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.