Youth
Our time is a strife-time, a battle-time,
A riddle that's ever burning,
A sowing-time of the springtide's prime
When sap in the veins is yearning.
Our day is youth's glad victory-day
Which brightens the air with wonder.
Our strength is the flash of the lightning's play
And savage billows that thunder.
We smite the world with the bolts we ply,
It shakes them from peak to hollow.
Soon quenched are the bolts, yet they charm the eye,
They kindle, and flame will follow.
A riddle that's ever burning,
A sowing-time of the springtide's prime
When sap in the veins is yearning.
Our day is youth's glad victory-day
Which brightens the air with wonder.
Our strength is the flash of the lightning's play
And savage billows that thunder.
We smite the world with the bolts we ply,
It shakes them from peak to hollow.
Soon quenched are the bolts, yet they charm the eye,
They kindle, and flame will follow.
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