Labour itself is but a sorrowful song, The protest of the weak against the strong.

The sea, unmated creature, tired and lone, Makes on its desolate sands eternal moan.

For right is right, since God is God, And right the day must win; To doubt would be disloyalty, To falter would be sin.

O majesty unspeakable and dread! Wert thou less mighty than Thou art, Thou wert, O Lord, too great for our belief, Too little for our heart.