Out of the whirlwind of the cities rise
Lean Hunger and the Worm of Misery,
The heartbreak and the cry of mortal tears.
But hark, the bugles blowing on the peaks;
And hark, a murmur as of many feet,
The cry of captains, the divine alarm!
Look! the last son of Time comes hurrying on,
The strong young Titan of Democracy!
With swinging step he takes the open road,
In love with the winds that beat his hairy breast.