XLI

Not here this year have true men known,

Not here this year may true men know,

That brand of shame-compelling woe

Which bids but brave men shrink or groan

And lays but honour low.

XLII

The strong spring wind blows notes of praise,

And hallowing pride of heart, and cheer

Unchanging, toward all true men here

Who hold the trust of ancient days

High as of old this year.

XLIII

The days that made thee great are dead;

The days that now must keep thee great

Lie not in keeping of thy fate;

In thine they lie, whose heart and head

Sustain thy charge of state.

[Pg 185]

XLIV

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