The crumbling ruins of the past
Are left behind and on the hill
We rest our horses and are still;
Thought alone stirs, while from the vast
Stone quarries sounds the clinking drill.

So, loved one, leave behind the strife
And wreckage of your past; we'll take
Fresh stone from the fair future, make
Ourselves a house of light and life;
Your eyes were sealed, you now awake.