From glory told by gold upon his wall
and silk which lay across his fair bride’s lap
by halls which make his daughter’s laughter ring
and by the tales of past exploits we sing.

This master to whom masses all have bowed
Whose fist and foot has dazzled man and boy
Inspired mirth and pride from many crowd
And caused the city’s heart to swell with joy

Oh master, have you fallen on hard times?
Why is your face begrimed with lowly dirt?
What labour causes bend along your spine?
What causes sweat and tears to stain your shirt?

Oh master, pain that echoes from your eyes
Is not from broken bone or mangled limb
It’s from the loss of all the heart doth prize
It’s from the emptiness that’s haunting him.