African American Poetry (1870-1928): A Digital Anthology

Esther Popel, "Credo" (1925)

I think
That God must be
A Music-Master
Who directs the play,
And we the players in His Orchestra,
Make harmonies or discords
As He wills -- -- -- 
He crookes His little finger
And the chords 
Come swelling from the instruments we hold
Within our eager hands.
He nods His head
And majesty sublime comes crashing forth,
Or, with a simple drop of his baton,
Makes silent all the quivering, dancing strings
We play upon -- -- --
Mere puppets?
yes, but who would not be proud 
To be a player in a symphony 
So mighty?
And to be directed by
The Hand of such an Artist?

Published in Opportunity, January 1925

This page has tags: