Our common liberty is consecrated by a common sorrow.

A bird sang sweet and strongIn the top of the highest tree,He said, "I pour out my heart in songFor the summer that soon shall be."But deep in the shady wood,Another bird sang, "I pourMy heart on the solemn solitudeFor the springs that return no more."

The path of sorrow, and that path alone, Leads to the lands where sorrow is unknown.

Tears are words the heart can't express

That farewell kiss which resembles greeting, that last glance of love which becomes the sharpest pang of sorrow.

Then liberty, like day, Breaks on the soul, and by a flash from Heaven Fires all the faculties with glorious joy.