Oh, We Want A New Breed Of

Once In The Dream Of A Night I Stood Lone In The Light Of A Magical Wood, Soul-deep In Visions That Poppy-like Sprang; And Spirits Of Truth Were The Birds That Sang, And Spirits Of Love Were The Stars That Glowed, And Spirits Of Peace Were The Streams That Flowed In That Magical Wood In The Land Of Sleep.

Shall Hope Prevail Where Clamorous Hate Is Rife, Shall Sweet Love Prosper Or High Dreams Have Place Amid The Tumult Of Reverberant Strife 'twixt Ancient Creeds, 'twixt Race And Ancient Race, That Mars The Grave, Glad Purposes Of Life, Leaving No Refuge Save Thy Succoring Face?

Oh, We Want A New Breed Of Men Before India Can Be Cleansed Of Her Disease.

A Country's Greatness Lies In Its Undying Ideals Of Love And Sacrifice That Inspire The Mothers Of The Race.

We Want Deeper Sincerity Of Motive, A Greater Courage In Speech And Earnestness In Action.