Shake the dust off your feet
from this earth’s broken wheel;
hand in hand we’ll rise up
to the moon and go sailing.

While mountains may crumble
in suff’ring and toil,
there is one that remains
in our vain and long-striving.

     (O there’s one that remains
     in our striving.)

Let the hour in darkness
its stillness become,
when Morning cries out
for our fathers now gone.

Take my hand, precious child,
in the light of their love,
as the Bright Dove we see
rises over our city.

     (As the Bright Dove we see
     o’er our city.)

Break the crust on this skin
where the world has hardened,
where violence engenders
and charity hides.

And the names we were given,
wise promise of old,
shall shine as the stars
from their place in the heavens.

     (O We’ll shine as the stars
     from their heavens.)