Out of counting house and office,
Out of store and room and shop,
Don't ask them any questions,
For they haven't time to stop,
Till they meet in the street,
Touching shoulders, crushing feet,
Millionnaire and humble tradesman, and the man who toils for bread,
And up in one direction turned is every eager head.
Hear the crowd
Cry aloud!
What a mixed and motley set!
And anon
Running on
While the drum is distant yet,
Making every one forget
Any business on which the mind is set.
Oh, the drum is full of life!
And its stirring pound is rife
With an inspiration wonderful to break the listless mood
Of the indolent, and all,
When its martial echoes fall,
Like the touch of sudden fire to excite the sluggish blood.
And this is the song.
As the soldiers march along,
Head erect — keeping time
To the rolling and the rhyme
Of the quick reiteration of the drummers hollow chime.
"Fame is eternal—glories supernal,
Heroes the wreaths shall share,
Victors the crowns shall wear.
March on!
Brave and true,
Steady, on!
Dare and do;
On to the contest whose struggle elates you!
On for the conflict where duty awaits you!
There is the foe—advance and attack!
Drive every enemy—back—back—
BACK!
Who cares for pain or for danger or woe?
Here are our colors — and there is the foe!"
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THE READING-CLUB.
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