T Of Spears Begun, And Its Clamour Outbellows The Thunder, Its Lightning Outlightens The Sun. From The Springs Of The Morning It Thunders And Lightens Across And Afar To The Wave Where The Moonset Ends And The Fall Of The Last Low Star. With A Trampling Of Drenched Red Hoofs And An Earthquake Of Men That Meet, Strong War Sets Hand To The Scythe, And The Furrows Take Fire From His Feet. Earth Groans From Her Great Rent Heart, And The Hollows Of Rocks Are Afraid, And The Mountains Are Moved, And The Valleys As Waves In A Storm-Wind Swayed. From The Roots Of The Hills To The Plain'S Dim Verge And The Dark Loud Shore, Air Shudders With Shrill Spears Crossing, And Hurtling Of Wheels That Roar. As The Grinding Of Teeth In The Jaws Of A Lion That Foam As They Gnash Is The Shriek Of The Axles That Loosen, The Shock Of The Poles That Crash. The Dense Manes Darken And Glitter, The Mouths Of The Mad Steeds Champ, Their Heads Flash Blind Through The Battle, And Death'S Foot Rings In Their Tramp. For A Fourfold Host Upon Earth And In Heaven Is Arrayed For The Fight, Clouds Ruining In Thunder And Armies Encountering As Clouds In The Night. Mine Ears Are Amazed With The Terror Of Trumpets, With Darkness Mine Eyes, At The Sound Of The Sea'S Host Charging That Deafens The Roar Of The Sky'S. White Frontlet Is Dashed Upon Frontlet, And Horse Against Horse Reels Hurled, And The Gorge Of The Gulfs Of The Battle Is Wide For The Spoil Of The World. Ant. 7. And The Meadows Are Cumbered With Shipwreck Of Chariots That Founder On Land, And The Horsemen Are Broken With Breach As Of Breakers, And Scattered As Sand. Through The Roar And Recoil Of The Charges That Mingle Their Cries And Confound, Like Fire Are The Notes Of The Trumpets That Flash Through The Darkness Of Sound. As The Swing Of The Sea Churned Yellow That Sways With The Wind As It Swells Is The Lift And Relapse Of The Wave Of The Chargers That Clash With Their Bells; And The Clang Of The Sharp Shrill Brass Through The Burst Of The Wave As It Shocks Rings Clean As The Clear Wind'S Cry Through The Roar Of The Surge On The Rocks: And The Heads Of The Steeds In Their Headgear Of War, And Their Corsleted Breasts, Gleam Broad As The Brows Of The Billows That Brighten The Storm With Their Crests, Gleam Dread As Their Bosoms That Heave To The Shipwrecking Wind As They Rise, Filled Full Of The Terror And Thunder Of Water, That Slays As It Dies. So Dire Is The Glare Of Their Foreheads, So Fearful The Fire Of Their Breath, And The Light Of Their Eyeballs Enkindled So Bright With The Lightnings Of Death; And The Foam Of Their Mouths As The Sea'S When The Jaws Of Its Gulf Are As Graves, And The Ridge Of Their Necks As The Wind-Shaken Mane On The Ridges Of Waves: And Their Fetlocks Afire As They Rear Drip Thick With A Dewfall Of Blood As The Lips Of The Rearing Breaker With Froth Of The Manslaying Flood. And The Whole Plain Reels And Resounds As The Fields Of The Sea By Night When The Stroke Of The Wind Falls Darkling, And Death Is The Seafarer'S Light. Epode. But Thou, Fair Beauty Of Heaven, Dear Face Of The Day Nigh Dead, What Horror Hath Hidden Thy Glory, What Hand Hath Muffled Thine Head? O Sun, With What Song Shall We Call Thee, Or Ward Off Thy Wrath By What Name, With What Prayer Shall We Seek To Thee, Soothe With What Incense, Assuage With What Gift, If Thy Light Be Such Only As Lightens To Deathward The Seaman Adrift With The Fire Of His House For A Beacon, That Foemen Have Wasted With Flame? Arise Now, Lift Up Thy Light; Give Ear To Us, Put Forth Thine Hand, Reach Toward Us Thy Torch Of Deliverance, A Lamp For The Night Of The Land. Thine Eye Is The Light Of The Living, No Lamp For The Dead; O, Lift Up The Light Of Thine Eye On The Dark Of Our Dread. Who Hath Blinded Thee? Who Hath Prevailed