THE DEAD MUSICIAN
In memory of Brother Basil,
Organist for half a century at Notre Dame
By Charles L. O'Donnell, C.S.C.
He was the player and the played upon,
He was the actor and the acted on,
Artist, and yet himself a substance wrought;
God played on him as he upon the keys,
Moving his soul to mightiest melodies
Of lowly serving, hid austerities,
And holy thought that our high dream out-tops,—
He was an organ where God kept the stops.
Naught, naught
Of all he gave us came so wondrous clear
As that he sounded to the Master's ear.
Wedded he was to the immortal Three,
Poverty, Obedience and Chastity,
And in a fourth he found them all expressed,
For him all gathered were in Music's breast,
And in God's house
He took her for his spouse,—
High union that the world's eye never scans
Nor world's way knows.
Not any penny of applauding hands
He caught, nor would have caught,
Not any thought
Save to obey
Obedience that bade him play,
And for his bride
