Classic Poem

B RECHVA'S H ARP-SONG .

Little harp, at thy cry
He shall come in his time;
And thy sword-song on high,
High shall chime.

Little harp, in his heart
Is the fire; in his hand
Are the sword, and the Art,
To command.

Little harp, like the wind
Is his strength; like thy sound
Are his words, to unbind
Every wound.

Little harp, if his name
Be unknown, ye shall hear
How the Stars tell his fame
Far and near.

Little harp, if unknown
He awake, there shall sing
All the Stars, as they crown
Him All-King!