The troop arranged for battle

Without my first would fly;

And whether good or bad,

Without it you would die.


Go seek the earth and ocean,

For smallest things you guess;

Yes, bring the atom from the air,

And still my second’s less.



The traitor, when condemn’d to die,

May calm his cares and pray;

Yet when the axe sounds "dust to dust,"

My whole he’s borne away.