The Riddle Of Strider (II) - Christopher Lee

All that is gold

Does not glitter

Not all those

Who wander are lost;

The old that is strong

Does not wither

Deep roots are not

Reached by the frost

From the ashes

A fire shall be woken

A light from

The shadows shall spring;

Renewed shall

Be blade that was broken

The crownless

Again shall be king