Jake Heggie - In Praise of Songs That Die

Ah, they are passing, passing by
Wonderful songs, but born to die!
Cries from the infinite human seas
Waves thrice-winged with harmonies
Here I stand on a pier in the foam
Seeing the songs to the beach go home
Dying in sand while the tide flows back
As it flowed of old in its fated track
Oh, hurrying tide that will not hear
Your own foam children dying near
Is there no refuge-house of song
No home, no haven where songs belong?
Oh, precious hymns that come and go!
You perish, and I lovе you so!