In the cold and lonely morning, 
 In the gray and sullen light, 
 There's a sadness, and a longing 
 With each step amid the blight. 

There's a comfort, somehow, knowing 
 That the world is past our might; 
 That there's more than just what's showing, 
 All the pain amid the blight. 

Are you loved, and are you loving? 
 Are you moved by others' plight?
 Or are you dancing in the shadows
 And the snow amid the blight?

In the long and silver morning,
 Truth is evident, if trite:
 We no perjury suborning,
 Must trod on amid the blight.