On Thee? Who Hath Ensnared? Who Hath Broken Thy Bow, And The Shafts For Thy Battle Prepared? Have They Found Out A Fetter To Bind Thee, A Chain For Thine Arm That Was Bared? Be The Name Of Thy Conqueror Set Forth, And The Might Of Thy Master Declared. O God, Fair God Of The Morning, O Glory Of Day, What Ails Thee To Cast From Thy Forehead Its Garland Away? To Pluck From Thy Temples Their Chaplet Enwreathed Of The Light, And Bind On The Brows Of Thy Godhead A Frontlet Of Night? Thou Hast Loosened The Necks Of Thine Horses, And Goaded Their Flanks With Affright, To The Race Of A Course That We Know Not On Ways That Are Hid From Our Sight. As A Wind Through The Darkness The Wheels Of Their Chariot Are Whirled, And The Light Of Its Passage Is Night On The Face Of The World. And There Falls From The Wings Of Thy Glory No Help From On High, But A Shadow That Smites Us With Fear And Desire Of Thine Eye. For Our Hearts Are As Reeds That A Wind On The Water Bows Down And Goes By, To Behold Not Thy Comfort In Heaven That Hath Left Us Untimely To Die. But What Light Is It Now Leaps Forth On The Land Enkindling The Waters And Ways Of The Air From Thy Forehead Made Bare, From The Gleam Of Thy Bow-Bearing Hand? Hast Thou Set Not Thy Right Hand Again To The String, With The Back-Bowed Horns Bent Sharp For A Spring And The Barbed Shaft Drawn, Till The Shrill Steel Sing And The Tense Nerve Ring That Pierces The Heart Of The Dark With Dawn, O Huntsman, O King, When The Flame Of Thy Face Hath Twilight In Chase As A Hound Hath A Blood-Mottled Fawn? He Has Glanced Into Golden The Grey Sea-Strands, And The Clouds Are Shot Through With The Fires Of His Hands, And The Height Of The Hollow Of Heaven That He Fills As The Heart Of A Strong Man Is Quickened And Thrills; High Over The Folds Of The Low-Lying Lands, On The Shadowless Hills As A Guard On His Watchtower He Stands. All Earth And All Ocean, All Depth And All Height, At The Flash Of An Eyebeam Are Filled With His Might: The Sea Roars Backward, The Storm Drops Dumb, And Silence As Dew On The Fire Of The Fight Falls Kind In Our Ears As His Face In Our Sight With Presage Of Peace To Come. Fresh Hope In My Heart From The Ashes Of Dread Leaps Clear As A Flame From The Pyres Of The Dead, That Joy Out Of Woe May Arise As The Spring Out Of Tempest And Snow, With The Flower-Feasted Month In Her Hands Rose-Red Borne Soft As A Babe From The Bearing-Bed. Yet It Knows Not Indeed If A God Be Friend, If Rescue May Be From The Rage Of The Sea, Or The Wrath Of Its Lord Have End. For The Season Is Full Now Of Death Or Of Birth, To Bring Forth Life, Or An End Of All; And We Know Not If Anything Stand Or Fall That Is Girdled About With The Round Sea'S Girth As A Town With Its Wall; But Thou That Art Highest Of The Gods Most High, That Art Lord If We Live, That Art Lord Though We Die, Have Heed Of The Tongues Of Our Terror That Cry For A Grace To The Children Of Earth. Athenian Herald. Sons Of Athens, Heavy-Laden With The Holy Weight Of Years, Be Your Hearts As Young Men'S Lightened Of Their Loathlier Load Of Fears; For The Wave Is Sunk Whose Thunder Shoreward Shook The Shuddering Lands, And Unbreached Of Warring Waters Athens Like A Sea-Rock Stands. Chorus. Well Thy Word Has Cheered Us, Well Thy Face And Glittering Eyes, That Spake Ere Thy Tongue Spake Words Of Comfort: Yet No Pause, Behoves It Make Till The Whole Good Hap Find Utterance That The Gods Have Given At Length. Athenian Herald. All Is This, That Yet The City Stands Unforced By Stranger Strength. Chorus. Sweeter Sound Might No Mouth Utter In Man'S Ear Than This Thy Word. Athenian Herald. Feed Thy Soul Then Full Of Sweetness Till Some Bitterer Note Be Heard. Chorus. None, If This Ring Sure, Can Mar The Music Fallen From Heaven As Rain. Athenian Herald. If