Three Voices [together]. Hurry to bless the hands that play, <br />The mouths that speak, the notes and strings, <br />O masters of the glittering town! <br />O! lay the shrilly trumpet down, <br />Though drunken with the flags that sway <br />Over the ramparts and the towers, <br />And with the waving of your wings. <br />First Voice. Maybe they linger by the way. <br />One gathers up his purple gown; <br />One leans and mutters by the wall -- <br />He dreads the weight of mortal hours. <br />Second Voice. O no, O no! they hurry down <br />Like plovers that have heard the call. <br />Third Voice. O kinsmen of the Three in One, <br />O kinsmen, bless the hands that play. <br />The notes they waken shall live on <br />When all this heavy history's done; <br />Our hands, our hands must ebb away. <br />Three Voices [together]. The proud and careless notes live on, <br />But bless our hands that ebb away.<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-players-ask-for-a-blessing-on-the-psalteries/
