MUSIC, MUSIC, MUSIC

In any form.....
I found this poem, that I had taken from a very old copy of the British Punch Magazine (could date back to the 1800's, not sure).  I had it back in the seventies and saved these words; I love it:

Strike the strings and let there be

Little sounds that sing to me.

 

Flighting pigeons’ soft applause,

Unchecked moan of yawning jaws;

Thrusting needles pricking through

Nursery cotton stiff and new;

Whimpered ecstasy and grunt,

Sleeping spaniel dreams the hunt;

Taps that still the tuning notes,

Reedy songs in childish throats,

Country boots along the lane,

Wind-blown laughter in the rain.

 

Lift the pipe and softly blow

Music I shall always know.

 

can't read the copy, but it says (as in an epitaph) - The only proof he needed for the existence of God was MUSIC.