Our swords, pikes, and axes
As if they had sharper edges
Victory is close - at hand

Hymns are sung in the land

Ends this horrid dream of enemies
And begins their eternal sleep
Perhaps when circle reachers its end
Where something is born, other's dead

Rival's plunder'll be no more
From blood our bliss is born
That all without hesitating
Must be duly celebrated

Comments