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The Green Bag His heart must be strong, His heart must be true, For the battles are long, And the victories few, And the world demands that he loyal be To the cause that is just, to the cause that is free. Ah! must there be a lower standard for The strife of peace than for the strife of May, then, the man who marches to the Of legal battles fling his arms and yield, Or seek by treachery and trick to gain The goal without which living is in vain? May he, then, stab fair Justice in the And traitor turn, and all her temples Transform her patient blessings to a curse And prostitute her virtue for a purse?
war? field
back sack?
The world is sick of quibblings, sick of shams, And sick of smiling wolves that fleece the lambs, It wants but justice, wants but simple right, It merely asks for honor in the fight; Great God! the hour has come when we must clear The legal fields from poison and from fear; We must re-mold our standards—build them higher, And clear the air as though by cleansing fire, Weed out the damning traitors to the law, Restore her to her ancient place of awe. For nothing below And nothing above Shall last to the end If it be not love; We must meet our foe As we meet a friend, We must play him fair If justice be done, If we be not square No goal is won; And the world demands that we loyal be To the cause that is just, to the cause that is free. Cambridge, Mass.