No Fire Of Sun Or Star Untimely Sear The Tender Grain. Chorus. Fresh The Dewfall Of Thy Tidings On Our Hopes Reflowering Lies. Athenian Herald. Till A Joyless Shower And Fruitless Blight Them, Raining From Thine Eyes. Chorus. Bitter Springs Have Barren Issues; These Bedew Grief'S Arid Sands. Athenian Herald. Such Thank-Offerings Ask Such Altars As Expect Thy Suppliant Hands. Chorus. Tears For Triumph, Wail For Welfare, What Strange Godhead'S Shrine Requires? Athenian Herald. Death'S Or Victory'S Be It, A Funeral Torch Feeds All Its Festal Fires. Chorus. Like A Star Should Burn The Beacon Flaming From Our City'S Head. Athenian Herald. Like A Balefire Should The Flame Go Up That Says The King Is Dead. Chorus. Out Of Heaven, A Wild-Haired Meteor, Shoots This New Sign, Scattering Fear. Athenian Herald. Yea, The Word Has Wings Of Fire That Hovered, Loth To Burn Thine Ear. Chorus. From Thy Lips It Leapt Forth Loosened On A Shrill And Shadowy Wing. Athenian Herald. Long They Faltered, Fain To Hide It Deep As Death That Hides The King. Chorus. Dead With Him Blind Hope Lies Blasted By The Lightning Of One Sword. Athenian Herald. On Thy Tongue Truth Wars With Error; No Man'S Edge Hath Touched Thy Lord. Chorus. False Was Thine Then, Jangling Menace Like A War-Steed'S Brow-Bound Bell? Athenian Herald. False It Rang Not Joy Nor Sorrow; But By No Man'S Hand He Fell. Chorus. Vainly Then Good News And Evil Through So Faint A Trumpet Spake. Athenian Herald. All Too Long Thy Soul Yet Labours, As Who Sleeping Fain Would Wake, Waking, Fain Would Fall On Sleep Again; The Woe Thou Knowest Not Yet, When Thou Knowest, Shall Make Thy Memory Thirst And Hunger To Forget. Chorus. Long My Heart Has Hearkened, Hanging On Thy Clamorous Ominous Cry, Fain Yet Fearful Of The Knowledge Whence It Looks To Live Or Die; Now To Take The Perfect Presage Of Thy Dark And Sidelong Flight Comes A Surer Soothsayer Sorrowing, Sable-Stoled As Birds Of Night. Praxithea. Man, What Thy Mother Bare Thee Born To Say Speak; For No Word Yet Wavering On Thy Lip Can Wound Me Worse Than Thought Forestalls Or Fear. Athenian Herald. I Have No Will To Weave Too Fine Or Far, O Queen, The Weft Of Sweet With Bitter Speech, Bright Words With Darkling; But The Brief Truth Shown Shall Plead My Pardon For A Lingering Tongue, Loth Yet To Strike Hope Through The Heart And Slay. The Sun'S Light Still Was Lordly Housed In Heaven When The Twain Fronts Of War Encountering Smote First Fire Out Of The Battle; But Not Long Had The Fresh Wave Of Windy Fight Begun Heaving, And All The Surge Of Swords To Sway, When Timeless Night Laid Hold Of Heaven, And Took With Its Great Gorge The Noon As In A Gulf, Strangled; And Thicker Than The Shrill-Winged Shafts Flew The Fleet Lightnings, Held In Chase Through Heaven By Headlong Heat Of Thunders On Their Trail Loosed As On Quest Of Quarry; That Our Host Smit With Sick Presage Of Some Wrathful God Quailed, But The Foe As From One Iron Throat With One Great Sheer Sole Thousand-Throated Cry Shook Earth, Heart-Staggered From Their Shout, And Clove The Eyeless Hollow Of Heaven; And Breached Therewith As With An Onset Of Strength-Shattering Sound The Rent Vault Of The Roaring Noon Of Night From Her Throned Seat Of Usurpation Rang Reverberate Answer; Such Response There Pealed As Though The Tide'S Charge Of A Storming Sea Had Burst The Sky'S Wall, And Made Broad A Breach In The Ambient Girth And Bastion Flanked With Stars Guarding The Fortress Of The Gods, And All Crashed Now Together On Ruin; And Through That Cry And Higher Above It Ceasing One Man'S Note Tore Its Way Like A Trumpet: Charge, Make End, Charge, Halt Not, Strike, Rend Up Their Strength By The Roots, Strike, Break Them, Make Your Birthright'S Promise Sure, Show Your Hearts Hardier Than The Fenced