The destiny of young men
Is forged from shiny metal
Hard beaten to a useful shape
Then polished to fine fettle.

So keen he cuts, so clean and swift,
While held in others hands,
And not a thing he ever knows
When following commands

The law’s the word, the word’s the law
Orders must be obeyed
Only the thundering voice of God
Has e’er this young hand stayed.

Thus has it been for year on year,
Ages and ages past
So shall it be for evermore
Until the die is cast.