There’s a poet that I’ve grown to love over the years, George Herbert, who lived in England during the early 17th century. A scholar, who became a country priest, he was also a gifted musician and songwriter. A story is told where Herbert, on the way to play music with some friends, came across a poor man and an even poorer horse in distress and stopped to help them out of the mud and assisted the man in unloading the poor beast. By the time he later joined his friends, he was filthy from head to toe. One of them asked why he had disparaged himself by so dirty an employment. I love Herbert’s answer…that his actions would prove “music to him at midnight.”