on a fine bright morning about the middle of june, every year, the corps of cadets wakes up to find that battle monument and vicinity have been completely transformed. the quartermaster’s men have canopied a portion of the monument’s platform with beautiful brand-new flags, and placed under them comfortable wicker chairs for the president, the secretary of war, the various generals, and other dignitaries who usually honor west point with their presence on this graduation day. on the front edge of the platform is a rostrum, flag bedecked, for the speaker of the occasion, and spread over the green lawn are rows and rows of seats that await the coming of the cadets. promptly at ten o’clock, the corps swings across the parade ground to take its place for the final ceremonies that mark the separation of another class from its midst.
this is the day of days in the life of each man of the graduation class. his four years are at last completed and he is about to be given the great 301 prize for which he has so ardently striven—a commission in the army. as he takes his seat in front of the platform, he is a little nervous in spite of the joy at having achieved his ambition. he realizes that he is about to sever the ties that have held him fast for the last four years and to bid farewell to a portion of his life that is finished. a little tug comes at his heart-strings but it quickly vanishes as he listens to the eloquent words of the chief speaker, oftentimes the president, unfolding to his receptive imagination the duties and honors that await him in his new life as an officer. and when the president reminds him of west point, of her traditions, of the advantages that he has been lovingly given, and of what is expected of him in the army, there comes to his eyes a moisture from pride and gratitude. into his mind rapidly crowd a thousand and one recollections of his associations at the academy. he knows now that he must leave the corps behind, that he must renounce the delightful camaraderie of its members, and give up the beautiful surroundings wherein he has grown in body, mind, and soul.
it is true that he can no longer wear the “gray,” or take away with him his friends, or the buildings, but he does take away with him something that is finer than all of these. one can see it in his face and in his bearing. he goes forth, his heart armed with the triple brass of duty, honor, country, and his soul filled with the spirit of west point. all of his nature has been elevated 302 and benefited by this indefinable essence. it forever connects him with hundreds of other men in all parts of our country and identifies him with an institution whose very name, west point, no matter where seen or heard, thrills him with pleasure. this name connotes the details of the most impressionable period of his life. even the words themselves seem to have a distinction and personality that no other words possess. they are flavored with romance and make one think of something fresh and crisp and clean, something almost hallowed. they are themselves clothed with the spirit of the place under whose influence and power he will forever remain.
he leaves the academy to join the great fraternity of west pointers in the service, animated by the same spirit. with them, he is this year (1917) called upon by the president to train for war a large army of his fellow citizens, and prepare them to meet an enemy schooled in the art of war by disciplined leaders. west point sends him forth to this task, rich in knowledge. his alma mater is confident that he will train these men of the new army in the fundamentals of their profession and that he will inspire them with his ideals of courage and of honor, and imbue them with the spirit of west point.
photo white studio
graduation—president wilson addressing the graduating class
“we’ll bid farewell to cadet grey and don the army blue”
in the training of the national army, he will have all sorts of men under his command, but the spirit of the academy will make him patient and kind with the stupid, lend a hand to the weak, give a word of cheer to the down-hearted (there 303 will be plenty of them), and instill into all the ideal of duty. the kind of discipline that he himself received at west point will be theirs. he will teach them to bear uncomplainingly their burdens, to be loyal and obedient, to care for their health, and to march and to fight with a spirit that knows not weariness or depression. then when these men shall be sufficiently trained, he will go with them to france, in the wake of the first division of regulars led by a gallant west pointer, major-general john j. pershing. here he will appreciate as never before the value of a great moral force like the spirit of west point. it will aid him in overcoming the obstacles in his path and in those of his men, especially when the heroics of war and the novelty of being abroad have ceased to interest them, and they find themselves in the trenches in no man’s land. they will be drenched by the rain and burnt by the sun; they will have to endure the vermin, the mud, and the dust. they will be driven nearly mad by the shrieking and bursting of the shells, they will see their comrades killed and wounded, and perhaps they too will suffer the same fate, but they will not flinch; because he who leads them will have given them something of his spirit—a part of himself that west point made. he must be the prop upon which they may lean, if need be, and his spirit the reservoir upon which they may draw for refreshment. and should he be called upon to pay the supreme sacrifice, he will leave them 304 the spirit of west point to carry them to victory, while he goes to join the ghostly assemblage of his fellow west pointers, standing bareheaded to salute him, as he has stood many times in the presence of the living corps.
the corps! bareheaded salute it,
with eyes up, thanking our god
that we of the corps are treading,
where they of the corps have trod—
they are here in ghostly assemblage,
the men of the corps long dead,
and our hearts are standing attention,
while we wait for their passing tread.
we, sons of today, we salute you,
you sons of its earlier day,
we follow, close order behind you
where you have pointed the way;
the long gray line of us stretches
through the years of a century told,
and the last man feels to his marrow
the grip of your far-off hold.
grip hands with us now, though we see not,
grip hands with us, strengthen our hearts,
as the long line stiffens and straightens,
with the thrill that your presence imparts.
grip hands, though it be from the shadows,
while we swear, as you did of yore,
or living or dying to honor
the corps, and the corps, and the corps.
