"Trudging the plains
Of the day-to-day grind
We drag through these grasses
Embittered and blind!

The land of beyond
Yet beckons, it’s true
And gone are the golden
Days of our youth!

Those marble cathedrals
Have crumbled to dust
And lie as cold rubble
Upon the earth crust!

Yet, sacred the soil
Remains on these hills
And hallowed the call
Of old fortune’s goodwill!

So gather the clans
And sound the ram’s horn
For out of the ashes
New soil is born!!

Our race is not finished
Our song but half sung
Though light may not tarry
The Day remains young!!!

Now everybody back to work."