O pilot now your ship of days or years
Unerringly to reach a promised goal.
The Master Helmsman will allay your fears
And still the tempests that would scar your soul.
You leave the haven of a citadel
Which greed would now destroy; so let a song
Rise from your heard that you may break the spell
Of avarice that moves a Judas-throng.
Wearing white armor, go and give release;
Brave terror's henchmen on the death-strewn plain;
Bid earth to sing a canticle of peace,
Become a sanctuary--love's domain.
Your shield is youth's clean strength which you have won--
God's arm is long to reach to you, my son.
The Improvement Era