When angels whisper in your dreams
Relinquish doubt, thy dawn is here!
E’er turning wheel, ah, heaven beams,
What veiled before must reappear.

The trodden road forbids the roots
from further shooting in its mire;
Like withered leaves, the hallow hoots
Are best kept drenched in holy fire.

Each darkened soul, a sacred vow:
The road ahead — the road above!
Unearthing light, the tired plow
Will soon become a golden dove.

We hid so well they lost our sight
O just to spread these wings again!
If one at heart, ascend by right
To blaze awake the morning’s reign.