O friend, begin a loftier song.
Confusion falls upon your mind;
A sense of evil makes you blind;
“What use,” you say, “is it to be?
I know not GOD, GOD knows not me!”
O friend, begin a loftier song.
In other minds you place no trust:
You tread your laurels in the dust:
You see no Future, Hope has fled,
Youth had its dreams, but Youth is dead.
O friend, begin a loftier song.
“The sweet ideal of past years
Speaks in my songs, they are my tears:
I'll weep no more, I'll sing no lays
To bury Youth for idle praise!”
O friend, begin a loftier song.
Come through the gateway of the Past,
Dear friend. The world will hear at last
The little songs the poets sing:
Do thou with anthems make it ring!