We never know how high we are
  Till we are called to rise;
And then, if we are true to plan,
  Our statures touch the skies—

The Heroism we recite
  Would be a daily thing,
Did not ourselves the Cubits warp
  For fear to be a King—

With music strong I come, with my cornets and my drums,
I play not marches for accepted victors only, I play marches for conquer'd and slain persons.

Have you heard that it was good to gain the day?
I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.

I beat and pound for the dead,
I blow through my embouchures my loudest and gayest for them.

Vivas to those who have fail'd!
And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea!
And to those themselves who sank in the sea!
And to all generals that lost engagements, and all overcome heroes!
And the numberless unknown heroes equal to the greatest heroes known!

          A face seen passing in a crowded street,
           A voice heard singing music, large and free;
           And from that moment life is changed, and we
          Become of more heroic temper, meet
          To freely ask and give, a man complete
           Radiant because of faith, we dare to be
           What Nature meant us. Brave idolatry
          Which can conceive a hero! No deceit,
           No knowledge taught by unrelenting years,
           Can quench this fierce, untamable desire.
          We know that what we long for once achieved
           Will cease to satisfy. Be still our fears;
           If what we worship fail us, still the fire
          Burns on, and it is much to have believed.