There have been nobler days, my friends,
And ruddier skies than ours,
When men wrought deeds, but God the ends,
And faiths grew into powers.
There have been loftier stations too,
When youths wore souls of men,
Because they had great deeds to do--
Greatness was goodness then.
And prouder destinies have been,
When truth was saved from harm,
Smitten, the miracles of sin
By man's God-muscled arm.
Yet epochs, stations, destinies
Are not mere births of time;
Sublimely do what in us lies:
This is to be sublime!
