Have caught the light of morning in their eyes,
And rise toward the sunny warmth of life,
To take Fate’s spindle from our failing hands:
They ride in golden panoply, a pomp
Of kings, to reap the harvest we have sown,
And do the things we dreamed, but failed to do.
What man of them shall sit where Cæsar sate,
Who sent his missionary eagles forth
Into strange countries, bearers of the light,
Makers of laws; who from the utmost bounds