Reveille

SOLDIER, wake ! the day is peeping ;
Honour ne'er was won in sleeping,
Never when the sunbeams still
Lay unreflected on the hill :
'Tis when they are glinted back
From axe and armour, spear and jack,
That they promise future story,
Many a page of deathless glory.
Shields that are the foeman's terror,
Ever are the morning's mirror.
Arm and up ! the morning beam
Hath call'd the rustic to his team,
Hath call'd the falc'ner to the lake,
Hath call'd the huntsman to the brake ;
The early student ponders o'er
His dusty tomes of ancient lore.
Soldier, wake ! thy harvest, fame ;
Thy study, conquest ; war, thy game.
Shield, that would be foeman's terror,
Still should gleam the morning's mirror.

Poor hire repays the rustic's pain ;
More paltry still the sportsman's gain ;
Vainest of all, the student's theme
Ends in some metaphysic dream :
Yet each is up, and each has toil'd
Since first the peep of dawn has smiled ;
And each is eagerer in his aim
Than he who barters life for fame.
Up, up, and arm thee, son of terror !
Be thy bright shield the morning's mirror.