Commend Me To Sterling Honesty Though Clad

Hard Toil Can Roughen Form And Face, And Want Call Quench The Eye's Bright Grace.

To The Timid And Hesitating Everything Is Impossible Because It Seems So.

A Mother's Pride, A Father's Joy.

In The Lost Battle, Borne Down By The Flying, Where Mingles War's Rattle With Groans Of The Dying.

Give Me An Honest Laugher.