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Table of Contents

I

Drum-taps! Drum-taps! Who is it marching,

Marching past in the night? Ah, hark,

Draw your curtains aside and see

Endless ranks of the stars o'er-arching

Endless ranks of an army marching,

Marching out of the measureless dark,

Marching away to Eternity.

II

See the gleam of the white sad faces

Moving steadily, row on row,

Marching away to their hopeless wars:

Drum-taps, drum-taps, where are they marching?

Terrible, beautiful, human faces,

Common as dirt, but softer than snow,

Coarser than clay, but calm as the stars.

III

Is it the last rank readily, steadily

Swinging away to the unknown doom?

Ere you can think it, the drum-taps beat

Louder, and here they come marching, marching,

Great new level locked ranks of them readily

Steadily swinging out of the gloom

Marching endlessly down the street.

IV

Unregarded imperial regiments

White from the roaring intricate places

Deep in the maw of the world's machine,

Well content, they are marching, marching,

Unregarded imperial regiments,

Ay, and there are those terrible faces

Great world-heroes that might have been.

V

Hints and facets of One—the Eternal,

Faces of grief, compassion and pain,

Faces of hunger, faces of stone,

Faces of love and of labour, marching,

Changing facets of One—the Eternal,

Streaming up thro' the wind and the rain,

All together and each alone.

VI

You that doubt of the world's one Passion,

You for whose science the stars are a-stray,

Hark—to their orderly thunder-tread!

These, in the night, with the stars are marching

One to the end of the world's one Passion!

You that have taken their Master away,

Where have you laid Him, living or dead?

VII

You whose laws have hidden the One Law,

You whose searchings obscure the goal,

You whose systems from chaos begun,

Chance-born, order-less, hark, they are marching,

Hearts and tides and stars to the One Law,

Measured and orderly, rhythmical, whole,

Multitudinous, welded and one.

VIII

Split your threads of the seamless purple,

Round you marches the world-wide host,

Round your skies is the marching sky,

Out in the night there's an army marching,

Clothed with the night's own seamless purple,

Making death for the King their boast,

Marching straight to Eternity.

IX

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.

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,

Look, for their ragged old banners are marching

Down to the end—will your knowledge escape it?—

Down to the end of a few brief years!

What should they care for the wisdom you bring.

XII

Count as they pass, their hundreds, thousands,

Millions, marching away to a doom

Younger than London, older that Tyre!

Drum-taps, drum-taps, where are they marching,

Regiments, nations, empires, marching?

Down thro' the jaws of a world-wide tomb,

Doomed or ever they sprang from the mire!

XIII

Doomed to be shovelled like dung to the midden,

Trodden and kneaded as clay in the road,

Father and little one, lover and friend,

Out in the night they are marching, marching,

Doomed to be shovelled like dung to the midden,

Bodies that bowed beneath Christ's own load,

Love that—marched to the self-same end.

XIV

What of the end?—O, not of your glory,

Not of your wealth or your fame that will live

Half as long as this pellet of dust!—

Out in the night there's an army marching,

Nameless, noteless, empty of glory,

Ready to suffer and die and forgive,

Marching onward in simple trust,

XV

Wearing their poor little toy love-tokens

Under the march of the terrible skies!

Is it a jest for a God to play?—

Whose is the jest of these millions marching,

Wearing their poor little toy love-tokens,

Waving their voicelessly grand good-byes,

Secretly trying, sometimes, to pray.

XVI

Dare you dream their trust in Eternity

Broken, O you to whom prayers are vain,

You who dream that their God is dead?

Take your answer—these millions marching

Out of Eternity, into Eternity,

These that smiled "We shall meet again,"

Even as the life from their loved one fled.

XVII

This is the answer, not of the sages,

Not of the loves that are ready to part,

Ready to find their oblivion sweet!

Out in the night there's an army marching,

Men that have toiled thro' the endless ages,

Men of the pit and the desk and the mart,

Men that remember, the men in the street,

XVIII

These that into the gloom of Eternity

Stream thro' the dream of this lamp-starred town

London, an army of clouds to-night!

These that of old came marching, marching,

Out of the terrible gloom of Eternity,

Bowing their heads at Rameses' frown,

Streaming away thro' Babylon's light;

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,

Marching out of the dawn of time,

Endless columns of unknown men,

Endless ranks of the stars o'er-arching

Endless ranks of an army marching

Numberless out of the numberless ages,

Men out of every race and clime,

Marching steadily, now as then.