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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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