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Cat

THE ORGANIST

"I played so badly," said the organist,
"I'm thankful but a few
Came here to-night through all the fog and mist
To hear me through.

"My fingers seemed to fumble with the keys
As if, they, too, were proud
And would not bend a little, just to please
So small and poor a crowd."

And saying this, he left the cold, dim hall;
But one there was who stayed,
Still lingering, as if trying to recall
Some melody he'd played.

"How glorious it was!" she said to me.
"What matters rain,
When one by music can uplifted be
Above all pain?"

And so I set this down in hope that he
May learn and smile,
Finding that work, which poor he deemed to be,
Was still worth while.

(Edgar A. Guest)