To every song there is a start,
a spark of life within the heart
which flickers, and begins to grow,
and smoother it begins to flow,
Weaving words of wholesome hope
that in grave times do help us cope.
Our sweet solemnity does intertwine,
and with our God's great Love divine
parts the sea of our own pain,
and pures our heart in celestial rain,
Soaked into the heavens above;
all our sorrows transformed to Love.
And nearer comes the melodic end,
when to our Maker we must ascend,
For every song must come to cease
in order that we may find our peace.