Like the shapes of clouds,
So swiftly changes the world.
All consummations
Return to the primaeval.

Above mutability and progress,
Towards the boundless and liberation,
Your song as prelude endures,
God with the lyre.

Nor are sorrows understood.
Nor has love been learned.
And what recedes from us into death

Is not revealed.
Only the Song above the world
Sanctifies, holds celebration.