The Lord of Silver Fountains, The King of Carven stone,
The King beneath the Mountain, shall come into his own.
And the bells shall ring in gladness, at the mountain kings return,
But all shall fail in sadness, and the Lake will shine and burn.
All that is gold does not glitter, Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither, Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken, The crownless again shall be king.[1]