To my loud reveille when morning breaks.
And the golden eye of the dawn awakes.
Come with me out to the trenches then.
Where are gathered scores of your fellow-men
Beginning to dig with pick and with spade,—
This is the way entrenchments are made.
There's a puff of smoke, and now comes a shell;
See yonder, there, where its fragments fell;
Nobody hurt! and above on the hill,
Our batteries, until this moment still,