2
Bathed in the blood of battle,
Treading toward a new morning,
May not his race—
Its body long bared to the world’s disdain,
Its face schooled to smile for a light to come—
May not his race, even as the Dew Boy leads,
Bear onward the world to a time
When tolerance, forbearance,
Such as reigned in the heart of ONE
Whose heart was gold
Shall shape the world for that fresh dawning
After the dews of blood?