March Across The Clouds (The Maiden Of Orleans)

The Holy Spirit:
Jeanne d'Arc was just a peasant girl,
In visions, though, she saw the swirl
Of revelations from above.
Saint Michael:
You have to fight the kingdom's foes
As maiden clad in soldiers clothes,
But with you is the Savior's love.

Saint Catherine:
To far Chinon you have to ride,
With faith in God and knightly pride,
For the Dauphin and duties great!
Jeanne:
The 'hundred years' shall end with me,
Commanded by our Lord's decree,
This endless war, a last crusade.

The Holy Spirit:
Once chosen by the king of kings,
She soars on flaming seraph's wings,
A maiden with a heart of steel.
The mission clear, her path foretold.
Jeanne:
For God and glory! Break their hold!
To english kings we will not kneel!

A french soldier:
Across the fields to Orléans!
The Lord is with us, makes us strong,
And we will burn in flames of war!
Jean de Dunois, commander of Orléans:
"Godspeed!", she yells. The devil grins.
"Thy kingdom come, my army wins!"
Our savior or a morning star?

Jeanne:
So help me God, I will prevail!
My holy mission cannot fail
And we shall free the whole of France!
Jean de Dunois:
In combat, there's no time to rest,
An arrow hits the virgin's chest,
But valiant Jeanne can still advance.

A french soldier:
The great bastille, it's in our hands!
On 'Les Tourelles' the maiden stands,
Her banner waving in the sky.
Jeanne:
My coat of arms beats every sword!
I slaughter not, I serve the Lord,
So praise my king, our God up high!

Charles, Dauphin of France:
Victorious the girl returns,
But for the battlefields she yearns,
The siege of Paris soon begins.
Through treachery the maiden falls,
Stands trial inside the english halls,
Denounced as witch with many sins.

The Holy Spirit:
Sir Gilles de Rais, with twisted needs,
Will taint her brave and noble deeds
And she will burn upon the stake.
Forlorn is all her sacred grace,
The worldly verdict she must face,
The martyr's path she has to take.

Jeanne:
Please save me, Father, I repent!
Too young to die, my knees shall bent!
But all my pleading is in vain.
Brother Ladvenu, a monk:
Jeanne d'Arc dies on the market square,
With nineteen years and pure and fair,
The maiden of the Loire is slain.

An english soldier:
O Lord, forgive us, we have sinned.
Just ash remains and weeping wind,
Angelic voices, far and faint.
May God have mercy on our souls!
What have we done to reach our goals?
Today, my friends, we've burned a saint.

Saint Margaret:
At last, the girl is coming home.
Ascending to the heaven's dome,
We bid her welcome at our door.
For 'La Pucelle' has earned the right,
In bloody battles, trial and blight,
To roam the sky forevermore.

The Holy Spirit:
She marches on, across the clouds,
Along the Hosts, through hallowed shrouds,
And bathes in shining legends light.
Heroic tales will never die
And thy redemption's crown is nigh;
To sanctity with unbowed stride.