Nothing noble, nothing great
The world has ever known,
But began a seed of thought
In some generous nature sown.
Any soul may rise to be
A new saviour to its race;
Every man and woman fills,
Well or ill, a prophet's place.
In our Now the Then lies folded,
All its wealth, and all its power;
From the promise of to-day
Bursts to-morrow's perfect flower.
Every deed of solid worth
Helps the world to find its place;
Every life of homely truth
Raises higher all the race.
"Ye are gods," the Scriptures saith;
"Yea," our spirits make reply;
Let us claim our birthright, then,--
Prove our high divinity.
We too may be, if we will,
Athlete winners every one,
Conquerors of fate and chance,
Lords of all beneath the sun.
Let us thitherward aspire,
Take whate'er we find to do,
Making life what life was meant--
Something liberal, earnest, true!
* * * * *
University Press: John Wilson & Son, Cambridge.