spoke to me
(Faith! but I shook, though, when his steady hand
Stayed on my head a minute), and he said
That even the master, and he, and every one—
Even the beautiful people in the choir—
Only did work like mine, moved hands or lips,
While the music all was God's, and came from Him.
(Him with the great high forehead), Christmas Day,
Walked down the alley, and stopped, and spoke to me
(Faith! but I shook, though, when his steady hand
Stayed on my head a minute), and he said
That even the master, and he, and every one—
Even the beautiful people in the choir—
Only did work like mine, moved hands or lips,
While the music all was God's, and came from Him.
181
So, ever since, it has come into my tunes,
That maybe in that world I can make sounds
Like the great, sweet ones, and may have white keys
All of my own, and not so cold and dumb,
Nights, when I touch them!
That maybe in that world I can make sounds
Like the great, sweet ones, and may have white keys
All of my own, and not so cold and dumb,
Nights, when I touch them!
| The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill | |