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!"