How Solemn, As One By One, As The Ranks Returning, All Worn And Sweaty--As The Men File By Where I Stand; As The Faces, The Masks Appear--As I Glance At The Faces, Studying The Masks; (As I Glance Upward Out Of This Page, Studying You, Dear Friend, Whoever You Are;) How Solemn The Thought Of My Whispering Soul, To Each In The Ranks, And To You; I See Behind Each Mask, That Wonder, A Kindred Soul; O The Bullet Could Never Kill What You Really Are, Dear Friend, Nor The Bayonet Stab What You Really Are: The Soul! Yourself I See, Great As Any, Good As The Best, Waiting, Secure And Content, Which The Bullet Could Never Kill, Nor The Bayonet Stab, O Friend!