Are you not weary of ardent ways, Lure of the fallen seraphim? Tell no more of enchanted days. Your eyes have set man's heart ablaze And you have had your will of him Are you not weary of ardent days? Above the flame the smoke of praise Goes up from ocean rim to rim. Tell no more of enchanted days.
Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord; he is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; he hath loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword; his truth is marching on. I have seen him in the watchfires of a hundred circling camps; they have builded him an altar in the evening dews and damps; I can read his righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps; his day is marching on. He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; he is sifting out the hearts of men before his judgement seat; O be swift, my soul, to awnser him; be jubilant my feet! Our God is marching on.
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done; The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won; The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring: But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain! My Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up-for you the flag is flung-for you the bugle trills; For you bouqets and ribbon'd wreaths-for you the shores a-crowding; For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
No lines are longer than 80 characters, TYVM. Other specified properties aren't being scored automatically at this time so this is not necessarily good news...