What false hope the chorus makes
To amend our lows to heights of greats.
From sounds of vict'ry when hearts are torn,
To desperate cries in final mourn.
What sweet assurance has tend'rly lied,
That sustained our ills which grow inside.
O blessed noise we sing in direst,
For a glimpse of joy in dark arrest.
'Til midnight hum, the moans bequeath
Such truth revealed from underneath.
And with crescendo the truth revealed ,
The battle's lost, our fate is sealed.