To the Piano-Forte

Dear Instrument, what gentle joy
 Dost thou impart to me;
I ne’er can want for sweet employ
 While I am blest with thee.
Thy charming power my cares control
And fill with varying bliss my soul.

When I am in my humours gay
 Thy notes are brisk and boon,
And when to sorrow I give way,
 Thou play’st a soothing tune,
But if to sacred thought I’m given,
Thy sounds can waft my soul to heaven.

Let no false joys which folly brings
 To ill my heart allure,
But like the sweet tones of thy strings,
 Be all my pleasures pure.
May all my life resemble thee,
And still be full of harmony.