Arise! For Thunder hurls the bolt of God,
Flings far the arrow Zeus alone had had,
And Lo! Promethea has gold bold caught,
The World around her clad in glow of Light,
Dreams of a Dawn when one hand stir the Sky,
And one below, to tend to fledgling cry,
'Fear not, my little ones, the future's sweet,
With Joy's liquor that never dries.'