there is a moment when with splendid joy,

with flashing blade and roar of thundering guns

and colors waving wide where triumph stands,

the last redoubt is carried; we have won!

this is the battle! we have conquered now!

but the long hours of marching in the sun,

the longer hours of waiting in the dark,

deadly dishonored work of hidden spy,

the dull details of commissariat,

food, clothing, medicine, the hospital,

the way the transportation mules are fed,—

these are the battle too, and victory’s price.

and we, in days when no attack is feared

and none is hoped,—no sudden courage called,—

should strengthen our intrenchments quietly,

review the forces, exercise the troops,

feeling the while, not “when will battle come?”

but, “this is battle! we are conquering now!”