March! March! March! Earth groans as they tread;
Each carries a skull, going down to the dead.
Every stride, every stamp, every footfall is bolder:
‘Tis a skeleton’s tramp with a skull on its shoulder.
But oh! how he steps, with high tossing head,
That clay-covered bone, going down to the dead.
March! March! March! How lightly they tread
Looking up to that One who rose from the dead.
Every stride, every step, every footfall is bolder:
‘Tis a sinner draws nigh, with a load off his shoulder.
And oh! how he steps, looking up to his Head,
Who triumphantly rose from the midst of the dead.
J. WILLAMS.