It's tough to be an alto when you're singing in the choir.
The sopranos get the twiddly bits the people all admire.
The basses boom like loud trombones, the tenors shout with glee,
But the alto part is on two notes (or if you're lucky, three).
And when we sing an anthem and we lift our hearts in praises
The men get all the juicy bits and telling little phrases.
Of course the trebles always sing the tune - they always come off best;
The altos only get three notes and twenty-two bars rest.
We practise very hard each week from Hymnbook and the Psalter,
But when the conductor looks at us our voices start to falter.
Too high! Too low! Too fast! - you held that note too long!
It doesn't matter what we do, it's certain to be wrong!
Oh! Shed a tear for altos, they're the martyrs and they know,
In the ranks of choral singers they're considered very low.
They are so very 'umble that a lot of folks forget 'em;
How they'd love to be sopranos, but their vocal cords won't let 'em!
And when the final trumpet sounds and we are wafted higher,
Sopranos, basses, tenors - they'll be in the Heavenly Choir.
While they sing 'Alleluia!' to celestial flats and sharps,
The altos will be occupied with polishing the harps.
(We thank Mavis, one of our long-suffering altos, for this contribution)