Words make you think a thought. Music makes you feel a feeling.

The poet and lyricist E. Y. Harburg, whose words gave us Somewhere Over the Rainbow, once unveiled a truth of timeless beauty: “Words make you think a thought. Music makes you feel a feeling. A song makes you feel a thought.” In this triad of wisdom, he reveals the mystery of art’s power over the soul. Words, music, and song—each alone is mighty, but together they form a force that awakens both mind and heart, weaving thought and feeling into one.

Words alone are like fire carried in the hand. They illuminate, they burn, they sharpen the intellect, calling forth reason and reflection. A speech can stir resolve, a poem can open doors in the mind, a proverb can guide a man’s steps for a lifetime. Yet words, in their naked form, often dwell in the realm of thought—satisfying the mind, but not always moving the heart.

Music, by contrast, does not speak to reason but to the depths. It bypasses the intellect and stirs the spirit directly. A melody can awaken joy, sorrow, longing, or triumph in a single breath. The ancients knew this well: the sound of the lyre could soothe a raging heart; the drum could drive men to battle with courage. Where words instruct, music transforms, carrying us beyond language into the realm of pure feeling.

But when a song unites words and music, a miracle is born. Then, as Harburg teaches, we “feel a thought.” The mind’s clarity and the heart’s passion merge, and truth becomes not only understood but embodied. Consider the song La Marseillaise, which carried the French Revolution on its wings. Its words spoke of liberty and brotherhood, while its music burned with fervor. Together, they transformed thought into action, and action into history. A song does not merely tell us what to believe—it makes us feel belief, until it becomes part of our being.

History overflows with such examples. The spirituals sung by enslaved people in America were not just words of hope, nor just melodies of sorrow—they were songs that carried thoughts of freedom in feelings of longing, binding generations together in strength. Likewise, national anthems, hymns, and protest songs have ignited revolutions, healed wounds, and given voice to the voiceless. In each, Harburg’s insight is proven: words alone might inspire thought, music alone might stir emotion, but a song unites them, turning ideas into living flames.

The lesson, then, is this: do not underestimate the power of song. When you need clarity, turn to words. When you need comfort or courage, turn to music. But when you need to be moved to act, to believe, to hope—sing. Unite thought with feeling, and you will awaken the soul in its fullness. A song has the power to heal divisions, to inspire movements, to transform sorrow into strength.

So, children of tomorrow, take this counsel into your days: Fill your mind with wise words, fill your heart with noble music, and let your life itself become a song. Sing your truths, not only to be understood, but to be felt. For as Harburg reminds us, in song lies the harmony of human existence—the union of mind and heart, thought and feeling, reason and passion.

Thus remember: a song is the bridge. It is the place where thought takes on flesh, and feeling takes on meaning. Cherish it, create it, share it, and let it guide you. For when you feel a thought, you are no longer a passive listener—you are a participant in the eternal symphony of life.