And joyously to-morrow’s dawning shine
Upon the firstlings of a mighty line,
And lest the sands with all their sleepers start,
Let each man’s footfall sound but in his heart.
Let each man in his heart hear God’s voice say:
‘A new land’s border shalt thou cross to-day!
‘No more the quails from heav’n, no more light bread—
The bread of toil, fruit of the hands, instead.
‘No more wild tents pitched under heaven’s dome—
Another kind shall ye set up for home.