The night is dark and damp and bleak,
my heart a stone, my spirit weak—
but to myself I softly speak:
burn, my little fire, burn.

Its embers tremble in the breeze;
I bend to tend on hands and knees,
and to the Fates I whisper, please,
burn, my little fire, burn.

Alone I hope this meager light
stokes in those who fear the fight
the spark from which all change ignites—
Burn, my little fire, burn.

But look, what do my tired eyes
find lit against the sable sky—
A sea of vivid cinders rise
Burn, you little fires, burn!

A thousand suns now shine as one,
and light the way to for all to run
together now, the job’s not done.
Burn, you mighty fires, burn!