Land Breeds And Souls Breathed In You From No Spirit Of Earth, Sons Of The Sea'S Waves; And All Ears That Heard Rang With That Fiery Cry, That The Fine Air Thereat Was Fired, And Kindling Filled The Plain Full Of That Fierce And Trumpet-Quenching Breath That Spake The Clarions Silent; No Glad Song For Folk To Hear That Wist How Dire A God Begat This Peril To Them, What Strong Race Fathered The Sea-Born Tongue That Sang Them Death, Threatening; So Raged Through The Red Foam Of Fight Poseidon'S Son Eumolpus; And The War Quailed Round Him Coming, And Our Side Bore Back, As A Stream Thwarted By The Wind And Sea That Meet It Midway Mouth To Mouth, And Beat The Flood Back Of Its Issue; But The King Shouted Against Them, Crying, O Father-God, Source Of The God My Father, From Thine Hand Send Me What End Seems Good Now In Thy Sight, But Death From Mine To This Man; And The Word Quick On His Lips Yet Like A Blast Of Fire Blew Them Together; And Round Its Lords That Met Paused All The Reeling Battle; Two Main Waves Meeting, One Hurled Sheer From The Sea-Wall Back That Shocks It Sideways, One Right In From Sea Charging, That Full In Face Takes At One Blow That Whole Recoil And Ruin, With Less Fear Startle Men'S Eyes Late Shipwrecked; For A Breath Crest Fronting Crest Hung, Wave To Wave Rose Poised, Then Clashed, Breaker To Breaker; Cloud With Cloud In Heaven, Chariot With Chariot Closed On Earth, One Fourfold Flash And Thunder; Yet A Breath, And With The King'S Spear Through His Red Heart'S Root Driven, Like A Rock Split From Its Hill-Side, Fell Hurled Under His Own Horsehoofs Dead On Earth The Sea-Beast That Made War On Earth From Sea, Dumb, With No Shrill Note Left Of Storming Song, Eumolpus; And His Whole Host With One Stroke Spear-Stricken Through Its Dense Deep Iron Heart Fell Hurtling From Us, And In Fierce Recoil Drew Seaward As With One Wide Wail Of Waves, Resorbed With Reluctation; Such A Groan Rose From The Fluctuant Refluence Of Its Ranks, Sucked Sullen Back And Strengthless; But Scarce Yet The Steeds Had Sprung And Wheels Had Bruised Their Lord Fallen, When From Highest Height Of The Sundering Heaven The Father For His Brother'S Son'S Sake Slain Sent A Sheer Shaft Of Lightning Writhen And Smote Right On His Son'S Son'S Forehead, That Unhelmed Shone Like The Star That Shines Down Storm, And Gave Light To Men'S Eyes That Saw Thy Lord Their King Stand And Take Breath From Battle; Then Too Soon Saw Sink Down As A Sunset In Sea-Mist The High Bright Head That Here In Van Of The Earth Rose Like A Headland, And Through Storm And Night Took All The Sea'S Wrath On It; And Now Dead They Bring Thee Back By War-Forsaken Ways The Strength Called Once Thy Husband, The Great Guard That Was Of All Men, Stay Of All Men'S Lives, They Bear Him Slain Of No Man But A God, Godlike; And Toward Him Dead The City'S Gates Fling Their Arms Open Mother-Like, Through Him Saved; And The Whole Clear Land Is Purged Of War. What Wilt Thou Say Now Of This Weal And Woe? Praxithea. I Praise The Gods For Athens. O Sweet Earth, Mother, What Joy Thy Soul Has Of Thy Son, Thy Life Of My Dead Lord, Mine Own Soul Knows That Knows Thee Godlike; And What Grief Should Mine, What Sorrow Should My Heart Have, Who Behold Thee Made So Heavenlike Happy? This Alone I Only Of All These Blessed, All Thy Kind, Crave This For Blessing To Me, That In Theirs Have But A Part Thus Bitter; Give Me Too Death, And The Sight Of Eyes That Meet Not Mine. And Thee Too From No Godless Heart Or Tongue Reproachful, Thee Too By Thy Living Name, Father Divine, Merciful God, I Call, Spring Of My Life-Springs, Fountain Of My Stream, Pure And Poured Forth To One Great End With Thine, Sweet Head Sublime Of Triumph And These Tears, Cephisus, If Thou Seest As Gladly Shed Thy Blood In Mine As Thine