Atop the sand the mighty castles fell,
Majestic tow'rs, stout bastions, all effaced.
Great nations tumbled by tide's ruthless swell,
No refuge from destruction's grim embrace.
To fortune and themselves men were enslaved,
A fruitless search for earthly paradise.
The grains of dust that lie in every grave,
They vary not, be they of God or vice.
Yet on we plod, through victory and defeat,
Although aware the end is still the same.
Though all is lost, a pulse does dimly beat;
In blackest hour a candle lights the way.
   As darkness in the night heralds the dawn,
   So dreams may die, but souls live ever on.