Pride stands firmly at the height of fashion
And greed reclaims all kindness it once gave
Although the night still has her passion
And our feeble hearts be still as brave

Though utterance has fled the tongues of men
And left the meaning tied to silent thought
Our verse is bound to answer if it can
And survive in the valley where it's wrought

There busy grieves in barren wastelands
Flow from wells of isolation
Into the loving night that clasps the hands
Of evr'y tribe, of every forlorn nation

In all vows of human ingenuity
There lies a soul that died to set it free