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F, on the deathless page of Fame,
 * The warrior’s deeds are writ,

If that bright record bear the name Of each whose hallowed brow might claim
 * The wreath of wisdom or of wit;

If even they, whose cash and care Have nursed the infant arts, be there,
 * What place remains for thee,

Who, neither warrior, bard, nor sage, Has poured on this benighted age
 * The blended light of all the three?

Godfather of the christened West!
 * Thy wonder-working power