I cannot pierce those distant days
That ne'er have seen the tide of time
And sing a prophet's wondrous lays,
I only know a poet's rhyme.
That ne'er have seen the tide of time
And sing a prophet's wondrous lays,
I only know a poet's rhyme.
This day God gives thee something grand,
A life of action and of power,
A throbbing heart, a willing hand,
A noble art, a fleeting hour.
A life of action and of power,
A throbbing heart, a willing hand,
A noble art, a fleeting hour.
Let every year that marks thy life
Be filled with noble actions done,
Let every effort in the strife
But nerve thee for a greater one.
Be filled with noble actions done,
Let every effort in the strife
But nerve thee for a greater one.
Fight bravely onward unto death
And thou shalt yet be known of kings,
Let every heart beat, every breath,
But lift thee up to higher things;
And thou shalt yet be known of kings,
Let every heart beat, every breath,
But lift thee up to higher things;
Then when thou lay'st thine armor down,
Amid the battle's dust and heat,
Thou shalt receive a golden crown,
A scepter and a regent's seat.
Amid the battle's dust and heat,
Thou shalt receive a golden crown,
A scepter and a regent's seat.
THE SOUL OF ART
A strange uncertain mass the colors lay,
In wild profusion on the pallette board,
And who would guess that in that mass was stored
In wild profusion on the pallette board,
And who would guess that in that mass was stored
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