Open me up to find either an organ or gold. Confident? Then say it with this too

I have a spine, but no bones to bear, Pages I hold, a story to share. With lines to fill, or sketches to make, What am I, for goodness sake?

Holding dessert, directing traffic, or frustrating a recovering dog, What am I?

Feathered yet I’ll never fly Upon me do the weary lie You’ll need me often in the night But rarely I’ll be used to fight!

A very, very precious socket set. They look sharp, yet are never whet.