'Twas the Night Before My Recital . . .

'Twas the night before my recital, when all through the church-house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a church mouse;
My music was stacked by the console with care,
In hopes that correct notes soon would be there;

The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While I was up practicing, filling with dread;
Each piston changed the stops with a snap,
I'd have rather been draining a giant nightcap!

When out of the Swell there arose such a clatter,
I jumped off the bench to see what was the matter.
Away to the chamber I flew like a flash,
Pried open the shutters and threw out my back.

I pulled out the cipher to go on with the show
And staggered back down to the console below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a security guard with his hands on his ears,

With a little old flashlight, so lively and quick,
He shined and he questioned until I was sick.
He looked at my program like a man insane,
Then he smiled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"A FANTASY, FUGUE, TOCCATA and PRELUDE!
That's a whole recital and not just a postlude!"
To the top of the church for his friends he did call
And I had to play the whole thing for them all.

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So over the keys my fingers they flew,
Amazing my feet on the pedalboard, too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard to my right
A roaring of laughter filling the night.
As I got off the bench, and was turning around,
Down the facade slid Old Bach, all the way to the ground.

He looked much like the pictures you see in the books,
After all of these years, he still had his looks;
He put on the shoes that were slung on his back,
And pulled some old music from out of his pack.

His eyes -- how they twinkled! his fingers how merry!
His toes were like birds, a quick tune they could carry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the hair on his head was as white as the snow;

He played a great Cantus with four voices beneath,
Till the music encircled our heads like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook, when he played like a bowl full of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;

He spoke not a word, but went straight through each werk,
Then completing a cadence he turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the facade he rose;

He sprang to the Choir and silenced a whistle,
Then faded away without an epistle.
But I heard him exclaim, my Germanic idol,
"HAPPY PRELUDES TO ALL, AND ENJOY YOUR RECITAL!"

Dan Long
Editor, BACHorgan.com
http://www.BACHorgan.com
At some point during my rehearsal,
as I sat at the console thinking
about my recital the next day,
I was inspired to jot down this take-off
on a familiar poem.

FWDed by
Pauline Wendy Phillips
"The aim and final end of all music should be none other than the glory of
God and the refreshment of the soul. If heed is not paid to this, it is not
true music but a diabolical bawling and twanging!" Johann Sebastian Bach <A
HREF="http://groups.yahoo.com/group/JohannusOrgansSchool/ ">
Johannus Organs eSchool</A>


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