From the clearing's scope in the breaking wood, The sunny lane where the headstones brood, From the mountain valley's scarr'd retreat, Rallies the sure roll of marching feet. Over the prairie's miles of corn The mountain sky line, jagged and torn, The sweep of range, the summer sea, The long trail swings back endlessly. Back from treading new paths as their fathers trod, Back from new shores with their fathers' God, The sons swing back, blood of pioneer! Silent men marching, war-trapt, severe, Facing the dawn, unafraid, they come— The motherland is calling the children home! |