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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. Rh