For the new rays have judged my life,
and found it wanting of worth, or weight.
And being weak, quietly, I die -
More of you will come my way.

For Hitler, I fear, is but a soft sunrise,
sprinkling the coming day with red.
Men have learned the weak, can die -
And this will echo long after I am dead.

So I warn those weak who still remain:
I die, but the day has reached no end.
Though clouds may come - they’ll pass away.
And the sun will shine again.