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LYRICS
God gave a little harp to me;
I hold it very dear,
I tune the strings to melody,
And play on it by ear.
I never spent a single day Learning the rules of art; Unconsciously my fingers play The music of my hear.
Sometimes my songs are low and sad,
And thrill with tender woe;
Sometimes my songs are light and glad, Because my heart is so.
I cannot reach the magic note That soothes the sorrowing,
Like dark-eyed David when he smote His harp to cheer the king.
Nor can I waken martial strains Like the great bards of old,
Whose music throbbed through England's veins And made her warriors bold.
My harp has only simple strings,
My hands are weak and small;
I only sing of simple things In simpler words than all.
And when some day I bow my head,
And friends look sad and say;
"The Singer's dead, the music fled,
Go put her harp away!"
They will not hang it in the halls,
The echoing halls of Fame,
Where every harp against the walls Vibrates a master's name;
But bear it tenderly to those Who loved the simple thing,
Because of simple joys and woes The singer used to sing.