In the dark, cold, night of doom,
Words are said, that shed the gloom,
And wake a woman’s waiting womb,
Who weeps before her lover’s tomb,
Though lives he still, although entombed;
Words that cry out loud for life,
In midst of war’s eternal strife,
Cry out for peace, to dull the knife,
To dull the drums, the calling fife,
That call to us, from ancient place,
Now lost to us in time and space,
“Regard the glass, regard your face,
Look you! See! That Love has gone, without a trace;
You’ve turned to stone, are hardened things,
But still inside an ember lies,
To warm the heart, to greet the skies,
If only you could once be wise,
Could rise again, before it dies".