THE VIOLIN.

Touch gently, friend, and slow, the violin, So sweet and low,

That my dreaming senses may be beckoned so

Into a rest as deep as the long past “years ago!”

So softly, then, begin;

And ever gently touch the violin,

Until an impulse grows of a sudden, like wind

On the brow of the earth,

And the voice of your violin shows its wide-swung girth

With a crash of the strings and a medley of rage and mirth;

And my rested senses spring

Like juice from a broken rind,

And the joys that your melodies bring

I know worth a life-time to win,

As you waken to love and this hour your violin!