Faces that pass and pass,
Brave-eyed, fearless, resolute,
Features clear-cut like bronze
Against the glow of the glass-paned roof;
Feet that march, march, march
On the wide shining floor of the armory,
Smooth and bright and hard.
Rows and rows of staunch shoulders touching,
Their guns click, click, click
At the sergeant's call.
Round, round, round, turning, wheeling,
In long straight flanks they pass,
Marching, marching, marching,
Under the great wide dome in the fitful daylight,
And the gray tired city stretching on all sides.
Vast domain of young endeavor.
With its thousands of lads waiting, waiting,
Wide-armed clasping Beauty within its stronghold,
These are the noble faces, the perfect courage,
That show in manhood the true divinity!