In Saffron-colored Mantle From The Tides Of

[but] Age, The Common Enemy Of Mankind, Has Laid His Hand Upon You; Would That It Had Fallen Upon Some Other, And That You Were Still Young.

Generations Of Men Are Like The Leaves. In Winter, Winds Blow Them Down To Earth, But Then, When Spring Season Comes Again, The Budding Wood Grows More. And So With Men: One Generation Grows, Another Dies Away.

Immortals Are Never Alien To One Another.

Take Thou Thy Arms And Come With Me, For We Must Quit Ourselves Like Men, And Strive To Air Our Cause, Although We Be But Two. Great Is The Strength Of Feeble Arms Combined, And We Can Combat Even With The Brave.

To-morrow We Embark Upon The Boundless Sea.