Friends, must this chord be broke and we depart,
And head our ways to lands that we have sought?
Have all the times and fights that we have fought
Been nothing more than whims of our lone hearts?
Why must it be, for we have not impart
The love and strength of memory long wrought.
This touch is but the fleeting leaf of thought
That falls away like drops of deadened light.
But I fear not this leave, for lighted day
Shall come again, and draw us in the Light
Of which we pray, and name it Glory's name.
So let us not be in the Night of Nights
And let the Muse of light say its say
Of where we go and where we part in ways.