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Umm, we would like to say that
On May 10th, this year
We're goin' into Carnegie Hall
Where is Carnegie Hall Luthe? (Mississippi)
Mississippi (no, it's not)
Uh, Gordon Terry, John Western
The Carter Family, Tom, Paul, McGlaiser Brothers
And Mike Wiseman for, uh, showin'
We're gonna record on the stage at Carnegie Hall
An album
And uh, one of the things we intend to record is a reading
It's one of our very favorite poems
I think a beautiful story
We'd like to do it for you
We hope you enjoy
"The Ballad of the Harp Weaver"
Once, my mother told me when I was knee high
"Son, you'll need clothes this winter, and not a rag have I
There's not a thing in this house to make a boy's britches
I don't even have scissors for the cloth nor thread for the stitches
There's nothing in this house but a half a loaf of rye
And that old family harp of ours that no one will buy"
Well, that was in the late fall and when the winter came
I didn't have a pair of britches nor a shirt to my name
But my mother said, "Son, come climb on my lap
And I'll warm those skinny legs while you take a nap"
And we'd rock back and forth to a Mother Goose rhyme
And boy, we were happy for about an hours time
I heard it said that that year the winter was very bad
I know we sat on the floor because we burned what chairs we had
Except for one chair that mother couldn't break
And that old family harp of ours that no one would take
One night, I was sick with a cold and my mother sang me to sleep
And when she laid me on the floor, I thought I heard her weep
But then I saw her sittin' in that one good chair
With the light shining on her from I couldn't tell where
But she looked eighteen years old, not a day older
And there was that old harp playing against her shoulder
Well, she began to play that harp and her hands moved rapidly
Then thread ran to the harp strings from somewhere that I couldn't see
Then all colored threads began to glide right through my mother's hands
I saw the thread turn into cloth
And I watched the cloth expand
And she wove a boy's jacket and when it was done
She laid it on the floor and wove another one
She wove a long red coat, and what a sight to see
"That coat's for a king's son", I said
"Couldn't be for me," but I knew it was for me
She wove a pair of britches and quicker than that
She wove a pair of boots and a little woolen hat
She wove a pair of mittens, she wove a little blouse
She wove all night in that cold barren house
Then she sang while she worked and the harp strings spoke
But her voice never faltered and the thread never broke
But when I awoke, there sat my mother
With that harp against her shoulder lookin' eighteen years old, not a day older
A smile on her lips and a light around her head
But her hands were on the harp strings, frozen dead
But on the floor beside her, piled six feet high
Were clothes good enough for a king just my size
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