Rivers red and violet bloom
Our thoughts now turn,
To a second coming soon.
To write a wrong, and with writ be done,
Our Sires lament, we do now pardon.
Of Evil sent, and with scorn beheld;
The blade the pierced, shall now be sundered.
Pierced it did, this is no lie,
But to try again with malcontent
Be a fools burden and a Kings Ransom