Hymn Of The Triumphant Airman

Oh, long had we paltered     With bridle and girth     Ere those horses were haltered     That gave us the Earth,     Ere the Flame and the Fountain,     The Spark and the Wheel,     Sank Ocean and Mountain     Alike neath our keel.     But the Wind in her blowing,     The bird on the wind,     Made naught of our going,     And left us behind.     Till the gale was outdriven,     The gull overflown,     And there matched us in Heaven     The Sun-God alone.     He only the master     We leagued to oerthrow,     He only the faster     And, therefore, our foe!     .     .     .     .     .     Light steals to uncurtain     The dim-shaping skies     That arch and make certain     Where he shall arise.     We lift to the onset.     We challenge anew.     From sunrise to sunset,     Apollo, pursue!     .     .     .     .     .     What ails thee, O Golden?     Thy Chariot is still?     What Power has withholden     The Way from the Will?     Lo, Hesper hath paled not,     Nor darkness withdrawn.     The Hours have availed not     To lead forth the Dawn!     Do they flinch from full trial,     The Coursers of Day?     The shade on our dial     Moves swifter than they!     We fleet, but thou stayest     A God unreleased;     And still thou delayest     Low down in the East,     A beacon faint-burning,     A glare that decays     As the blasts of our spurning     Blow backward its blaze.     The mid-noon grows colder,     Night rushes to meet,     And the curve of Earths shoulder     Heaves up thy defeat.     Storm on at that portal,     We have thee in prison!     Apollo, immortal,     Thou hast not arisen!