Debts of gratitude we owe to each fellow mortal
Who in mind or spirit strong
Struggled through the ranks of wrong,
To unfurl his banner bright o'er the future's portal.
Who in mind or spirit strong
Struggled through the ranks of wrong,
To unfurl his banner bright o'er the future's portal.
Poor humanity are we in our loftiest stations,
Whether high our lot or low,
'Tis our destiny to go
Sowing golden seeds to bless coming generations.
For a prize that is not ours we are ever striving;
Ours, the sower's tedious round,
Theirs, to reap the fruitful ground,
Happy if they only prove better for our living.
Whether high our lot or low,
'Tis our destiny to go
Sowing golden seeds to bless coming generations.
For a prize that is not ours we are ever striving;
Ours, the sower's tedious round,
Theirs, to reap the fruitful ground,
Happy if they only prove better for our living.
We may do illustrious deeds, we may pen grand pages;
We may sing immortal songs,
We may trample error's wrongs,
Or we may but humbly toil for the coming ages;
They may gather in the sheaves from our toil upspringing,
They may laud us for our skill,
At our golden lore may thrill,
They may bless our noble deeds, they may praise our singing;
But when from our work away, to ourselves at last they turn,
Who we are and whence we came,
Of the history and name
Of the few whose names are blazoned on the scroll of Fame, to learn;
They will find we, too, are dust, who so lately flourished,
Fallen Autumn leaves at last,
Of some glowing Summer past,
Grateful if some violet grow, by our life-leaves nourished.
We may sing immortal songs,
We may trample error's wrongs,
Or we may but humbly toil for the coming ages;
They may gather in the sheaves from our toil upspringing,
They may laud us for our skill,
At our golden lore may thrill,
They may bless our noble deeds, they may praise our singing;
But when from our work away, to ourselves at last they turn,
Who we are and whence we came,
Of the history and name
Of the few whose names are blazoned on the scroll of Fame, to learn;
They will find we, too, are dust, who so lately flourished,
Fallen Autumn leaves at last,
Of some glowing Summer past,
Grateful if some violet grow, by our life-leaves nourished.
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