On every lofty mountain and every high hill.
There will be brooks running with water.
We look unsighted as through a grille.
Our hopes seeping as into a blotter.

In the days of great slaughter.
When the towers fall.
Walls may indeed totter.
But we can them recall.

Notre Dame is reopened.
A beacon of hope redeemed.
It’s as if the fire never happened.
Emblem of France, our cultural inheritance reclaimed.

The light of the moon.
Will be as the light of the sun and soon.

…….

On every mountain
And on all and every hill
Brooks run with water

…….

See Isaiah 30