We are healthy only to the extent that our ideas are humane.

Suddenly Earnest hit upon something he could do which would both occupy time and raise his failing spirits. He could sing. He loved singing, and it was so rare that he had the opportunity to really allow himself to fill his throat with a song. Because as much as he loved singing, he hated being heard. He had been in the school choir once-- that seemed so long ago!-- but things had changed since then, so many things. These days he only sang under his breath, or very quietly when no one was about. He hadn't even allowed Neville to hear him sing. Somehow singing had become too private for him to allow anyone else to hear. He didn't know why. (It was as though Alistair had torn the voice out of him, but he didn't want to think about that. About things torn from him. He didn't like that word. Torn.) Now, however, alone in the garden, he could sing out without fear of being overheard. Earnest never had much head for memorization, but songs he found easier to remember, and he still recalled a few. And so he opened his mouth. And he sang the first song that came to him.

The song came to him, perhaps, because it was in line with his thoughts of the day, and also with the moment. He sang it in his full voice, one he had not used in some time. He was pleased to find that, though unused and shaky at first, it was still there. Unlike the voices of some boys who had sung prettily as children, his own voice had survived the breaking of his adolescence, had remained lovely, even though it had changed:

The day is past and gone;
The evening shades appear:
O may we all remember well
The night of death draws near.

We lay our garments by,
Upon our beds to rest;
So death shall soon disrobe us all
Of what is here possest.

Lord, keep us safe this night,
Secure from all our fears;
May angels guard us while we sleep,
Till morning light appears.