And in the land they guard so well

Is there no silent watch to keep?

An age is dying, and the bell

Rings midnight on a vaster deep.

But over all its waves, once more,

The search-lights move, from shore to shore.

And captains that we thought were dead,

And dreamers that we thought were dumb,

And voices that we thought were fled,

10

10

Arise, and call us, and we come;

And “search in thine own soul,” they cry;

“For there, too, lurks thine enemy.”

Search for the foe in thine own soul,

The sloth, the intellectual pride;

The trivial jest that veils the goal

For which our fathers lived and died;

The lawless dreams, the cynic Art,

That rend thy nobler self apart.

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