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     Bring golden grain from sun and air,
From earth her goodly roots.

There let our banners droop and flow,
     The stars uprise and fall;
Our roll of martyrs, sad and slow,
     Let sighing breezes call.

Their names let hands of horn and tan
     And rough-shod feet applaud,
Who died to make the slave a man,
     And link with toil reward.

There let the common heart keep time
     To such an anthem sung
As never swelled on poet's rhyme,
     Or thrilled on singer's tongue.

Song of our burden and relief,
     Of peace and long annoy;
The passion of our mighty grief
     And our exceeding joy!

A song of praise to Him who filled
     The harvests sown in tears,
And gave each field a double yield
     To feed our battle-years!

A song of faith that trusts the end
     To match the good begun,
Nor doubts the power of Love to blend
     The hearts of men as one!

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