THE HAND THAT TOUCHED THE KEYS.
The hand that touched the keys when first
Thought into being stole,
And like a gush of music burst
Harmonious o'er my soul,
I bless it, for the power it gave
To turn the past to joy,
And in its present vigor brave
The griefs that would destroy.
Thought into being stole,
And like a gush of music burst
Harmonious o'er my soul,
I bless it, for the power it gave
To turn the past to joy,
And in its present vigor brave
The griefs that would destroy.
A universe whose every space
With melodies abound;
A language written on each face,
Made eloquent with sound;
A beauty in each timid flower
That loves the morning-breeze;
It showed me in one little hour—
The hand that touched the keys.
With melodies abound;
A language written on each face,
Made eloquent with sound;
A beauty in each timid flower
That loves the morning-breeze;
It showed me in one little hour—
The hand that touched the keys.
A feeling that the world was mine
And I was heaven's alone;
A wish to kneel at every shrine
Built to the Great Unknown;
A spirit meek as love's, nor less
Omnipotent to please;
O! be it God's or man's, I bless
The hand that touched the keys.
And I was heaven's alone;
A wish to kneel at every shrine
Built to the Great Unknown;
A spirit meek as love's, nor less
Omnipotent to please;
O! be it God's or man's, I bless
The hand that touched the keys.