 Future Lines
Breathe Freedom's air, so pure and sweet, After the toil, 'tis just and meet, That 'cross the valleys we would greet The heights of new success. Though troubles met us cruel and long, And weak were pitted 'gainst the strong, Still right may win against the wrong If Heaven gives its "yes." Then let us forward, heads held high, Faces up turned Southern sky, Remembering that, we live, we die And God has deemed us blest.
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