Own Waves Are Given To Do This Great Land Good, To Give For Love The Same Lips Drink And Comfort The Same Hearts, Do Thou Then, O My Father, White-Souled God, To Thy Most Pure Earth-Hallowing Heart Eterne Take What Thou Gavest To Be Given For These, Take Thy Child To Thee; For Her Time Is Full, For All She Hath Borne She Hath Given, Seen All She Had Flow From Her, From Her Eyes And Breasts And Hands Flow Forth To Feed This People; But Be Thou, Dear God And Gracious To All Souls Alive, Good To Thine Own Seed Also; Let Me Sleep, Father; My Sleepless Darkling Day Is Done, My Day Of Life Like Night, But Slumberless: For All My Fresh Fair Springs, And His That Ran In One Stream'S Bed With Mine, Are All Run Out Into The Deep Of Death. The Gods Have Saved Athens; My Blood Has Bought Her At Their Hand, And Ye Sit Safe; Be Glorious And Be Glad As Now For All Time Always, Countrymen, And Love My Dead For Ever; But Me, Me, What Shall Man Give For These So Good As Death? Chorus. Str. 1. From The Cup Of My Heart I Pour Through My Lips Along The Mingled Wine Of A Joyful And Sorrowful Song; Wine Sweeter Than Honey And Bitterer Than Blood That Is Poured From The Chalice Of Gold, From The Point Of The Two-Edged Sword. For The City Redeemed Should Joy Flow Forth As A Flood, And A Dirge Make Moan For The City Polluted With Blood. Ant. 1. Great Praise Should The Gods Have Surely, My Country, Of Thee, Were Thy Brow But As White As Of Old For Thy Sons To See, Were Thy Hands As Bloodless, As Blameless Thy Cheek Divine; But A Stain On It Stands Of The Life-Blood Offered For Thine. What Thanks Shall We Give That Are Mixed Not And Marred With Dread For The Price That Has Ransomed Thine Own With Thine Own Child'S Head? Str. 2. For A Taint There Cleaves To The People Redeemed With Blood, And A Plague To The Blood-Red Hand. The Rain Shall Not Cleanse It, The Dew Nor The Sacred Flood That Blesses The Glad Live Land. Ant. 2. In The Darkness Of Earth Beneath, In The World Without Sun, The Shadows Of Past Things Reign; And A Cry Goes Up From The Ghost Of An Ill Deed Done, And A Curse For A Virgin Slain. Athena. Hear, Men That Mourn, And Woman Without Mate, Hearken; Ye Sick Of Soul With Fear, And Thou Dumb-Stricken For Thy Children; Hear Ye Too, Earth, And The Glory Of Heaven, And Winds Of The Air, And The Most Holy Heart Of The Deep Sea, Late Wroth, Now Full Of Quiet; Hear Thou, Sun, Rolled Round With The Upper Fire Of Rolling Heaven And All The Stars Returning; Hills And Streams, Springs And Fresh Fountains, Day That Seest These Deeds. Night That Shalt Hide Not; And Thou Child Of Mine, Child Of A Maiden, By A Maid Redeemed, Blood-Guiltless, Though Bought Back With Innocent Blood, City Mine Own; I Pallas Bring Thee Word, I Virgin Daughter Of The Most High God Give All You Charge And Lay Command On All The Word I Bring Be Wasted Not; For This The Gods Have Stablished And His Soul Hath Sworn, That Time Nor Earth Nor Changing Sons Of Man Nor Waves Of Generations, Nor The Winds Of Ages Risen And Fallen That Steer Their Tides Through Light And Dark Of Birth And Lovelier Death From Storm Toward Haven Inviolable, Shall See So Great A Light Alive Beneath The Sun As The Awless Eye Of Athens; All Fame Else Shall Be To Her Fame As A Shadow In Sleep To This Wide Noon At Waking; Men Most Praised In Lands Most Happy For Their Children Found Shall Hold As Highest Of Honours Given Of God To Be But Likened To The Least Of Thine, Thy Least Of All, My City; Thine Shall Be The Crown Of All Songs Sung, Of All Deeds Done Thine The Full Flower For All Time; In Thine Hand Shall Time Be Like A Sceptre, And Thine Head Wear Worship For A Garland; Nor One Leaf Shall Change Or Winter Cast Out Of Thy Crown Till All Flowers Wither In The World; Thine Eyes Shall First In Man'S Flash