If we could tell the secrets of our hearts
Who would remain untouched or hurt?
It's like a seed sowed waiting for the harvest,
Like a raging Storm in the night ...
DEAD, with their eyes to the foe,
Dead, with the foe at their feet;
Under the sky laid low
Truly their slumber is sweet,
Though the wind from the Camp of the
Slain Men blow,
And the rain on the wilderness beat.