To Wake The Soul By

The Ruling Passion, Be It What It Will. The Ruling Passion Conquers Reason Still.

Now Hollow Fires Burn Out To Black, And Lights Are Fluttering Low: Square Your Shoulders, Lift Your Pack And Leave Your Friends And Go. O Never Fear, Lads, Naught's To Dread, Look Not To Left Nor Right: In All The Endless Road You Tread There's Nothing But The Night.

Light Quirks Of Music, Broken And Uneven,make The Soul Dance Upon A Jig To Heav'n.

The Race By Vigour, Not By Vaunts, Is Won.

Lo, What Huge Heaps Of Littleness Around!