Finis Coronat Opus

Fighting in the streets has stilled ‘Neath the reddened skies of morn; Soon will truce and treaty be proclaimed. Whether freedom bounds at will Or in shackled bodies torn Abides, we wait for word from distant lands. If the ends be good or ill, Still our lives continue; Lands will heal and trees will grow anew. Through the generations long, One day there will rise a song, All that evil is shall be unmade.

Lonely minstrel gazes o’er Troubled sea that lies before A land afar, that long time gone Was lost beneath the ocean’s thrall. Ancient kingdoms, grand and high, Men of valor with swords kept nigh, Mounted ‘pon such fiery steeds As legends tell, of all their deeds. Yet halls of gold and throne of pearl, Pride aroused, in serf and earl; Heeding not the coming tides, With their empire filled their eyes. Alas, too late did warning come And mighty waves did overrun Their gilded cities, jeweled halls; Down to depths did paradise fall. Few there live now who escaped And call to mind the fateful days. Keep they vigilant a guard Lest they become as hard of heart.