I will lift up my voice and sing;
Whatever may befall me,
I will still follow the light which kindles song.
I will listen to the music
Arising out of grief and joy alike,
I will not deny my voice to the song.
For in the depth of winter, song,
Like a bud peeping through the dry crust of earth,
Brings back memory,
And creates anew the hope and anticipation of spring;
Out of a world that seems barren of hope,
Sing decries beauty in the shapes of leafless trees,
Lifts our eyes to distant mountain peaks which,
Even if we see them not,
Remind us that they are there, waiting,
And still calling to us to come up higher.
Out of the destruction of dear hopes,
Out of the agony of heartbreak,
Song rises once more to whisper to us
That even this is but the stage setting for a new beginning,
And that we shall yet take the pieces of our hearts
And put them together in a pattern
Of deeper, truer lights and shades.
I will lift up my voice in song,
For in singing I myself am renewed,
And the darkness of night is touched
By the promise of a new dawn,
For light shall come again.