Not the headlong thunder's light,
Nor all the shapes of slaughter's trade,
With onward lance or fiery blade.
Safe, with wisdom for his crown,
He looks on all things calmly down,
He welcomes Fate when Fate is near,
Nor taints his dying breath with fear.
No; to fear not earthly thing,
That it is that makes the king;
And all of us, whoe'er we be,