Some most sacred songs are secret songs,
Songs we sing in the plight of night.
The strings of praise, when the pang prolongs,
When the soul is anguished by an enduring fight…
Precious praises are of pricks and chains,
A melody united in strings of pains.
Most sacred songs are left unheard,
When the heart’s stench stains, when the vision’s blurred…
Yet we anchor for we are strong, stronger in the brood,
For the light of the brave is bright, and the dark’s eschewed…
For the songs we sing at plight are worship songs,
A song that utters worthy, are days when the pang prolongs!!
Secret songs, when the heart’s cry sighs,
A tune of glory that convinces us to rise…
Are the songs we sing at night,
Bangs of precious praise, when we endure our fight.