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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 ž

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.

-Nicholas aricheth.

Fmis

DALZIEL BROTHERS, CAMDEN PRESS, LONDON.

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