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It came not laden with dying groans
And homeless orphans' cries:
It blew from the mountains of the Lord
And the fields of Paradise.

This is the boast of the Empire Builder
Who built not of mouldering clay:
That the kingdom He built, not made by hands,
Shall never pass away!

The mind cannot measure its boundaries,
All Space is its outer gate:
It is broader than ever a man conceived
And more durable than Fate.

This is the Empire our brother built,
In His little hour of Earth,
Thro' the spirit's travail of righteous deeds
And the spirit's glad rebirth.

He had silenced the boast of the Empire Builder,
With his gold and wasted lands,
By his deathless kingdom of golden deeds
And of things not made by hands.

This is the kingdom our brother built:
It is good: it hath sufficed;—
For who can measure the glory he keeps
With our Elder Brother, Christ?