Finis Coronat Opus

Guard your mind, and make it strong, And feed it well with truth, Lest weak it dwindle down ‘ere long ‘Neath weight of things uncouth. Whole and full of life should be The minds and thoughts of men, That firm and stalwart, bold and free, They live among their kin. When frail and full of lies become Their hearts and deeds, then wait And watch, for from such never sprung Fair thoughts nor wisdom great.

There is a tale of ancient days, Of long before the sunlight blazed And e’er in lands there rose to be Fair peoples living ‘neath the trees; To bring forth life ‘mid darkness vast That through the ages long would last, There sang a host, arrayed in light, Commanded by creator’s might. Such music! haunting, beauteous, strong, All voices cried within the throng, And from the chords and notes were worked Such wonders as men now observe. If music fair, and voices strong, And glorious themes their strains prolonged Did strands of time and space weave there, Into the earth, the water, air, Then ought we not continue thus, Though mortal, formed out of the dust, To music, song, and lay compose, That heal old wounds, and stir the soul?

Read, and learn, and knowledge gain, As did the men of old Who stood forth brave ‘neath tyrants’ reign, And spoke with wisdom bold. The ancient writers wielded pen, And words they sent beyond Their own brief lives, and realms, and ken, That on men light would dawn. Great privilege we hold in hand, Great precepts we should learn; For with them, beauteous is the land, Without them, it shall mourn.

Hid from sight of bustling hordes, Forgotten, brought to mind no more, Lie words, and tales, and legends great, That in the dark their fate await; For none remember yellowed page, Or less renowned, not fame-d sage. Why read the words of volumes old When new and shiny tales are told, And fables of the dusty past Are left behind in numbers vast, Their writers deemed no longer meet For modern sensibility? And so the people of the age Neglect the words upon the page, That, written with a care and thought Did beauty paint within the heart, Commend great deeds and honor strong, And build up nations from the throngs.

Build for days you shall not see, As those before have done, Lest babes in arms no future see And hope lie dead and gone. No people ever lasted long, Nor built a culture great, Who never thought of years beyond Their own impending fate. Great kingdoms through the annals old Yet live until this day, For children’s children oft were told And sung the ancient lays. So build for days that yet afar Appear to feeble sight, For swift beneath the sun and stars They come; look now aright.

Fill the ranks, you people bold; Your forbears dear are growing old, And pass they now from marching file As Time spins e’er his ceaseless dial. Fill the ranks, and let them not Grow sparse and empty, plagued by rot Of witless cowards from the foe Who seek our mettle to dethrone. Fill the ranks with brave and true And honest ones with light imbued, Who, though they falter in the march, Still press they on, with fervent heart. Fill the ranks, and name the dead, And go you forward in their stead, That lands they sought long to defend Continue on, ’til bitter end.