Failing Thee, lost the aye marshalling force
To wash blind atoms on the shores of Light,
Where each shall take up Life in its due right,
To use it at its best, and for the best,
Joy for itself, harmony for the rest?
A theme, which it might well have seemed in vain
To attempt with powers of mortal brain;
Then least, when Rome—how lately!—claimed of all
Her children service at the trumpet’s call.
Ev’n still she aches with pangs that she has borne,