And grenadiers and cavaliers still flank each home and street.
The covenants our fathers made forever move in rhyme,
They’ve never found the Port of Rest; the iron tongues of Time
Are bugling men to saddle, and comrades, side by side,
From Gettysburg to Flanders join in a dusty ride!
And here they come! and there they come! The farmer and the knight,
And dead men, shouting—“load and fire!” from parapets of light.
And every one a mother’s son, the khaki, and the gold,
Old Glory prancing on ahead, a shout in every fold!
In every star a mother’s prayer, in every stripe is found