Christe eleison bright rises in my ear,
The melody I learnt long since resounds again, so near.
To watch one gifted retch and pale
And see his talents fail,
What response, but a quiet and sincere
Christe eleison.
My friends I choose to address quite clear:
Your gift is great, although few hear
The music written when you nightly wail
Christe eleison.
Every maker takes his chance to disappear,
Lose himself in his creation, let the seen be seer,
If that’s the way to weave a tale
Or hang a phrase upon harmony’s nail
Then what is any art, but a mere
Christe eleison.