THE PROMISED LAND
"Out of the graves a summons, Out of the tombs a a t o'icc: 'Oil, children of men, 'tis the hour again Of earth's primeval choice. Whether to drift supinely Where Chaos rides unfurled, Or gird your Avills divinely To re-create the world. " 'Oh children of men, be noble, Let your l'ovc in oceans pour, For the wounds of the world are many, And the wounds of the world are sore. "'No gold can pay for j-esterday, But now rings trumpet clear, To build the domes of the Future's homes Above the roads of fear.' Out of the tombs a summons, And the voice of a high command: From the. brutal waste of destruction's haste, Ye shall build the Promised Land."
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/BPB19420306.2.23
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Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 05, Issue 25, 6 March 1942, Page 5
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124THE PROMISED LAND Bay of Plenty Beacon, Volume 05, Issue 25, 6 March 1942, Page 5
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