That cry on the air was not wasted;
But withstanding a mightier alone,
His father’s life with his own
That godlike son redeemed,
And death’s cup of glory he tasted.
So in after days he seemed
To the sons of each new generation
In those old times bygone
Ever the noblest son
In filial love’s consecration.
Now—by none out of any nation
Is Thrasybulus outdone