The same words conceal and declare the thoughts of men.

Old men must die, or the world would grow mouldy, would only breed the past again.

For this is England's greatest son, He that gain'd a hundred fights, And never lost an English gun.

A doubtful throne is ice on summer seas.

There sinks the nebulous star we call the sun.

Nor at all can tell Whether I mean this day to end myself, Or lend an ear to Plato where he says, That men like soldiers may not quit the post Allotted by the Gods.

Ring in the valiant man and free, The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the land; Ring in the Christ that is to be.