As here I stand, let sorrow mourn,
that by my hand, no tears be borne,
and o’er the land, no hollows shorn,
as I understand how love is worn.
That in my way, no light too old,
nor in the fray of weathered cold,
that for this day, my life has told,
and far away, some fire burns bold.
Stay bare my pride, as I am weak,
not of this hide, but of this seek,
the withered slide of tears so meek
that deep inside, woe dare not speak.