The Choir Director's Anthem
SUNG TO THE TUNE OF "IMMORTAL INVISIBLE GOD ONLY WISE"
Immoral, impossible, God only knows
How tenors and basses, sopranos, altos
At service on Sunday are rarely the same
As those who on Wednesday to choir practice came.
Unready, unable to sight-read the notes,
Nor counting, nor blending, they tighten their throats,
The descant so piercing is soaring above
The melody only a mother could love.
They have a director, but no one knows why.
No one in the choir deigns to turn her (him) an eye.
It's clear by her (his) waving, she (he) wants them to look,
But each of them stands with their nose in the book.
Despite the offenses, the music rings out.
The folks in the pews are enraptured, no doubt.
Their faces are blissful, their thoughts are so deep,
But it is no wonder, for they are asleep