The need for praise arises in mankind,
And manifests itself as horror evil.
The spirit wavers in fear, feeling blind,
For all the trials drained-he is tired still.
The emptiness of what was bad is gone,
For that the human heart trembles anew,
That is what made the weary drained one,
And made him still subject to cross too cruel.
In that moment a song rang out of joy,
A true melodious dark hymn from sorrow
Reaching out tendrils of a black convoy,
That had found its light on this morrow.
That melancholic jubilance can rise,
And in its sad ascent we find new life.