It must be in Man's fortunes,
Since the Sire of Man is God,
That a better ruler's coming
Than grim Force with iron rod;
And to make our faith the firmer,
There is, even now, a great
And growing brotherhood of men
Vow'd to that better state:
And whose standard is that standard
'Neath whose broad folds unfurled
A man shall be a man yet
All over the world.
Oh, then away for ever
With all unfraternal hate —
All envyings 'twixt the rich and poor,
The little and the great!
And be we of that noble
And for ever growing band,
Whose worship is the Just and True
Alike in every land:
And whose standard is that standard
'Neath whose broad folds unfurled,
A man shall be a man yet
All over the world.
But down with all down pullers —
All mere haters of command!
For who bows not to what's noble
And thence glorious in the land,
Can never be one in spirit
With that fraternising host,
Which yet, in God's good time, is doomed
To rule the social roost:
And whose standard is that standard
'Neath whose broad folds unfurled,
A man shall be a man yet
All over the world.
Down too with all mere brawlers
At what luxury they see,
Since 'tis well to roll in riches
If but fairly won they be —
Well to shine amongst our fellows,
Though the thorough man alone
Is one who through his golden heart,
And not his gold is known.
And whose standard is that standard
'Neath whose broad folds unfurled,
A man shall be a man yet
All over the world.
