A tiny flame that burneth bright
Has risen to nobility
Now don’t you go out till I come to blow you out
Although it’s place be small
On the rock of a living faith
He’s singing and toiling
Then his courage shall appear
Because he never tells a lie
He has lived for ages and ages back
With courage high and hearts aglow
Set forward to the close of day
To get the men to go away
Onward through life he goes
Some Razors pain him
But nothing will stop him
Toiling—rejoicing—sorrowing
He bypasses the will that is said to him: “hold on!”
Toiling—rejoicing—sorrowing
Neither foes nor loving friends can hurt him
What is more—he’s a man my son.