THE PIPER AND THE REED THE PIPER AND THE REED

I am a reed — a little reed

Down by the river,

A whim of God whose moment's need

Was that the Giver

Might blow melodious and long

One cadence of eternal song.

Through me are blown

Wild whisperings of wind from hills

No sun hath known.

The splendour that Orion spills

On purple space;

The golden loom of Leo's mane;

The scintillance of Vega's face;

Dim unto dark:

And great Arcturus’ far refrain

Fades to a silence that is pain,

When, like a lark,

Riseth melodious and strong

That cadence of eternal song.

God is the Piper — I, the reed

Down by the river for His need.

One note in those vast melodies

Waited on me,

Or else the choral companies

Went silently

Complaining to the muted stars:

“What lack we yet that Discord bars

That infinite Processional?”

Or else the seraphim would call:

“Minstrels, your dulcimers let fall

And break the silvern psalteries!”

A little reed — a little reed!

And yet were silence of that song,

Failed I the river's pebbled brim,

Nor trembled never unto him —

The Piper! passing where we throng

Vibrant and ready for His need.

O Miracle!

He who in beauty goeth by

The marches of the meadowy sky,

A-piping on the many reeds

His canticle,

Paused in His playing;

For He found

An under-sound

Failed of the music that He made.

Wild winds went straying,

Like sheep lost on the daisied meads —

Scattered by Discord and afraid,

Lost from the fold

They knew of old.

My God had need

Of one more reed —

Had need of me

To make the perfect harmony.

I am that under-sound,

That needed note.

Eternally the Piper tried

Reed after reed until He found

Me growing by the river-side,

And laughing at the leaves that float

Forever down its burnished tide.

How frail my body is — how frail

And common of its kind;

A reed among a field of reeds

A-tremble to the wind —

The wind that threshes like a flail

Until my body bleeds!

Yet through me such wild music blows

The Piper laughs among the stars.

Know you the Piper? Little scars

Burn on His brow, each shoulder shows

Wounds of a knotted scourge that fell

To hurt Him from the hands of Hell!

Welcome, O Wind!

All hail, O Pain!

One little reed — one little reed,

To fill the Piper's far refrain,

Is broken till its body bleed;

Glad that the Minstrel Lord doth find

A tone of His eternal need.