NV607

This is the law of the spaceman, and ever he makes it plane.
Send not your foolish and feeble, send me your strong and your sane.

Strong for the red rage of battle, sane for I harrow them sore.
Send me men girt for the combat, men who are grit to the core.

Swift as a panther in triumph, fierce as a bear in defeat.
Sired of bulldog parents, steeled in the furnace heat.

Send me the best of your breeding, lend me your chosen ones
Them will I take to my bosom, them will I call my sons.

Wild and wide are my borders, stern as death is my sway.
On my ruthless throne I have ruled alone, for a million years and a day.

Hugging my mighty treasures, waiting for man to come.
Til he came like a turbid torrent, and after him swept the scum.

The pallid pimp of the deadline, the innervate of the pen.
One by one I weeded them out, for all that I sought was men.