THROUGH THE troubled history of man comes sweeping a blind fury of destruction and the towers of civilisation topple down to dust. In the chaos of moral nihilism are trampled underfoot by marauders the best treasures of Man heroically won by the martyrs for ages. Come, young nations, proclaim the fight for freedom, raise up the banner of invincible faith. Build bridges with your life across the gaping earth blasted by hatred, and march forward. Do not submit yourself to carry the burden of insult upon your head, kicked by terror, and dig not a trench with falsehood and cunning to build a shelter for your dishonoured manhood; offer not the weak as sacrifice to the strong to save yourself.
YOU TOOK MY hand and drew me to your side, made me sit on the high seat before all men, till I became timid, unable to stir and walk my own way; doubting and debating at every step lest I should tread upon any thorn of their disfavour. I am freed at last! The blow has come, the drum of insult sounded, my seat is laid low in the dust. My paths are open before me. My wings are full of the desire of the sky. I go to join the shooting stars of midnight, to plunge into the profound shadow. I am like the storm-driven cloud of summer that, having cast off its crown of gold, hangs as a sword the thunderbolt upon a chain of lightning. In desperate joy I run upon the dusty path of the despised; I draw near to your final welcome. The child finds its mother when it leaves her womb. When I am parted from you, thrown out from your household, I am free to see your face.
