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Quivering lip and naked brand—

Arise! arise! my patriot son,

By hearts like thine is Freedom won!

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HUMAN lives are silent teaching,

Be they earnest, mild, and true—

Noble deeds are noblest preaching

From the consecrated Few.

Poet-Priests their anthems singing,

Hero-sword on corslet ringing,

When Truth's banner is unfurled;

Youthful preachers, genius-gifted,

Pouring forth their souls uplifted,

Till their preaching stirs the world;

Each must work as God has given

Hero hand or poet soul;

Work is duty while we live in

This weird world of sin and dole.

Gentle spirits, lowly kneeling,

Lift their white hands up appealing

To the Throne of Heaven's King—

Stronger natures, culminating,

In great actions incarnating

What another can but sing.

Pure and meek-eyed as an angel,

We must strive—must agonise;

We must preach the saints' evangel

Ere we claim the saintly prize.

Work for all, for work is holy,

We fulfil our mission solely

When, like Heaven's arch above,