In the morning of melody’s leap from your tongue,
When the tells of your voice are as silver bells rung,
I sit still and I listen as, scaling, you rise
In a practice made perfect that tries, ever tries,
To o’er-power the father of light as he skies!
You have done it, you’ve won it, and done it with fun,
And the sun that I hear is your joy on the run
As it climbs ever higher and soars ever sweet
Round our echoing house that now quivers complete.
These old ceilings and walls need no paper or paint,
They have heard every word of their beautiful saint;
They have heard every syllable sung and flung free
To themselves that were lonely when only a tree.
Now the floors and the furniture seem so much more
As they’re lifted and gifted with notes that in-pour,
And my coffee tastes better, my body’s more sound,
With your passionate practice of soaring unbound!
I will never down practice as deed undesired;
I will never say “No, oh, please, no; I’m too tired;”
I will never grow weary of beauty so true
As it pours and it soars from the sunrise of you!
On the concert-hall stage you’ll be standing alone,
As on top of a mountain of darkness and stone.
Then you’ll open your mouth as a practice begun
And the ears of some thousands will hear a new sun!
Then the bravos will roar, and the flowers will fly,
And your face of pure song-light will beam in mine eye!
Then back home in the night, back on home out of sight,
We will practice our kisses till they are so right
That the blithe bliss of happiness stops up our lips
With the top-notes of love in life’s passionate trips!
Then it’s “Brave” from you, and it’s “Bravo” from me,
And it’s “Bravo” to practice wherever we be!