Strike Hands, Young Men!

Strike hands, young men!     We know not when     Death or disaster comes,     Mightier than battle-drums     To summon us away.     Death bids us say farewell     To all we love, nor stay     For tears; - and who can tell     How soon misfortune's hand     May smite us where we stand,     Dragging us down, aloof,     Under the swift world's hoof?     Strike hands for faith, and power     To gladden the passing hour;     To wield the sword, or raise a song; -     To press the grape; or crush out wrong.     And strengthen right.     Give me the man of sturdy palm     And vigorous brain;     Hearty, companionable, sane,     'Mid all commotions calm,     Yet filled with quick, enthusiastic fire; -     Give me the man     Whose impulses aspire,     And all his features seem to say, "I can!"     Strike hands, young men!     'Tis yours to help rebuild the State,     And keep the Nation great.     With act and speech and pen     'Tis yours to spread     The morning-red     That ushers in a grander day:     To scatter prejudice that blinds,     And hail fresh thoughts in noble minds;     To overthrow bland tyrannies     That cheat the people, and with slow disease     Change the Republic to a mockery.     Your words can teach that liberty     Means more than just to cry "We're free"     While bending to some new-found yoke.     So shall each unjust bond be broke,     Each toiler gain his meet reward,     And life sound forth a truer chord.     Ah, if we so have striven,     And mutually the grasp have given     Of brotherhood,     To work each other and the whole race good;     What matter if the dream     Come only partly true,     And all the things accomplished seem     Feeble and few?     At least, when summer's flame burns low     And on our heads the drifting snow     Settles and stays,     We shall rejoice that in our earlier days     We boldly then     Struck hands, young men!