They who have seen the vision, We who have dreamed the dream, Are comrades of a mighty host, Crusaders of the Gleam. Some lads will fall in battle, Some wave victorious swords; Some knit the pitying web of love, Or forge the glowing words. Still, shoulder set to shoulder, We tread the fields of fate, Our hearts invincible to crush Truculent ranks of Hate. And comrade heartens comrade Through voids of time and space, Flashing the Sign upon his brow, A light upon his face. THE KNIGHTS Not dust! Not dust the chivalry, The knightly heart of high romance Enshrined in ancient poetry. Behold, the battle-fields of France! Gone plume and crest and jeweled sword, Gone pomp and picturesque array. War is a grim and hideous word! Yet heroes walk the world to-day. A Launcelot or Lion Heart? A Roland or a Godfrey bold? Nay, simple lads who bear their part As gallantly as knights of old. Our lithe brown legions swinging by, Our bonny sailors proudly free; The dauntless champions of the sky, The dragon-chasers on the sea! A thousand Sidneys pass the cup Of blessedness on fields of blood; And countless Bayards offer up Their joyous hope for others’ good. Never were hearts so nobly bold, Nor bodies built so strongly fair. The tree of life has not grown old, But blooms to-day beyond compare! No more we glory in the past And yearn to see those kings of men. The peerless knights arise at last, And epic deeds are done again! FROM THE CANTEEN Sailor, we shall miss you, Swaggering up and down, Bringing picaresque romance To the mouldy town. On your lips a whistle, In your heart a dance, A merry lass upon your arm, Mischief in your glance. Childish in your loneliness, Boyish in your needs, But a man in strong desire, A man to do bold deeds.