Oh calling, and calling, as the morning mists unfold, Hark the bugle’s keen upbraiding that true hearts are more than trading And that steel is more than gold. “Is there seeming in your dreaming of an endless golden day? “Ne’er were powers, ne’er were towers, but uncherished would decay. “Follow through, follow through, foaming wake and throbbing screw, “All your fair and broad dominions with the seagull’s waving pinions, “What but swords that did them win once, holds them all? “For the thousand years behind you, “For the slothful cords that bind you, “The future that may find you, “I call, I call!” Oh calling, and calling, when the twilight stars are born, Hark the bugle’s fierce complaining--“Labor--labor--still sustaining, “Unrequited, laughed to scorn! “Wheels are humming, you are coming to your fire-lit warmth and ease, “Ask the teachers, ask the preachers who declaim of ‘love’ and ‘peace,’ “What to do, what to do, if no more my signal blew “By the Northern ocean-strands, on the scorching desert sands, “Or beneath the tropic lands’ steamy pall? “For your plenteous bin and board, now “For ‘all things in order stored,’ now, “For Right, for the Lord, now, “I call, I call!” Oh calling, and calling, when the dark is closing down, Hark the bugle clearly crying of the fame beyond all dying, And the laurel, and the crown. “Heroes sworded--splendors hoarded by enshrining centuries, “Life or living--theirs the giving--greater love had none than these! “Can it be, can it be, sons of steel on land and sea, “Song and story weft of war-woof, blood and breed from sires of war-proof, “That ye stand to such a lore proof, one and all? “For the glory gone before you, “For the mother-breast bent o’er you, “The good earth that bore you, “I call, I call!” _Infantry Journal_ _E. Sutton_ HE WENT FOR A SOLDIER He marched away with a blithe young score of him With the first volunteers, Clear-eyed and clean and sound to the core of him, Blushing under the cheers. They were fine, new flags that swung a-flying there, Oh, the pretty girls he glimpsed a-crying there, Pelting him with pinks and with roses-- Billy, the Soldier Boy! Not very clear in the kind young heart of him What the fuss was about, But the flowers and the flags seemed part of him-- The music drowned his doubt. It’s a fine, brave sight they were a-coming there To the gay, bold tune they kept a-drumming there, While the boasting fifes shrilled jauntily-- Billy, the Soldier Boy!