VICTURAE SALUTAMUS.

Shall we who are about to live,

Cry like a clarion on the battle-field?

Or weep before‘ t is fought, the fight to yield?

Thou that hast been and yet that art to be

Named by our name, that art the First and Last!

Womanhood of the future and the past!

Thee we salute, below the breath. Oh, give

To us the courage of our mystery.

... Pealing, the clock of Time

Has struck the Woman's Hour....

We hear it on our knees. For ah, no power

Is ours to trip too lightly to the rhyme

Of idle words that fan the summer air,

Of bounding words that leap the years to come.

Ideal of ourselves! We dream and dare.

Victurae salutamus! Thou art dumb.