Such virtue as commends the law
    Of Virtue to the vulgar horde
Suffices not. You needs must draw
    A righteous sword;

And, flagrant in well-doing, smite
    The priests of Bacchus at their fane,
Lest any worshipper invite
    The God again.

Whence public strife and naked crime
    And—deadlier than the cup you shun—
A people schooled to mock, in time,
    All law—not one.

Cease, then, to fashion State-made sin,
    Nor give thy children cause to doubt
That Virtue springs from iron within—
    Not lead without.