For No Falsehood Can Endure Touch Of

Let Us Go Forth And Resolutely Dare With Sweat Of Brow To Toil Our Little Day.

First Moloch, Horrid King, Besmirched In Blood, Of Human Sacrifice, And Parent's Tears, Though, For The Noise Of Drums And Timbrels Loud, Their Childrens' Cries Unheard, That Passed Through Fire, To His Grim Idol.

As Children Gath'ring Pebbles On The Shore. Or If I Would Delight My Private Hours With Music Or With Poem, Where So Soon As In Our Native Language Can I Find That Solace?

Hard Are The Ways Of Truth, And Rough To Walk.

Awake, Arise Or Be For Ever Fall’n.