William Preston Johnston - Scipio lyrics

THESE ceremonial forms and ancient rites, These solemn auguries by seers made, The sign that bodes, the portent that affrights, The ghost of which the soldier is afraid, The pomp of superstition's masquerade Are pa**ing dreams to Scipio, who delights To climb with Plato the aerial grade Of thought where calm Philosophy invites. Conqueror of Carthage, there are loftier heights To which thy soul shall rise; the captive maid Free from all fear, the victory that excites Nor wrath nor greed, these laurels shall not fade. Thy clement soul in search of truth shall see Three golden steps, to know, to do, to be.