Not He Who Scorns The Saviour's Yoke

He, That Noble Prize Possessing He That Boasts A Friend That's True, He Whom Woman's Love Is Blessing, Let Him Join The Chorus Too!

Thus Arm In Arm With Thee I Dare Defy My Century Into The Lists.

Virtue, Though Clothed In A Beggar's Garb, Commands Respect.

When The Measured Dance Of The Hours Brings Back The Happy Smile Of Spring, The Buried Dead Is Born Again In The Life-glance Of The Sun. The Germs Which Perished To The Eye Within The Cold Breast Of The Earth Spring Up With Joy In The Bright Realm Of Day.

Like A Dart The Present Glances, Silent Stands The Past Sublime.