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Jim Clark: Music

Mountain Fiddler

(Jim Clark)
November 22, 2010
Words: Byron Herbert Reece/Music: Jim Clark

To me, Pattie Hopkins' fiddling is inspired perfection.

Mountain Fiddler



I took my fiddle

That sings and cries

To a hill in the middle

Of Paradise.


I sat at the base

Of a golden stone

In that holy place

To play alone.


I tuned the strings

And began to play,

And a crowd of wings

Were bent my way.


A voice said

Amid the stir:

“We that were dead,

O Fiddler,


“With purest gold

Are robed and shod,

And we behold

The face of God.


“Our halls can show

No thing so rude

As your horsehair bow,

Or your fiddlewood;


“And yet can they

So well entrance

If you but play

Then we must dance!”