Streaming away thro' Babylon's light;

[Pg 11]

XIX

These that swept at the sound of the trumpet

Out thro' the night like gonfaloned clouds,

Exiled hosts when the world was Rome,

Tossing their tattered old eagles, marching

Down to sleep till the great last trumpet,

London, Nineveh, rend your shrouds,

Rally the legions and lead them home,

XX

Lead them home with their glorious faces

Moving steadily, row on row

Marching up from the end of wars,

Out of the Valley of Shadows, marching,

Terrible, beautiful, human faces,

Common as dirt, but softer than snow,

Coarser than clay, but calm as the stars,

XXI

Marching out of the endless ages,

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