Stradivarius
With loving hands He sculpted you from grace,
And stringed your heart with finest threads of gold,
Then sent out of His kingdom’s holy place,
For fleeting life to rest in player’s hold.
Bathed in the varnish of the Lord of all,
Your mellow sound unmatched by seraphim—
(Thrice double winged, eyes set panoptical)—
They roar while you with delicacy sing.
Vicerigent I am to concert you,
You— masterpiece of ancient luthier,
Divine Ancient of Days who crafted you,
My instrument and earthly pleasurer.
On loan to me for this brief spell of years,
Before to He takes you back when He appears.
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