Arise, go forth, and conquer as of old.

A still small voice spake unto me, 'Thou art so full of misery, Were it not better not to be?

Whatever crazy sorrow saith, No life that breathes with human breath Has ever truly longed for death.

Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new.

Rich in saving common-sense, And, as the greatest only are, In his simplicity sublime.

What rights are those that dare not resist for them?

Dowered with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, The love of love.