What do you know of the shot-riddled banners

Royally surging out of the gloom,

You whose denials their souls despise?

Out in the night they are marching, marching!

Treasure your wisdom, and leave them their banners!

Then—when you follow them down to the tomb

Pray for one glimpse of the faith in their eyes.

X

Pray for one gleam of the white sad faces,

Moving steadily, row on row,

Marching away to their hopeless wars,

Doomed to be trodden like dung, but marching,

Terrible, beautiful human faces,

Common as dirt, but softer than snow,

Coarser than clay, but calm as the stars.

[Pg 9]

XI

What of the end? Will your knowledge escape it?

What of the end of their dumb dark tears?

You who mock at their faith and sing,

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