Aid the dawning, tongue and pen; Aid it, hopes of honest men!

But the sunshine aye shall light the sky, As round and round we run; And the truth shall ever come uppermost, And justice shall be done.

Some love to roam o'er the dark sea's foam, Where the shrill winds whistle free.

Cleon hath a million acres,-ne'er a one have I; Cleon dwelleth in a palace,-in a cottage I.