_in the hope that you may formally enrol yourself in the ranks of the Army of the Night_, _and that you will offer up the best that has been granted you of heart and soul and mind towards the working out of that better time when_, _in victorious peace_, _we silence our drums and trumpets_, _furl our banners_, _drag our cannons to their place of rest_, _and solemnly disarming ourselves_, _become citizens once more or_, _if soldiers_, _then soldiers of the Army of the Day_! SONGS OF THE ARMY OF THE NIGHT. “Blessed are the poor in spirit . . . blessed are the mourners . . . _Ye are the salt of the earth_.”—_The Good tidings as given_ by MATTHEW. PROEM. “OUTSIDE LONDON.” In the black night, along the mud-deep roads, Amid the threatening boughs and ghastly streams, Hark! sounds that gird the darknesses like goads, Murmurs and rumours and reverberant dreams, Tramplings, breaths, movements, and a little light.— _The marching of the Army of the Night_! The stricken men, the mad brute-beasts are keeping No more their places in the ditches or holes, But rise and join us, and the women, weeping Beside the roadways, rise like demon-souls. Fill up the ranks! What shimmers there so bright? _The bayonets of the Army of the Night_! Fill up the ranks! We march in steadfast column, In wavering lines yet forming more and more; Men, women, children, sombre, silent, solemn, Rank follows rank like billows to the shore. Dawnwards we tramp, towards the day and light. _On_, _on and up_, _the Army of the Night_! I. “ENGLAND.” IN THE CAMP. This is a leader’s tent. “Who gathers here?” Enter and see and listen. On the ground Men sit or stand, enter or disappear, Dark faces and deep voices all around. One answers you. “You ask who gathers here? Companions! Generals we have none, nor chief. What need is there? The plan is all so clear— The future’s hope, the present’s grim relief! “Food for us all, and clothes, and roofs come first. The means to gain them? This, our leaguered band! The hatred of the robber rich accursed Keeps foes together, makes fools understand. “Beyond the present’s faith, the future’s hope Points to the dawning hour when all shall be But one. The man condemned shall fit the rope Around the hangman’s neck, and both be free! “The sun then rises on a happier land Where Wealth and Labour sound but as one word. We drill, we train, we arm our leaguered band. What is there more to tell you have not heard?” This is a leader’s tent. They gather here, Resolute, stern, menacing. On the ground They sit or stand, enter or disappear, Dark faces and deep voices all around. “AXIOM.” Let him who toils, enjoy Fruit of his toiling. Let him whom sweats annoy, No more be spoiling.