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datatime: 2022-11-27 17:30:25 Author:chQekpmu

Whatever simple lives renew

This magic of the whirl for South.

But now the North wind ceases,

To honour his race, this deed of grace, for the weak from the strong

Their faces are a glass to greet

And speed the service of the nest;

With lamps for day in ghostly rows,

For a Heracles in his fighting ire there is never the glory that

by him shall be written,

He would bend tough oak, he would stiffen the reed, point Reason to

The world shall know itself and where it stands;

'Tis the faltering friend, an inanimate land, may drag a great soul

And earth's green banner shakes.

to run in a stream:

As though they caught a broken clue;

While stands he yet in his grime and sweatto wrestle for fruits of

Who sees what tomb a white night built,

For iron Winter held her firm;

Across her sky he laid his hand;

Make man, behold, nor count the low the least,

That her sons over seas in a rally of praise may behold a thrice

And speed the service of the nest;

Her shivering Spring feigned fast asleep,

And plunge him far from a beam of star till he hears the deep bay of

For iron Winter held her firm;

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