With what blade can one sever,
the tree of Gondor’s mightiest limb?
With what may I see weather,
when the earth breaks, the sky is dim?
With spear? or dagger? or stinging sword?
With palantir brought from Sauron’s hoard?
Must I now write this song a chord?
With this I cannot collide
You give them pearls, jewels to wear,
Yet what have we but tangled hair?
You give them gardens, trees of light,
Yet what have we but one of white?
But I praise you, I magnify my lord,
with whom know I will never get bored,
for your love is awesome, your plans amazing,
your countenance is never-changing.
These marks be but of wretched mortal,
with what mirth have I written?
These hands seem like a blood-shed portal,
which many teeth have bitten.
Yet what can harm me now, so true,
who can kill me now but you?
Can orc? or goblin? or Uruk-Hai?
Can eagles, falling from the sky?
Before this worn out body dies.
With this I will now collide.