Will he come to us out of the west

With hair all blowing free ?

Will he come, the last and best

Over the flowing sea

Prophet of days to be ?

Aye, he will come; the unseen choir

Attend his steps with song

And on his breast a deep toned lyre

And on his lips a word like fire

To burn the ancient wrong

Bay crowned and goodlier than a king;

With voice both strong and sweet

The song of freedom will he sing

And I from out of the crowd shall fling

My rose-wreath at his feet