There's no glory like those who save their country.

Sweet is true love that is given in vain, and sweet is death that takes away pain.

And the days darken round me, and the years, Among new men, strange faces, other minds.

So sad, so fresh the days that are no more.

All the windy ways of men Are but dust that rises up, And is lightly laid again.

And wheresoe'er thou move, good luck Shall fling her old shoe after.

And statesmen at her council met Who knew the seasons, when to take Occasion by the hand, and make The bounds of freedom wider yet.