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319.

7s. M.

Bulfinch.

Struggle.
257

There’s a strife we all must wage,

From life’s entrance to its close;

Blest the bold who dare engage!

Woe for him who seeks repose!

Honored they who firmly stand,

While the conflict presses round;

God’s own banner in their hand,

In his service faithful found.

What our foes? Each thought impure

Passions fierce, that tear the soul;

Every ill that we can cure;

Every crime we can control;

Every suffering which our hand

Can with soothing care assuage;

Every evil of our land;

Every error of our age.

On, then, to the glorious field!

He who dies his life shall save;

God himself shall be our shield,

He shall bless and crown the brave.

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