DOUBTFUL DREAMS 



Whose burdens than ours were graver, 

 And sterner than ours their hate. 



What fair reward had Achilles ? 

 What rest could Alcides win ? 



Vain toil ! '' Consider the lilies, 

 They toil not, neither do spin." 



Nor for mortal toiling nor spinning, 



Will the matters of mortals mend ; 

 As it was so in the beginning 



It shall be so in the end. 

 The web that the weavers weave ill 



Shall not be woven aright. 

 Till the good is brought forth from evil 



As day is brought forth from night. 



Vain dreams ! for our fathers cherished 

 High hopes in the days that were ; 



And these men wonder'd and perish'd. 

 Nor better than these we faie ; 



And our due at least is their due, 

 They fought against odds and fell ; 



" £n avant, les en/ants perdus ! " 



We fight against odds as well. 



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