Then smile to them, and call to them, and mark how brave they fare
Upon the road to Picardy that only youth may dare!
Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp,
Foot and horse and caisson—
Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp,
Such is Freedom's passion—
And oh, take heart, ye weary souls that stand along the Lys,
For the New World is marching, marching into Picardy!
April's sun is in the sky and April's in the grass—
And I doubt not that Pershing's men are singing as they pass—
For they are very young men, and brave men, and free
And they know why they are marching, marching into Picardy.
Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp,
Rank and file together—
Tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp
Through the April weather.
And never Spring has thrust such blades against the light of dawn
As yonder waving stalks of steel that move so shining on!
