F. E. Walrond - Here lyrics

Peace, rest, content! Ah, God! to tired hearts, To feet that falter at the long road's end, To weary players that have played their parts In the great drama, these in fulness send. But unto us, whose veins are quick with fire, Whose wants are wide as earth and high as heaven, Who spend our souls in some supreme desire, Be no content, but large impatience given. Oh! while the arm has strength to weight a blow Let there be fighting, Lord, and deeds to dare, Such deeds as ask the bravest and the best. Ma** thick the foes against us, make us know The sting of pain, the threatening of despair, And so compell us to our loftiest.