( ON THE RETURN OF A REGIMENT FROM THE SPANISH WAR )

Now is the time to be glad!
Now is the time to be gay!
With welcome the city is mad,
And the flags and the wind are at play.
There, down the street full of faces
(Like a furrow that Joy has plowed),
The heart and the eye run races
Which first shall greet the proud

Nearer and nearer they come!
I can tell by the cheer and the shou
That keep just ahead of the drum
Where the little flags break out.
I can tell by the blood's quick leaping
My sluggish veins along,
I can tell by my footstep keeping
The rhythm of battle-song.

Against them the sword of the Cid
In the hand of a haughty foe;
Against them the jungle that hid
Iron-fanged serpents a-row;
Against them the storm and the baking
Of sun on the rain-drenched skin;
Against them the fever's aching,
Against them our civic sin.

Here they are! father and lad.
Now let us cheer them — but stay!
Too haggard that face to be glad,
Too weary those feet to be gay.
God! are these phantoms the handsome
Young knights that went, eager to save?
O Freedom, is this then the ransom
We give for the starved and the slave?

They whom we welcome to-day —
Why do the shout and the cheer
Lining each step of their way
Seem like a dirge and a tear?
Is it that some may be wearing
Laurels of others? Ay, see!
Count the thin ranks of the daring:
Each wears his laurels for three!

And we thought it a time to be glad!
And we thought it a time to be gay!