all the pride of a banished race,
Stare from the eyes that light his face.
But he never sighs and his slender hand,
Fastens the cat-gut, strand by strand--
Fastens it tight, but tenderly
As if he dreams of some melody.
Some melody of his yesterday....
Will it, I wonder, find its way
Out to the world, when fingers creep
Over the strings that lie asleep?
Or will the city's misery
Mould the song in a tragic key--
Making its sweetest, faintest breath
Thrill with sorrow, and throb with death?
Maker of music--who can know
Where the work of his hand shall go?
Maybe its slightest phrase will bring,
Comfort to ease the suffering--
Maybe his dreams will have their part
Buried deep in the music's heart....
Out of a chain of dreary days,
Joy may come as some master plays!
Over a slum his sign hangs out,
Over a street where dread meets doubt--
"Violins made," reads the sign. It swings
Over a street where sorrow sings.
II. THE PARK BAND
(Side by side and silent--eagerly they stand--
Souls look out of tired eyes, hands are clasped
together,
Through the thrilling softness of the late spring
weather,
All a city slum is out to listen to the band.)
Young love and Maytime, hear the joyous strain,
Listen to a serenade written long ago!
You will recognize the song--you who care must
know
Fear that blends with happiness, joy that touches
pain.
Rabbi with the grizzled beard hear adventure's story!
Hear the tale the music tells, thrilling with ro-
mance,
Hear the clatter of a sword, hear a broken lance
Falling from some hero's hand, red with blood-
stained glory.
(Tenements on either side, light-flecked in the gloam-
ing,
Tenements on either side, stark and tall and gray--
Ah, the folk who line your halls wander far away,
All a crowded city slum is a-gypsie roaming!)
Woman with the brooding gaze, hear the lilting
laughter
Of the children that you loved, feel their soft-
lipped kisses;
Think of all the little joys that a hard world
misses-
What though bitter loneliness always follows after?
Gangster with the shifty eyes, listen to
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