And Rounds, come whensoe’er they may,
Find him alert and at his post.
Unnumbered now the moments fly
By him whose thoughts are set upon
Each moment’s task. The eastern sky
Brightens with dawn. The night is gone.
And hark, at last he grows aware
Of footsteps his release that tell.
Clear rings his challenge, “Who goes there?”
“Relief!” “Advance, Relief, all’s well!”