ENDED the watches of the dark; oh hear the bugles blow The bugles blow Reveillé at the golden gates of morn; A shudder moves the living East; the stars are burning low Above the crystal cradle of a day that's newly born. Arise ye slumbering legions; wake for honour and for right; Awake, arise, ye myriad men, to faith and justice sworn; High heaven's fires are flashing on the valley and the height, And the bugles blow Reveillé at the golden gates of morn. Within the holy of your hearts, oh hear the bugles blow The bugles blow Reveillé at the golden gates of morn, And welcome with their clarion ineffable foreglow Of a sunrise where the souls of men are being newly born. Awake, arise, ye legions, to the challenge of the dead; Arise, awake and follow in the footsteps they have worn; For their spirits are the glory of the dayspring overhead, And their bugles blow Reveillé at the golden gates of morn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BROTHER JONATHAN'S LAMENT FOR SISTER CAROLINE [DECEMBER 2O, 1860] by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES SAILING BEYOND SEAS (OLD STYLE) by JEAN INGELOW A LETTER TO LADY [MISS] MARGARET-CAVANDISH-HOLLES-HARLEY, WHEN A CHILD by MATTHEW PRIOR SCORN NOT THE LEAST by ROBERT SOUTHWELL 1916 SEEN FROM 1921 by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN TO A CLOUD by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT THE ADIEU; WRITTEN .. THE IMPRESSION AUTHOR WOULD SOON DIE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |