Ich Dien

Children of a simple Sire
In the lands of frost or fire
Flowery meads or desert-waste,—
Swart of hue or lily-faced,—
From the rising of the sun
To its setting, we are one.
All the endless march of Man
Since the human race began,—
Swift or slow, or wandering far
By some wizard baleful star;
Down the dark morass of crime;
Up the steeps of truth sublime;
Or along the level sweep
Where the unaspiring creep—
Is commissioned to one goal,—
The perfection of the Soul!
And for this, that all have needs
That no isolation feeds,
The first bond upon us laid
Is the law of mutual aid.
They who walk are firmer bound
To the mired must reach the Land;
Dwellers in the golden light —
Most flaming radiance down the night;
Strong of limb shall help the weak;
Clear of eye the path shall seek,
Pure of heart shall lift the stained,
Firm of nerve shall soothe the pained.—
All below, from all above
Shall take healing, light and love;
Such the law of kith and kin
Written full on all within
Every fibre’s joy or pain
Vibrates to that golden strain.
Every spring of human blood
Flows with human Brotherhood:
He whose living serves not Man
Mars the music of God’s plan,
He lets fall on shoulders bowed
With their life-work, all his load
While his own dead weight is laid
On the hands he should have stayed.
But the song of Love swells higher
In the Everlasting Choir—
With his voice — were e unseen —
Whose whole life proclaims “Ich Dien!”