Chill be wind o’er hills of death
That takes away your mortal breath
And drives all comfort from your mind
And brings on darkness, deaf and blind.
For death doth come for one and all,
Some in spring and some in fall,
For man and dwarf, and halfling too:
And on this day it calls for you.
Cold be heart, and hard as stone
Of he who’d leave his friends alone
To sleep fore’er in tombs of man,
So close yet far from native land.
And cold be steel of men of old,
Yet stronger still than burial-gold?
I know not yet what strength you keep,
But we shall fight ‘gainst that long sleep