by Isaac Y. Ewan
Be master of thyself, and hold
The earth-born team in hand,
Possessed and ordered and controlled,
Subdued at thy command.
Swiftly your heritage they’ll wreck
If once their heads get free.
Hold then the lawless brood in check
Lest they hold you in fee.
Their restless impulses restrain,
Safe harnessed to thy will.
Apply with skill the whip and rein,
And make them take the hill,
The hill of discipline; the goal,
The broad uplands where waves
Brave freedom’s banner in the soul,
And men no more are slaves.
For you the royal honours wait;
A crown is yours to win;
A kingdom yours to subjugate,
A throne thy heart within.
In triumph they their captives lead
Who but themselves control.
He is a conqueror indeed
Who conquers in his soul.
But more than conquerors are they
Whose path their Lord hath trod;
Who o’er themselves hold easy sway
By giving in to God.