A solitary pilgrim stood,

His face turned toward the west,

Care worn lines and calloused hands

Unmasked his severe quest.

Straining an ear to listen

For a distant, faint sonance,

Resolute to hear a score

From an immemorial dance,

He stroked his chin and pondered

(With a philosophic bent)

How mire, sturggle, and toil

Can spendorously be rent

By the common grace allowed us,

So a symphony breaks in

To calm a weary pilgrim

Through the world's cacophonous din.