In The Choir The Boys Are Singing The Hymn. The Morning Light On Their Lips Moves In Silver-Moist Flashes, In Musical Trim. Sudden Outside The High Window, One Crow Hangs In The Air And Lights On A Withered Oak-Tree'S Top Of Woe. One Bird, One Blot, Folded And Still At The Top Of The Withered Tree! - In The Grail Of Crystal Heaven Falls One Full Black Drop. Like A Soft Full Drop Of Darkness It Seems To Sway In The Tender Wine Of Our Sabbath, Suffusing Our Sacred Day.