By the cinders of the morn,
Through the thistle and the thorns,
Came a crown of horns,
To a spring in the wood,
Here upon the mountain,
Runs the misty fountain,
By the whispering well,
A circle of hoods,
Hear the cry and the crackle of the fire,
Hear the wind on the grains we till,
Hear the voice that sings through everything,
It always has and it always will…
Oh the sickle of the season,
Through the thicket of our reason,
From the tangled underbrush,
The singing of birds,
Oh thirsty fire,
Hear the voice of water,
Redeeming is streaming,
In the river of words,
Hear the cry and crackle of the fire,
Hear the water in the cups we fill,
Hear the voice that sings through everything,
It always has and it always will…
