Once a singer sang a song That whispered in the night, And fearing not the right or wrong, He sang in bright sunlight. Many fled the song of praise For passion's dearest thrill, And many thereby mourned love's loss, And many always will. But few there are who bravely stand and wait for love to come, And treasure what no other's feel, the precious, taunting drum; The drum that beats in loving sounds, the throbbing beat of love, And sings and soars at heaven's door, amid the stars above.