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Blend our souls in one emblazon,

And the social diapason

Sounds the perfect chord of love.

Life is combat, life is striving,

Such our destiny below;

Like a scythéd chariot driving

Through an onward pressing foe.

Deepest sorrow, scorn, and trial

Will but teach us self-denial;

Like the alchymists of old,

Pass the ore through cleansing fire

If our spirits would aspire

To be God's refinéd gold.

We are struggling in the morning

With the spirit of the night;

But we trample on it scorning—

Lo! the eastern sky is bright.

We must watch. The day is breaking;

Soon, like Memnon's statue waking

With the sunrise into sound,

We shall raise our voice to Heaven,

Chant a hymn for conquest given,

Seize the palm, nor heed the wound.

We must bend our thoughts to earnest,

Would we strike the idols down;

With a purpose of the sternest

Take the Cross, and wait the Crown.

Sufferings human life can hallow,

Sufferings lead to God's Valhalla;

Meekly bear, but nobly try,

Like a man with soft tears flowing,