XIII.
'Tis not alone the crown that makes the king;
'Tis service done, 'tis duty to his kind.
The lark that soars so high is quick to sing,
And proud to yield allegiance to the spring.
XIV.
And we who serve ourselves, whate'er befall
Athwart the dangers of the day's behests,
Oh, let's not shirk, at joy or sorrow's call,
The service due to God who serves us all!