As the troops went through, I saw a face,
I knew it well in the far off days,
A face from a far off place.
A face that was bright with a boyish glee,
A face that was bright with the hopes of youth,
That never dreamed of the world's black ruth,
Or that he would live to be,
A man of strife in the deadly fight,
A man who would march in the ranks at night,
With death for his mate, and war for a friend,
With never a thought of the end.
As the troops went through, I saw a face,
And it seemed to me that the boy was dead,
And a ghost took his place.
For the face was stern with the look of a man,
Who had fought his fight and had played his part,
And had kept the steel in his heart,
For the look was that which the strong must scan,
In the eyes of the man who had gone to war,
Who had seen the things that he fought for,
And who knew that the end was near.
I watched him pass with the silent throng,
And I thought of the years, the pain, the wrong,
That had swept the soul of the boy away,
And made him the man of today.
As the troops went through, I saw a face,
And it seemed to me that a ghost looked down,
On the passing place.
For the boy was gone, and the man was there,
With the smile of death on his lips so thin,
And the frown of war on his brow within,
With the look of those who the load must bear,
With the look of those who have seen the fight,
Who have looked on the day and have faced the night,
Who have taken their place in the ranks of men,
And who may not return again.
I watched him pass with the silent throng,
And I thought of the years, the pain, the wrong,
That had swept the soul of the boy away,
And made him the man of today.