Yea, hurl thy darts, thy weapons wield,
The strength of youth is still my shield.
My winged steed toward the heights doth bound,
The dust whirls upward from the ground:
My song is scanty, dost thou deem
Thine eloquence a mighty stream?
Only the blameless offering
Not the profusion man may bring,
Prevaileth with our Lord and King.
The long days out of minutes grow,