Throw wide the oaken doors, set the hearth ablaze anew.  Too long this house has waited in the dark, afraid of its own shadows.  Now doubt is fled, and fear no longer lurks in the dark corners.

Bring water!  Bring soap!  Shake out every rug and hidden shame.  Meduseld must shine again, and groan! and creek! her brittle timbers stretching into warmth.

Call the Spring with open windows though we shiver from the cold and tears slip from our eyes at the strength of sun.  Hope is blooming.

Open every shuttered heart, even to mourning.