Oh give that power now, reveal
The father's vision to the son.
Awake the buried soul that cried
For justice from a haughty king,
And bid our later monarchs share
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With all the spoil that all may bring.
Oh touch our drowsy hearts with shame
For sunless homes where sin is piled,
And call us from the shrines of gold
Built on the ruins of a child.
Now fades the day behind the stream,
The quivering lights begin to glow,
A thousand footsteps eager come,
A thousand others weary go.
On toiling tide and plundered hill
The ageless challenge rings again--
Each light a shrine for sacrifice,
Each step a trumpet call for men.