Mark Erelli - Ichabod

So fallen, so lost, the light withdrawn
Which once he wore
The glory from his gray hair gone
Forevermore

Revile him not, the Tempter hath
A snare for all
And pitying tears, not scorn and wrath
Befit his fall

Oh dumb be passion's stormy rage
When he who might
Have lighted up and led his age
Falls back in night