Chorus
Do not faint too soon upon your way, [120] or let your limbs grow weary, as a colt beneath the yoke grows weary as he mounts some stony hill, dragging the weight of a wheeled chariot. Take hold of hand or robe, who ever feels his footsteps falter. [125] Old friend, escort another like yourself, who once amid his toiling peers in the days of our youth would take his place beside you, no blot upon his country's glorious record.