Twilight comes upon the land, the towns and homesteads bright,
and hearts and windows glimmer in the fast enfolding night,
the breeze abides, the birdsong ceases, silent falls the land,
as the sound of horse’s hoof beats echo close at hand.

The rider pauses on the hill atop the lonely rise,
surveying all he sees here with his dark, commanding eyes,
the steam is rising from the rider’s giant, mighty steed.
Hear him, as he does each night here, sing the Ranger’s Creed.

“Where strong arm and valiant spirit must defend the land,
where child cries, or woman weeps, there shall I make my stand.
Let those who walk with evil see my eyes and take to flight,
as they cry out in despair, ‘Beware! A Ranger rides this night!’

The Ranger’s back is straight and tall, and bears his burdens on,
through cold and heat, through dark and rain, beneath the Moon and Sun,
but through all travels long, with victory lighting in the gloam,
the heart of one great Ranger heeds the call, for hearth, and home.

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