Classic Poem

Majesty of Law Divine,
At whose glance our spirits bow,
With the seal of eldest time
Stamped upon thine awful brow, —

Sovereign Duty, in whose hand
Is the sceptre heaven-brought, —
Thine the accent of command,
Thine the dreadful, mystic Ought!

Yet thy bondage is so sweet,
And thy burdens make us strong:
Wings they seem to weary feet,
Laughter to our lips and song.

Wheresoever thou shalt lead,
Freshly burdened day by day,
Duty, make us free to speed
On thine ever brightening way!