Future Lines

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.