By the cinders of the morn, through the thistle and the thorn Came a crown of horns, 'twas spring in the wood Hereupon the mountain, runs a misty fountain By the whispering well, a circle of hoods Hear the cry and the crackle of the fire In the wind on the greens we till Hear the voice that sings to everything It always has, and always will Oh, the sickle of the seasons, through the thicket of our reason From the tangled underbrush, the singing of birds Oh, a thirsty fire, hear the voice of water Redeeming is streaming in the river of words Hear the cry and the crackle of the fire In the water in the cups we fill Hear the voice that sings through everything It always has, and always will Hear the voice that sings through everything It always has, and always will