By weary stages,
The old world ages,
By blood by rages,
By pain sown seeds,
With death for wages,
Souls leave their cages,
And man does deeds.
In mire he trudges,
In grime he drudges,
In blindness judges,
His bitter measure,
Yields little pleasure,
For only treasure,
He has his hopes.
Now by God's power,
The world will flower,
And hour by hour,
His ream increase,
Now men benighted,
Will feel them righted,
And love be lighted,
To enjoy fruits of peace..
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