Disclaimer: I do not own the copyrights to J.R.R. Tolkien's poem, The Riddle of Strider.

I 'Laer Pador

Mallath ú-thiliar,
Ú-randirath mist;
Brúnath vill ú-firir,
Heleg thynd aind ú-vâb.
Naur o lith lachatha
Gaul o dae labatha
Magol rist peniathar
Pen bedh-rî ad aran.

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 the blade that was broken:
The crownless again shall be king.