To the harbingers of day, in a day of ceaseless night;
To the arbiters of wisdom, when knowledge turns in flight:

Give thy friends thy peace, and console our weary souls;
Preserve our honor, saints, as we wander the pit's bowels....

Hang naught a lamp in vain, but guide our faith, bound blind;
For we have yet to find the savior of heart or mind.

Great masses that we are; all blind, and lame, and dumb:
Find that hand within the fog, from which that lamp is hung!

We are not all lost, brothers! We are not all forgotten!
We are brothers in life and death: we die, and are begotten!

There is a string that ties our noose; yet binds us, all the same:
Seek, and ye shall find; walk, thou art not lame!

As our friends preserve our sanity, we too, preserve theirs,
As we stand as siblings in life, our numbers dismiss our errors!