Lightning Liberty, Thy Tongue Shall First Say Freedom; Thy First Hand Shall Loose The Thunder Terror As A Hound To Hunt From Sunset To The Springs Of The Sun Kings That Rose Up Out Of The Populous East To Make Their Quarry Of Thee, And Shall Strew With Multitudinous Limbs Of Myriad Herds The Foodless Pastures Of The Sea, And Make With Wrecks Immeasurable And Unsummed Defeat One Ruin Of All Their Many-Folded Flocks Ill Shepherded From Asia; By Thy Side Shall Fight Thy Son The North Wind, And The Sea That Was Thine Enemy Shall Be Sworn Thy Friend And Hand Be Struck In Hand Of His And Thine To Hold Faith Fast For Aye; With Thee, Though Each Make War On Other, Wind And Sea Shall Keep Peace, And Take Truce As Brethren For Thy Sake Leagued With One Spirit And Single-Hearted Strength To Break Thy Foes In Pieces, Who Shall Meet The Wind'S Whole Soul And Might Of The Main Sea Full In Their Face Of Battle, And Become A Laughter To Thee; Like A Shower Of Leaves Shall Their Long Galleys Rank By Staggering Rank Be Dashed Adrift On Ruin, And In Thy Sight The Sea Deride Them, And That Lord Of The Air Who Took By Violent Hand Thy Child To Wife With His Loud Lips Bemock Them, By His Breath Swept Out Of Sight Of Being; So Great A Grace Shall This Day Give Thee, That Makes One In Heart With Mine The Deep Sea'S Godhead, And His Son With Him That Was Thine Helmsman, King With King, Dead Man With Dead; Such Only Names As These Shalt Thou Call Royal, Take None Else Or Less To Hold Of Men In Honour; But With Me Shall These Be Worshipped As One God, And Mix With Mine The Might Of Their Mysterious Names In One Same Shrine Served Singly, Thence To Keep Perpetual Guard On Athens; Time And Change, Masters And Lords Of All Men, Shall Be Made To Thee That Knowest No Master And No Lord Servants; The Days That Lighten Heaven And Nights That Darken Shall Be Ministers Of Thine To Attend Upon Thy Glory, The Great Years As Light-Engraven Letters Of Thy Name Writ By The Sun'S Hand On The Front Of The Earth For World-Beholden Witness; Such A Gift For One Fair Chaplet Of Three Lives Enwreathed To Hang For Ever From Thy Storied Shrine, And This Thy Steersman Fallen With Tiller In Hand To Stand For Ever At Thy Ship'S Helm Seen, Shall He That Bade Their Threefold Flower Be Shorn And Laid Him Low That Planted, Give Thee Back In Sign Of Sweet Land Reconciled With Sea And Heavenlike Earth With Heaven; Such Promise-Pledge I Daughter Without Mother Born Of God To The Most Woful Mother Born Of Man Plight For Continual Comfort. Hail, And Live Beyond All Human Hap Of Mortal Doom Happy; For So My Sire Hath Sworn And I. Praxithea. O Queen Athena, From A Heart Made Whole Take As Thou Givest Us Blessing; Never Tear Shall Stain For Shame Nor Groan Untune The Song That As A Bird Shall Spread And Fold Its Wings Here In Thy Praise For Ever, And Fulfil The Whole World'S Crowning City Crowned With Thee As The Sun'S Eye Fulfils And Crowns With Sight The Circling Crown Of Heaven. There Is No Grief Great As The Joy To Be Made One In Will With Him That Is The Heart And Rule Of Life And Thee, God Born Of God; Thy Name Is Ours, And Thy Large Grace More Great Than Our Desire. Chorus. From The Depth Of The Springs Of My Spirit A Fountain Is Poured Of Thanksgiving, My Country, My Mother, For Thee, That Thy Dead For Their Death Shall Have Life In Thy Sight And A Name Everliving At Heart Of Thy People To Be. In The Darkness Of Change On The Waters Of Time They Shall Turn From Afar To The Beam Of This Dawn For A Beacon, The Light Of These Pyres For A Star. They Shall See Thee Who Love And Take Comfort, Who Hate Thee Shall See And Take Warning, Our Mother That Makest Us Free; And The Sons Of Thine Earth Shall Have Help Of The Waves That Made War On Their Morning, And Friendship And Fame Of The Sea.