Behold the grand and glorious Men of Gondor,
Bound to the bearer of a crown of Seven Stars,
Did he muster forces grand and large
Each Man blessed heirs of Númenor.
Their soldiers garbed in stalwart steel
They march in furore vast!
'gainst the foulness of Mordor,
Whose darkness is soon to pass.
The conflict rises in passion,
The odds a paltry three-to-one,
Their horsemen tore in through the ranks
Countless hordes crumble before their wrath.
Although forced to withdraw at sight of more
Every Man yet standing firm and tall,
The leaders of valor beckoning "To victory!"
With their mighty host a thousand-strong.
The hill they stood did shimmer,
In plays of light and sound!
And illusion showed, to the enemies' fold!
Gondorians thousand-more!
And whence the green-bloods broke upon,
The blood-stained fields o’ din.
The phalanx, might of Númenor.
Advanced, the odds so dim!
And whence did Elendil faltered ‘fore the men,
And chants did break and waver.
The steadied bravery of his firstborn,
Did what was thought impossible!
And with a swing of his father's sword.
Sauron was to fall and wither.
And as the enemy fled the field of war.
The new King proclaimed “We’ve won!”
So here and listen travelers,
As tale ends after tale,
Remember always the grandeur,
And the might Gondor holds.
