In some vast, open space,
You’ll stand, flesh-clothed, with your arms outstretched,
And triumph on your face.
“I know few words will be needed then,
Lament nor name nor plea,
We’ll let our eyes speak the message sweet;
‘Grow old along with me!’
The soul of man has a thousand lives,
Yet Love has only one,
That leaps alive to the Glory Cry: