Protect the word,
Protect and cherish the word,
Cherish and preserve.
The word has many enemies,
Things as they are
Are not of help.
Music lovers, lovers of art,
Empty shells, mere seeing eyes,
are not of help.
At the beginning was the word,
Before the image or the sound.
In chaos, order is its heart.
In order, freedom is its soul.
It is the art in which to feel
Is not enough, and yet in which
The best are not the most skilled.
There seemed many great auks
Until the last one was killed.
