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Science, learning, yield their prize :
Faint not in the noble chase,
Sinks unworthy of his race;
Never mourn the days of old,
Past is iron-future gold. - ivage, 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
'T is 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.
DALZIEL BROTHERS, CAMDEN PRESS, LONDON.