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O Frodo! My Frodo! our fearful trip is done,
The Crack of Doom is close at hand, the end is almost
won.
There’s fire there, too strong to bear, with lava hot
and bubbling,
If Sauron’s ring is thrown within, his power will be
broken;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red!
Where in this lair my master lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Frodo! my Frodo! rise up, pursue your quest;
Rise up – for you all men await, on you does Man’s fate
rest,
For you great Gondor’s army fights, for you brave men
are dying.
For you’re the one that must destroy that cursed ring
you’re bearing,
Hear master! dear Frodo,
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream, by Shelob’s sting,
You’ve fallen, cold and dead.
My master does not answer. His lips are pale and still.
What shall I do? With Frodo gone I have no strength
or will,
But Sauron’s ring must meet its end, I must go on alone,
And leave my master lying here, on grave of cruel stone.
Take hope, O Men of Middle-earth!
For I with mournful tread,
Walk the path my master lies,
Fallen, cold, and dead.