Always tending upward May this be my aim; Ne’er swerving from duty Or shrinking from pain. ’Tis thus would I rival thee Monarch of birds, When soaring loftily Up to the clouds.
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Always tending upward May this be my aim; Ne’er swerving from duty Or shrinking from pain. ’Tis thus would I rival thee Monarch of birds, When soaring loftily Up to the clouds.