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Science, learning, yield their prize:
Faint not in the noble chase,
He who aims not to be wise,
Sinks unworthy of his race:
He who fights shall vanquish ill :
Progress be our watchword still.

Broad the track that lies before us;
Never mourn the days of old,
Time will not tombed years restore us
Past is iron-future gold.

- Avage, learn till civilized;

Slave, your fetters shake till free;
Hearts that struggle, souls despised,
Work your own high destiny:
All things yield to steadfast will:
Progress be our watchword still.

Onward!-Orient nations know
Nothing of that magic word;
'Tis the trump that giants blow——
'Tis the spirit's conquering sword;
'Tis the electric, mystic fire,

Which should flash around the earth,
Making every heart a wire—

'Tis a word of heavenly birth. Onward at the sound we thrill: Progress be our watchword still.

-Nicholas Michett.

DALZIEL BROTHERS, CAMDEN PRESS, LONDON.

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