I wear the robe of sorrow as I stand
Seeing the hope upon the war-etched faces
Of weary pilgrims; for within my land
They will not find the winged empyreal graces
Of which they dream. I hear the muffled clink
Of Judas-coins within my portals, where
They yearn to enter. Standing on the brink
Of apathy's abyss. I breathe the air
Of chaos. By your valor bid me live!
Free me from foes within! Democracy
Can heal all wounds and spirit-scars, and give
The light to build a world-wide sovereignity
Of peace. Then lift your thoughts above the clay--
And walk as brothers in the Master's way.
