The silence of the upper deep,

the remnant hopes of dream-filled sleep,

the wishes borne beneath the sun,

of those who dread oblivion

In darkness, then this hope will keep.

What shall wayward horizons hold

For us, on distant paths untold—

When those of us who tarried here

dwelt in dread of that far sphere

Lingering in the mist and cold.

Wanderers by an ocean-stream,

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Longing for dawn drawn from a dream;

In silent exile,bitter tears,

We shall behold, in withered years,

These butterflies that flit and gleam.

And here beneath the stars so bright,

I bear within this hallowed light,

the bitterness of sacrifice,

a memory of paradise,

As I wander into the night.

You and I were made for this,

To wander through the dark abyss

And through the dark, the toil and strife,

we shall eke out a quiet life,

in promised lands, now filled with bliss.