While the tiniest wave is trembling
For a moment on the sight,
Its ethereal light is mingling
With the vapors of the night, -
Vapors that shall soon be thronging
All along the eastern way,
Clad in purple and vermilion,
Heralds of the royal day.
Thus the men of ancient story
Linger through our night of time,
With our thoughts their thoughts commingling,
With our lives their lives sublime.
All around us they are thronging,
And I seem to hear them say:
"Falter not, O ye faint-hearted;
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