That is the call that stirs the soul
When the bugles blow.
For high on the heights of destiny,
With promise of immortality,
The voice of a wingéd Victory
Sings clear when the bugles blow.
When the bugles blow.
For high on the heights of destiny,
With promise of immortality,
The voice of a wingéd Victory
Sings clear when the bugles blow.
And we spring to follow the unfurled flag
When the bugles blow—
Follow it far, where our comrades fell—
Follow through red of the battle's swell—
Follow it up to the gates of hell—
Storming its depths—when the bugles blow.
When the bugles blow—
Follow it far, where our comrades fell—
Follow through red of the battle's swell—
Follow it up to the gates of hell—
Storming its depths—when the bugles blow.
TRANSFORMATION
WE pass along the city streets,
Oppressed with sense of change;
The pavements seem so gray and lone,
The corners dull and strange.
And then we realize that what
We miss these summer noons
Are "shrieking" shirts and "passion" sox
Of by-gone yester-Junes.
Oppressed with sense of change;
The pavements seem so gray and lone,
The corners dull and strange.
And then we realize that what
We miss these summer noons
Are "shrieking" shirts and "passion" sox
Of by-gone yester-Junes.
And suddenly it comes to us,
Decreed by martial law,
The boys who were our "jelly-beans"
Have gone away to war.
Decreed by martial law,
The boys who were our "jelly-beans"
Have gone away to war.
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