The towering pines near sea shore sands

The wind has broken with ruthless hands.

They see the bright future they long to defend

Refusing concealment and scorning to bend:

"Although you have broken us, tyrant power

The fight is not done in this dying hour.

Our very last moan hurls a challenge to fate

Each bough his sing at you, incessant in hate. "

The towering pines after breaking

Will come up from the deep 



Like great ships andstill

Against all storms thrust a fearless breast

Against a!l storms ever on ward they press;

"Now hurl on your billows you dark storm pride

We'll get win the future where happiness bides.

For split us you may and break us you might

But we'll win the future where dawn blazes

bright!"